ABSTRACT

CONVICTION

by Jessica Lynn Panzner

This thesis is a work of fiction that follows a young man named Conner through his acceptance of a quest for justice from its beginnings in Florida to its conclusion in Brazil. It explores his difficulties with the path he has chosen, and the sacrifices which he must make for the greater good.

CONVICTION

A Thesis

Submitted to the Faculty of Miami University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts Department of English by Jessica Lynn Panzner Miami University Oxford, Ohio 2008

Advisor: ______Margaret Luongo

Reader: ______Brian Roley

Reader: ______Timothy Melley TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword ………………………………..……. 1 Chapter One …………………………..…….… 2 Chapter Two …………………………...………15 Chapter Three ………………………………….21 Chapter Four …………………………………. 25 Chapter Five ………………………………….. 33 Chapter Six …………………………………… 39 Chapter Seven ……………………………….. 41 Chapter Eight ………………………………... 43 Chapter Nine …………………………………. 47 Chapter Ten …………………………………… 53 Epilogue ……………………………………... 60

ii

Conviction

Foreword

En‘che knew that he was dying. The truth was, he had been conscious of the fact of his own looming death for much longer than any man should be. It could not be helped. As the last of his tribe, the Nanebo, his death would bring a change in the world beyond even his understanding. He did not consider his children or his children‘s children to be true members of the Nanebo tribe. They had turned away from the traditional ways long ago. No, the Nanebo people would die with En‘che, and so, perhaps, would their magic. As he lay in his simple hut, taking in the scent of the mud floor with each short breath, En‘che silently asked the ancestors to ease his passing. I only want to know if the man Tuttle has found the new Judge. I could die content if I knew that I did not take the power to the grave with me. Can you show me the man? The ancestors did not answer. They never answered the questions put to them by the living. It was foolish of him to expect them to change their ways to satisfy the curiosity of an old man on his deathbed. Perhaps he was not meant to know such things, though he didn‘t see how it could hurt. The smell of the earth came to him again, baking in the late morning sun. Apart from the sound of his own breathing, En‘che could hear nothing but the muted songs of the insects outside the hut walls. He had built the earthen dome in which he rested away from the world. There was not another person for miles in any direction. At least the ancestors granted him that measure of peace—to spend his last weeks in silence, apart from the mass of squabbling humanity he was charged to guide. He rested in the quiet, freed from the harsh sounds of the world and the constant, demanding voices. Including the ones in his head.

1

Chapter One

Conner Browning was tired of going through life smelling like sour milk. For the last seven years, he had worked the same boring, embarrassing job. There were other people his age working at the Food Giant, but Conner had never seen himself as a twenty-five year old dairy-case stock-boy. It was a high school kid‘s job. Conner knew it—he saw his coworkers each day and wondered what was so wrong with them that they couldn‘t find anything better to do with their lives. The depression usually set in as he pinned on and adjusted the bright green, plastic nametag that read ―Connor‖ in black block lettering. He told his manager, Ted, about the misspelling on his first day of work, seven years ago. ―Oh… sorry man. You spell it with an e? We‘ll get you a new one printed up, okay?‖ Of course, Ted was long gone, and Conner never saw a new badge. He didn‘t bother mentioning it to any of the other managers who took over the position. Why am I still here? He got the job just after his eighteenth birthday, for extra spending cash on the weekends. And he stayed on, after graduation, after the deadline for application to community college came and went, after he finally moved out of his parents‘ house and into his crummy two-room apartment. Three rooms if you counted the john. That was a little over two years ago, when his hourly wage broke twelve dollars. It was just under fifteen an hour now. Even his measly thirty-five cent raises added up after a while. Conner took the job the summer after his junior year. That summer was hot, even for Florida, so the chilly dairy case sounded like a perfect place to escape the heat. And it was—at first. But as the novelty wore off, the stink started to set in. For some reason, every gallon of milk in every shipment was coated with a portion of the contents of at least one jug, carton or bottle that didn‘t survive the trip intact. So, every day Conner‘s store-issue shirt and pants were spattered and splotched with spilled milk. He was wet and sour before his first break. More than the endless monotony, the embarrassment of the silly uniform, or the degrading pay scale, it was the stink that really got to him. Unwilling to live with the smell any longer than absolutely necessary, Conner went straight home from work every afternoon. Once there, he stripped out of his Food Giant clothes, deposited them in their own special bin and took a long shower. Over the years, he had amassed enough sets of the uniform shirts and pants that he could wait to do laundry once a week and still have a fresh outfit to soil every day at work. Today when he got home, his usual scent was enhanced by a kind of wet dog smell. It had started raining half an hour before he got off work and by the time he discovered that there were no longer any available spaces in his apartment building‘s parking lot, it had progressed into a steady downpour. He parked on the street and trudged through the rain to his door. Distant thunder rumbled in the prematurely darkened sky. Once inside his apartment, Conner slogged directly to the bathroom to undress. Not wanting to drip any more sour-milk-water across the shag carpet than he had to, he stood naked in the shower, wringing out his clothes. After he squeezed as much cloudy liquid out of them as he could and piled them in the dry sink, he turned the shower to full pressure and stood under the warm water, head bowed almost to his chest. When did this happen to me? He thought as the drops hitting his neck slowly 2

massaged his muscles into numbness. I wasn‟t always a loser. I had all kinds of friends in high school. Girls, too. Now I‟m just some smelly old guy that works at the Food Giant, and probably will for the rest of his life. They‟ll find me curled up on a crate of yogurt one day, cold and blue. „Oh what a shame,‟ they‟ll say, „and he only had five more years until retirement.‟ Slowly, Conner scrubbed the dairy residue from his skin and rinsed himself off. As he stepped out of the shower a loud, booming crack shook the air around him. He had barely wrapped a towel around his waist before the power went out. Super. Now what am I going to do? No cable, no microwave, no anything. At least it‟s still light enough to see where I‟m going. Even with the dark cloud cover, five o‘clock on a summer afternoon was still hours away from nightfall. Unfortunately, as Conner soon realized, the storm wasn‘t cooling things down quickly enough to keep his apartment comfortable without the AC running steadily, sucking down electricity. As he began to sweat, he decided that maybe the best thing to do was just lie down and go to sleep. He could snooze through the worst of it and maybe by the time he woke the power would be back on. Despite the rapidly rising temperature in his small bedroom, it did not take Conner very long to fall asleep. His body was grateful for the opportunity to relax after having spent the last ten hours on its feet. He slept soundly and dreamlessly.

***

Conner lay in bed not dreaming until the sunlight pouring through his window woke him with a start. A glance at his watch told him it was not yet seven-thirty. He had been asleep for fourteen hours. As he pulled himself to the edge of the bed and sat up, Conner noticed the puddle of sweat he had deposited during the night. He listened for the throb of the AC unit with little hope. Standing and walking over to the light switch, he confirmed that the power was still out. This would happen on my day off, he thought. He felt a wave of self-pity building up behind his ribs but, unwilling to indulge his pathetic side any longer, Conner shook it off and made a decision. Unable to cook on his electric stove and unsure what to do in his own apartment that didn‘t involve plunking down in front of the TV, he would venture out in search of breakfast and diversion. He took a cold shower, nearly convinced himself it was refreshing, put on a clean Hurricanes T-shirt and a pair of shorts and stepped out into the mostly sunny morning. As he walked along the sidewalk, it hit Conner that in two years he had never really taken the time to explore the neighborhood around his apartment. When he wasn‘t at work, he was usually holed up in his living-dining-recreation room in front of the tube. It was Sunday, and the streets were pretty empty at eight o‘clock. Most of the shops were closed, their dark windows reflecting the blue sky. The palm trees that grew alongside parking meters dropped water on sidewalks and pedestrians alike. Conner felt his mood lighten as he strolled, and decided he would find a diner to try this morning. Usually, if he didn‘t have time to toast a couple Eggo‘s before work, he would stop at the McDonalds across the street from the Food Giant. But he didn‘t feel like a McMuffin today. Today, Conner wanted a full-on, hearty breakfast. Eggs, toast, bacon, coffee, juice - the works. He turned down a street that boasted twice the greenery of Eighth, the 3

street his building was on, and was greeted by the unmistakable smell of sausage links. His nose led him to a small, clean diner a block and a half down the street. Despite the relatively early hour, he was not the first customer. A trio of old men sat at the end of the counter with a Parcheesi board set up between them. Conner slid into a booth near the door and pulled a menu out of the napkin-holder, pleased with the homey feel of the place. He was mildly disappointed when the waitress appeared by his table in a denim skirt and a tank top, instead of a pink smock and white apron. She called him ‗honey‘ when she asked for his order, though she was probably only a year or two older than him. He got the ‗Breakfast Basket‘ with white toast and links on the side. His stomach started to grumble loudly after she left to get him a cup of coffee, and Conner realized he hadn‘t eaten anything since lunch yesterday—a microwaved mini-pizza he picked up on a break at work. His meal arrived quickly, and he polished it off in less than five minutes. After mopping up the last of his egg with a piece of toast, he sat back contentedly and watched the world outside the diner‘s window. A girl walked by on the opposite side of the street taking long strides that made her look as if she were bobbing up and down in the water. Conner followed her with his eyes until she turned down another street out of sight. Sliding out of the booth, he counted out enough for the meal and a generous tip and walked out into the familiar South Florida sunshine. Already, it was starting to warm up again. Not really knowing what to do next, he crossed the street and turned left on Eleventh, back in the direction of his apartment building. Eleventh was narrower than some of the more heavily-trafficked roads in town and not as dominated by storefronts. He passed a head shop and a small bar and cringed at the sickly sweet smell of Saturday night‘s party drying into a crust in the sun. On the next block he found a small Thai restaurant that he decided to remember for later. As he walked along the storefronts, he glanced into the display windows with a lazy curiosity. He could smell the Thai place before he passed it, and he stopped a moment to check out the menu posted inside the window. The prices weren‘t bad, but he always had a hard time remembering which entrees he liked and which he didn‘t. The next window display he passed was composed entirely of a large mirror with the words ―GIVE YOUR LIFE A MEANING‖ painted across it in flaking gold and green. Intrigued by the presumptuous message and a chance to find something to do, he reached for the worn brass doorknob. A string of cheap bells jingled as Conner opened the door to the little shop. Actually, now that he stood inside the doorway, he could see that it was not at all as cramped as it had appeared from the street. The large, dark, open space before him reminded him of the old general stores you see in movies, with its dusty wooden floor and exposed rafters. Not at all the sort of thing one would expect to find tucked between the Prime Noodle restaurant and the Suds-a-Bunch Laundromat on Eleventh. His footsteps echoed softly as he moved through the cool, mostly-empty room toward a high wooden counter behind which someone shuffled papers and hummed softly. ―Hello?‖ Conner tried to lean over the counter, which came up almost to his armpits. The girl stopped humming and looked up from the pile of papers that covered the small desk on her side of the counter. She gave him a strange feeling, perhaps because she actually looked him in the eye. Dark hair cropped to about chin-length framed her 4

white face. She wasn‘t much younger than him, perhaps as old as twenty-five. Conner recognized her as the girl he had watched from his table at the diner. Her small, pink- lipped mouth barely moved. ―Yeah?‖ ―I uh, saw your sign outside. What does it mean?‖ ―Just what it says.‖ She did not move from her metal folding chair and left no doubt she would rather be doing her paperwork. ―Ah. Well, what kind of meaning can I give my life?‖ He asked, and immediately felt like a complete idiot. ―Not that I, you know, don‘t have any now,‖ he scratched at the back of his head, ―I was just curious, you know,‖ he glanced around the room and folded his arms against his chest, ―the sign and all.‖ ―Yeah, right. Well, you can get just about anything you want.‖ Finally, she pushed back the folding chair and stood up. Though she had not appeared so while huddled at the small desk, she stood almost as tall as Conner, which was surprising because he was six foot two. ―What are my options?‖ ―Nothing, today. I can‘t really sell you anything without Grandpa being here. I only came in today to take care of some bills. But, I will be here tomorrow, and so will Grandpa. You should come back then, and we‘ll figure something out for you.‖ ―Figure something out for me. Okay. Give my life a meaning. Tomorrow.‖ ―Yeah, regular business hours.‖ ―Oh, yes, right.‖ Conner turned and surveyed the contents of the store. At first glance, the walls seemed to be filled with inspirational posters, but after closer examination he decided that they might be promotional material for a film studio. The one directly in front of him pictured a man and woman in a tight embrace. They stood in a field under the floating words, A Second Chance. Conner walked back toward the front of the store and began reading the posters from one end of the wall to the other, moving toward the rear of the building. He passed Equality, True Love and Put an End to Poverty. He finally started to catch on at Save the Children and Save the Earth. Beyond A Second Chance lay Know Thyself, Ultimate Truth, and Knowledge. The subject matter was getting decidedly less dramatic as he moved down the line. ―Some heavy themes you got here,‖ he commented as he turned back to face the girl. She was nowhere to be seen, having disappeared behind the high counter. ―Yup. Those are our big sellers.‖ ―So, how does this stuff work? Do you just pick a notion and run with it? What are you guys selling, just something to believe in?‖ ―Quests.‖ ―Quests.‖ Conner thought this over for a moment. ―Okay, like a quest for knowledge or a quest for truth. I get it. But, I wasn‘t aware you could sell a quest. Or buy one, for that matter.‖ ―Well, that‘s what we do. We sell ‘em,‖ she turned off the small light above her desk and stepped around the counter. ―Just not today. I have to lock up and get out of here. Will you come by tomorrow?‖ ―Sure. Why not? You‘ll be here, you said?‖ Conner stared at his feet and tried very hard not to turn red as he said it, not that it mattered. She was already holding the 5

door open, impatiently waiting for him to leave. ―All day.‖

***

The next morning at work, Conner was still strangely giddy. He had dreamt of the girl—why hadn‟t he asked her name?—and had thought of little else since he got out of bed. His lips moved as he rehearsed lines he would use when he saw her this afternoon. She had told him to come back, she would be there. Conner didn‘t even notice the milk slime that coated his front as he stocked the half-gallon shelves. He felt good, as if something was finally happening in his life. ―Whoa. Somebody‘s happy this morning,‖ Vera commented as she passed by with a cart full of prepackaged cold cuts. ―Did you lose power over the weekend?‖ ―Huh? Oh, yeah. But it came back on sometime Sunday morning, not sure when. I was out.‖ Conner kept his back toward her. Vera, already leathery at fifty-five, was known for her affinity for spending long hours in the sun, and for younger men. ―Oh yeah. Party hard. I used to be able to go all night, party till the sun came up. Still can, when the need arises.‖ She stood behind him, too close by half. Conner almost shuddered when he pictured her dry, powdered face at his back, smiling coquettishly. ―Well. Gotta go get another load,‖ he announced without turning around, and then sprinted into the back room for another cart of two-percent.

***

To Conner‘s surprise, the rest of his work day seemed to pass much faster than usual, distracted as he was by the anticipation of his somewhat vague evening plans. Once home, he took an uncharacteristically quick shower and headed back to the strange little shop as soon as he could. ―I‘m back,‖ Conner announced over the tinkling of bells as he walked through the door. ―I figured you would be,‖ came the reply from behind the counter. He heard the scraping of her chair across the floor. A moment later she was standing next to him. She stared at him for what seemed like a long time before she turned her head. ―Grandpa! Customer.‖ A door opened in the rear wall and a very large individual squeezed through. He had to both duck and turn sideways to fit through the small portal. Grandpa. The old man stood at least a head taller than Conner, and probably weighed nearly twice as much. Despite a full, round stomach, Conner got the impression that he was mostly muscle. His full, closely cropped white beard made him look like a well-aged Paul Bunyan. ―Thank you, Laney. Have you been polite to our guest?‖ he roared good- naturedly. He had a voice like a very charming diesel engine. ―Of course.‖ ―Such a good girl,‖ Grandpa rumbled affectionately. Then he brought his hands together with a clap that made Conner‘s ears ring. ―So, what can we do for you, mister...‖ ―Browning. Conner Browning. Please, sir, call me Conner.‖ 6

―Alright, Conner. My name is Ian Tuttle. Mostly folks just call me Tuttle. Now, what is it that you are interested in?‖ Feeling childlike in the larger man‘s presence, Conner admitted, ―I don‘t know. I just saw your sign outside and decided to come in and find out what it was all about, and she--uh, Laney--told me to come back today.‖ ―So, dumb luck. That‘s how most of our customers come upon us the first time. Probably not the most effective marketing plan, but we‘re more return-business-oriented anyway. People just aren‘t interested in life-long quests anymore. We‘ve got some folks that are in here once every few months, looking for something new,‖ Tuttle sighed and his eyebrows fell together. He was quiet for a moment before he appeared to remember that Conner was in the room. ―So. Anyway. Let‘s find you a quest. What do you do for a living, Conner?‖ ―I stock the dairy case at Food Giant,‖ he confessed, wishing Laney wasn‘t there to hear it. ―Not where you saw yourself at this point in your life, eh?‖ Tuttle smiled warmly and placed a giant palm on Conner‘s shoulder. Though it was a surprisingly light touch, Conner cringed slightly at the idea of a hand big enough to palm his head. ―Don‘t worry. You‘re not the only one. Wife? Kids?‖ ―No.‖ ―Alright. Any particular interests?‖ Tuttle removed his paw from Conner‘s shoulder and began to rub his furred jaw. ―Um, I like football?‖ ―Not really what I was going for. I mean, did you have something in mind, quest- wise. You know, some girl who got away, or you have a soft spot for pandas, that sort of thing.‖ He watched Conner expectantly. ―Uh...‖ ―Religious at all?‖ ―I guess, but not really.‖ ―Want to be a celebrity?‖ ―God, no.‖ ―Desperately seeking Mrs. Right?‖ ―No, not...‖ ―Mr. Right?‖ ―No!‖ Conner said quickly, shooting a glance at Laney. Tuttle sighed, a sound like a dying John Deere. ―You have to give me something to start with, here.‖ ―I‘ve always wanted to see the world?‖ Conner offered, uncertainly. ―Well now, there was a time when...but we can‘t really do that anymore. It‘s all travel agents and online booking these days. We don‘t even stock Adventure anymore. Just Discovery, which is kind of the same thing but not really. I was an adventurer once myself, for a long, long time.‖ Tuttle‘s gaze locked onto a nondescript section of the wall, and Conner couldn‘t help but feel that he was bringing the old man down. Not knowing what else to do, he went with his first instinct. ―You were an adventurer? That‘s very interesting. What kind of adventuring did you do, exactly?‖ 7

―All I could. I went everywhere, did everything—from Antarctica to the Congo, and most of the oceans in between. It was my whole life. But that was back when it involved more than a helicopter ride, before every square foot of the damn planet was mapped out and pinned down.‖ Tuttle glanced at Conner and laughed to himself softly. ―The point is, you don‘t need me to travel the world. No purpose in it anymore, just tourism. All that‘s left is for the geologists and cartographers to figure out who to name every last hill after. Hey! What about some kind of social work, you know? You could build houses in South America or fight hunger in Africa or something like that.‖ Conner considered the option. ―Well, can I try something out for a while? You know, for few weeks or something? I don‘t want to end up with something I really don‘t want.‖ He watched as Tuttle‘s face fell once again. ―Of course you can. That‘s what everybody wants. We‘ve got a ten year, a four year and a three-month dose. I won‘t bother to mention the lifelong option. You might get an extra month or two with the three-month dose, depending on how closely the quest you choose matches your own previous convictions.‖ ―Well that sounds . I think I‘ll go with that,the uh, building houses in South America one. For three months.‖ Pleased with himself for having made such a momentous decision, Conner grinned up at Tuttle and offered his hand. The big man‘s response was less than enthusiastic. He pumped Conner‘s arm up and down twice and then turned toward the back of the store. ―Laney here will get your paperwork together while I get started on your kit. It‘ll take about an hour or so.‖ ―Great. That sounds great.‖ He glanced about the store again as Tuttle retreated to the backroom and, realizing there was nowhere for him to sit down in the meantime, he simply stood in the middle of the floor and waited for something to happen. Laney emerged from behind the counter with a stack of papers pinned to a clipboard in her hand and a folding chair under her arm. Handing him both items, she retreated behind the counter without a word. Conner arranged the chair so that it was facing in her direction and settled in to fill out his information. Before he put pen to paper, however, he stood up with a groan and placed the clipboard on the countertop. ―What does he want me to do?‖ he asked Laney, who would only glance in his direction. ―I‘m sure he doesn‘t give two shits what you do. He just thinks people should stand for something. You know, have some convictions strong enough to guide you through a full and meaningful life. He‘s old-fashioned that way, I suppose.‖ With this, she shoved her hands into the deep pocket of her sweatshirt and leaned back in her chair. ―So, if I wanted to, I could just pick any quest at all, and the lifetime dose would make me a noble, driven person for the rest of my time on earth?‖ ―That‘s the idea. Not that anyone does that anymore.‖ ―So I‘ve heard. But, if I were to contemplate this whole lifelong quest idea, what would you suggest?‖ He didn‘t expect Laney to give him a straight answer, so he was pleasantly surprised at her response. ―Justice.‖ ―I didn‘t see that one on the wall.‖ ―Yeah. It‘s not up there. It‘s kind of a specialty product. Not something that we offer to every schmuck who walks in the door looking for a short-term goal.‖ She eyed 8

him with what appeared to be a bit more curiosity and a little less disgust and shrugged. ―Not that it would be at all your type of thing.‖ ―But it doesn‘t matter, right? I mean, if I choose a lifelong dose then it will be my type of thing. I could spend the rest of my life dedicated to fighting for justice--like Batman!‖ Conner was beginning to get genuinely excited about the prospect, a feeling he hadn‘t experienced for quite some time. ―Most of the time, it‘s not nearly so dramatic as all that. That‘s the problem with Justice: it doesn‘t come with a cape. It‘s a pretty dangerous concept if you think about it. I mean, what constitutes justice in any given situation? Especially if your idea of justice doesn‘t jive with your neighbor‘s, or the law‘s. Taking on Justice would probably mean putting yourself at risk of estrangement, incarceration, maybe even death,‖ she paused here and cocked her head to one side. ―But heroes always get the girl, you know.‖ For an instant, Conner could feel the confusion in his body as his blood tried to rush in two directions at once. Ultimately, most of it ended up in his face and he blushed a bright red. He knew he was being played, that she was using the oldest sales tactic in the book. But, he made the decision not to care. He needed what she was selling, and he knew at that moment that he couldn‘t go back to Food Giant, not with the opportunities he saw here. In the next moment, he realized that he had been staring at Laney for an uncomfortably long time, and shifted his gaze to the door in the back wall. ―Do you think your grandfather would come back in and talk to me about all this?‖ he asked. ―He might,‖ she said in a low voice, ―I‘ll go ask him.‖ As she stood up, Conner reached out and put a hand on her wrist. ―Why don‘t you have a quest, Laney?‖ ―I do.‖ With that, she stood up and quickly walked to the back room, closing the door behind her.

***

After a few minutes, Laney stepped back into the room and motioned to Conner. ―Go on back.‖ She padded quickly across the wooden floor in her high-tops and locked the front door, turning the paper sign in the window around so that, from the street, it read ―CLOSED‖. He waited for her to return before he moved, suddenly nervous at the thought of holding a private interview with the bear-like Tuttle. He held the door for Laney and followed her into the room. ―Ha! Our Laney has proven herself to be something of a saleswoman, eh Conner?‖ Tuttle‘s voice filled the cozy space. This room, unlike the sales floor, was small and comfortable and cluttered, with two old overstuffed chairs and a scratched coffee table taking up one side while a computer desk and chair dominated the other. The paperwork seemed to be making a break for it as it spread silently from the desk to the floor around the desk chair. Laney seated herself here, and began to corral some of the papers back into piles on the desk. Conner wondered at the sheer volume of it all. The place didn‘t seem all that busy. ―Have a seat, man. We have some things to discuss.‖ The large man waved him into one of the overstuffed chairs and then folded himself into the other. 9

―The beauty of Justice is that it does not preclude the possibility of a ‗normal‘ life—at least, not at first. It would theoretically be possible to go on living in your own way for quite some time, righting little wrongs, confronting those that take advantage of the ones you know...that sort of thing could keep you busy for months, maybe even years. But you must know that eventually you will be driven to search out unjust situations to mend. You may decide you need to take on corruption in City Hall, or that you should be gunning down thugs in the street. It is an unpredictable thing, shaped by your circumstances and the situations that surround you. Do you understand?‖ Tuttle leaned forward, placing his giant hands on oversized knees and peering into Conner‘s face. ―Yes. I think I do,‖ he replied, nodding his head. He watched the news occasionally. There was injustice all over the world. He wasn‘t the kind of guy who could rattle off the latest psychopath dictator in the southern hemisphere, but he wasn‘t blind. Bad stuff happened to good people every day. Kids getting beat up on playgrounds. Grocery stores expecting a grown man to be happy with a thirty-five cent raise every once in a while. Conner worked up a little ball of righteous indignation. He could feel Laney watching him from across the room as he moved to the edge of his seat and looked Tuttle in the eye. ―I‘m ready.‖ ―Great. Tell you what, why don‘t you and Laney go get something to eat, and I‘ll get things together here. Hopefully, by the time you get back we‘ll be ready to go.‖

***

―What about the place next door?‖ Conner asked as he and Laney stepped out onto the sidewalk. ―Ugh, no. I have to smell that stuff all day long. No thanks.‖ She shot him a sideways glance. ―Why are you grinning like an imbecile?‖ ―Oh, come on. I‘m excited! Shouldn‘t I be? I‘m about to embark on a noble quest. You should be excited for me, too.‖ ―I‘m excited alright. How do you feel about falafel?‖ She started to cross the street, so Conner followed. ―I‘m not sure. Never tried it.‖ ―I guess we‘ll have to fix that now.‖ They walked two more blocks before she stopped in front of a set of stairs that led down into a basement-turned-restaurant. The small room was dimly lit, with only a handful of small tables taking up most of the floor space. Laney chose a table near the far wall and they sat down. Immediately, a dark-haired young man appeared with menus. Laney waved the menus away and ordered for the both of them. When the young man was gone, she leaned into the table with a serious expression. ―I‘m going to tell you a story,‖ she said, ―about two ancient tribes: the Nanebo and the Nukego. The Nanebo were peaceful farmers. Their tribe grew larger every year because of their prosperity. The Nukego were moody herdsmen, quick to fight when they thought they had been wronged. The Nukego found it difficult to work together, even with members of their own tribe, and so their numbers dwindled. One day, the leader of the Nukego went to see the leader of the Nanebo and asked him why his people could live and work so closely together without starting fights. ―‗When a Nanebo feels that he has been wronged, he does not attack his neighbor. 10

Instead he goes to a Judge to work it out,‘ the Nanebo leader told him. ―‗How does the Judge know what is right?‘ Asked the Nukego leader. ―‗That is what it means to be a Judge. They are given the power to do only what is right and never what is wrong. In this way they keep the peace for everyone equally.‘ ―The Nukego said that he did not understand how a man could do only what is right and never what is wrong. To show him, the Nanebo leader told him to come back in three days, when the tribe would select a new Judge to take the place of one who had passed away. On the third day, the Nukego leader came back and saw the magic with which the Nanebo empowered their Judges. When he went back to his own people, he told the men what he had seen. But the others were not interested in having a Judge make decisions for them. Instead, they listened to a young man who said they should kill the Nanebo before the Judges decided they could start telling them what to do. ―This evil man and his followers went to the Nanebo village and killed everyone they could find and stole the Nanebo‘s fields and houses. But earlier that day, three Nanebo men had walked far from the village. Two of them were neighbors, and the third was the new Judge. They had walked away from the village to talk about a problem. When they returned to the village that night, they saw what had happened and they fled across the flat land all the way to a village by the sea. They lived the rest of their lives as if they were of that village, and not Nanebo. But, they taught their children the magic of the Judges, and their children taught their own children. ―Despite the wealth that they had stolen from the Nanebo, the Nukego tribe continued to grow smaller. Soon there were only a handful of Nukego left, but they taught their children to hate the Nanebo and what the Judges stood for, and those children taught their own children, too. This is why there are good people and bad people in the world.‖ Laney became very quiet when the young man brought out their dinner. He set a large tray piled with pitas, falafel, and bowls of vegetables and sauces on the table between them and topped off their water glasses. Conner waited until he left to speak. ―Okay. What‘s with the story?‖ ―Just a short history of your new profession,‖ she answered, spooning yogurt sauce into her pita. ―Ah. So, you‘re saying I‘m going to be like one of those Judges, who can only do what‘s right?‖ He watched her pile onions on top of the yogurt sauce. ―No. I‘m not saying you‘re going to be like a Judge. I‘m saying you will be a Judge. That‘s the point.‖ ―Ancient magic, eh? Guess I should‘ve figured it would be something like that. I don‘t suppose there have been many changes in the questing-for-justice field in the last few hundred years.‖ Conner took a moment to consider this new take on his future. As he picked at his pita, he wondered if he would like not being able to do anything wrong, ever. ―Who decides what‘s right and wrong?‖ he asked his plate. ―I don‘t know,‖ Laney half-whispered. ―Maybe you, maybe Grandpa. Maybe the cosmos or God.‖ She paused. ―What do you think is right, Conner?‖ ―I never thought about it. I know what‘s wrong. Killing is wrong; stealing is wrong, lying, cheating, blah blah blah. I guess right would be the opposite of that, if that makes any sense.‖ Conner felt uneasy all of a sudden. He could not think of a way to explain ‗right‘ that did not involve stopping things that were ‗wrong‘. 11

―Well, what about helping the poor?‖ Laney suggested, ―That would be doing what is right. But by your logic, that would make poverty itself ‗wrong‘. But a poor person isn‘t wrong in the way a murderer is wrong. I don‘t think so, anyway. But I guess that depends on who you read.‖ ―Who you read?‖ he repeated self-consciously. ―Yes. Theorists, thinking men. Everyone has a different idea about what is right or wrong.‖ She looked at him from across the table. ―Not even Batman and Superman would agree.‖ She was poking fun at him, and Conner blushed with embarrassment at his earlier comic book dreams. He hadn‘t read anything other than the occasional paperback since graduation and little else even when he was in school. He was uncomfortable with his own ignorance. ―I could pick out a few books for you, if you like,‖ Laney said, smashing a falafel ball between her fork and her plate. She seemed different now. As if telling him the story of the Judges had subdued her, or maybe it was the realization of what Conner was about to become. Her quiet pensiveness affected him. ―Maybe we should head back,‖ he said, pushing his plate away. ―Yeah. Let‘s get this done before I accidentally talk you out of it.‖

***

The whole procedure took about twenty minutes, most of which consisted of little more than Tuttle‘s heavy hands holding the sides of Conner‘s head as he murmured in a slow language that was all but gone from the world. Conner lay on his back on a table in the large, darkened front room of the shop. Behind him, Tuttle stood, cradling the younger man‘s skull. From across the room, Laney watched, seated on the floor against the wall. Four homemade candles on the high countertop gave off an earthy, herbal scent that reminded Conner of dried parsley and fish food. Eventually, Tuttle stopped the recitation and led Conner to the counter. ―Blow out the candles, son,‖ he said softly and took a step back. Conner had to stand on his toes to blow out the flames, which were housed in mason jars. The four thin ribbons of smoke were still snaking their way up into the rafters when Tuttle flicked the lights on. ―Is that it?‖ Conner asked in surprise. ―That‘s it. I guess I could have made it a bit more theatrical. Made you drink some owl‘s blood or something…‖ Tuttle chuckled to himself and slapped Conner on the back. ―How do you feel?‖ ―I feel…fine. Not any different,‖ he admitted, a little disappointed. ―Good. Will you stay with us tonight, just in case?‖ The old adventurer watched him closely. ―Thank you, I‘d really like to, but I have to be at work by seven tomorrow morning, and I don‘t have my work clothes or anything with me…‖ Something in Conner balked at the thought of returning to Food Giant after what had just happened. But, then again, what had happened? He didn‘t feel as if he had changed at all. The old man might just be senile or pulling his chain. It suddenly hit him 12

that Tuttle hadn‘t asked him for any money. ―How much do I owe you?‖ Tuttle did not smile, but placed his hand on the smaller man‘s shoulder. ―Keep your money. I didn‘t do it for the money. I‘ve been waiting for you for a long time.‖ ―You‘ve been waiting for me?‖ Conner asked dumbly. ―Yes. Laney didn‘t tell you the story?‖ Tuttle turned and looked at his granddaughter, still sitting cross-legged on the floor. ―Not the whole story,‖ she admitted. ―I didn‘t tell him about En‘che.‖

***

―En‘che was already an old man when I first met him, years and years ago when I was still out exploring the world,‖ Tuttle began, arranging his bulk in the leather chair. Conner sat across from him, studying the dull reflection of light in the varnished coffee table that stood between them in the back room of the shop. Laney was perched on the arm of her grandfather‘s chair, silent. ―He told me he was the last true Nanebo. His children and grandchildren and even their children wanted nothing to do with the old man‘s superstitions. They did not believe in his stories or his magic. It was not what they wanted. They wanted a modern life, with satellite TV and air conditioning. They were not interested in the beliefs of a backwards, traditional old fool. So, instead, he told me. ―He told me about the Nanebo and the Nukego. And then he showed me their magic, and told me that I would have to bring Judges into the world, because the last of the old Nukego were up to something—he just didn‘t know what. He told me that eventually, I would find someone of the new, modern world that would take on the power and responsibility of a Judge. A blank slate, he said, who would not be tied to dead traditions and lost places. Someone to stop the evil works of the Nukego. ―So I waited. A very, very long time. And here you are. My blank slate. The end of my search. I have fulfilled everything En‘che asked of me.‖ Tuttle watched as Conner digested the new information. ―So… you‘ve been waiting to perform that little ceremony all this time?‖ ―Yes, Conner. Waiting for you.‖ ―And all of those other quests? The posters on the walls?‖ ―A bit of deception, on our part. We had to set up some kind of a system to find you.‖ ―None of those were real? What would you have done if I had decided to go for Save the Pandas or something?‖ ―Given you a convincing speech and a bag of herbal tea or a shot of sugar water in the arm, depending on my mood. Then sent you on your way to China.‖ ―You‘ve done that to people?‖ ―A few. They always go for it. Most everyone who ends up here is desperate for some kind of meaning. All they need is someone to give them permission to go out and live for their passion. I like to think we helped them,‖ Tuttle said evenly. Conner‘s confusion was rapidly escalating into anger as he listened to Tuttle admit his lies. ―What you‘re telling me here is that you lied to me and used me! This wasn‘t 13

about giving my life meaning at all. It was about messing with my head because you promised some old coot a favor.‖ Hurt, and feeling as if he had been betrayed, the young man stood and began to pace the room. ―And what‘s more,‖ he continued, unconsciously raising his voice, ―now you tell me there‘s some evil ancient tribe somewhere, and that it‘s my responsibility to stop them from doing… whatever it is they‘re doing?‖ ―Well… yes,‖ Tuttle answered quietly. ―Conner,‖ Laney interjected, ―this doesn‘t change anything. You‘re going to do great things. A noble life.‖ ―Oh! Yes, a noble life. According to your little story about the Judges, I‘m stuck ‗only doing what is right‘ for the rest of my life! You‘ve turned me into a puppet and thrown me into some ancient feud. Thanks. Thanks a lot.‖ ―Young man, sit down.‖ Even though he spoke softly, Tuttle‘s voice seemed to fill the room. Conner sat. ―I understand that you are confused and frustrated right now. You‘ve made a very important decision, and it‘s only natural to get a little emotional as it all starts to sink in. But you need to watch your tone when you talk to my granddaughter.‖ The big man leaned forward, his massive hands on his knees. ―Now I think you should go home and get some rest.‖ ―Well I think I should…‖ Conner started, and quickly cut himself off as Tuttle began to heave his substantial frame out of the leather armchair. ―…I should just go home, like you said.‖

14

Chapter Two

En'che was blind when he woke up. When he attempted to rub his eyes into cooperation, he discovered that he had no hands. It did not take him very long to come to terms with his new bodiless existence, however, despite the initial shock. En'che had lived a long time, and had not been surprised often in his time on earth. He saw no reason for the afterlife to be significantly different. He felt his own consciousness and nothing else for some time, but eventually he began to sense that there were other beings in the void. They set the edges of his mind to tingling. One presence seemed closer than the rest—it felt like an intruder pressing into his own being. Unacceptable, he thought. This will not do. En'che imagined that he was in one corner of a square room. The responsive tingle he imagined to be a shadowy entity in the far corner of the room. What are you? He thought to the mysterious being at the other end of his imaginary room. In life I was a man. A Judge. My name was Mi'con. I was close with your grandfather, En'che. En'che remembered an old man with shockingly white hair who used to visit at his grandfather's hut. He did not know if that man had been a Judge, but he decided to use the image. So the mysterious shadow-figure became a tall, brown man with a low voice. En'che imagined him leaning on a thick walking-stick like the one that had rested against the wall just outside of his grandfather's door. "There are others here as well,‖ he said to the old man standing across from him. "Many others," Mi'con answered. "Some will present themselves. Some will not. Many decide not to communicate—for them it is too strange, and they keep to themselves. There are those of us, however, who look forward to meeting new arrivals. Without them, nothing would ever change. And without us few sending out a welcome, you would have arrived in the void and thought yourself utterly alone." Here, Mi'con paused. En'che thought that he could feel something like frustration sending ripples through the other's being. "The others have given up and are content to exist only within their own consciousness. Even worse, many of the spirits here have already given up on man. Quite a few more have joined them in their indifference now that this generation's Judge has been chosen." "I do not understand." "In truth… neither do I. I have heard their reasons—that the world is too different from the one they knew when they were alive and, more recently, that there are no longer any Nanebo to aid. I believe that they are simply tired of watching." "What is the significance of the new Judge?" "He is not a Nanebo, of course. He is an American. Some feel that providing him guidance should not be our responsibility." "With so many concerned only for the fate of the Nanebo themselves, one might think that our tribe would not have been swept aside by something as predictable as progress." En'che felt Mi'con respond and chose to interpret it as quiet laughter. "Mi'con, did you watch me while I was still the Judge?" En'che asked. "I did, along with a handful of others. I would suppose that those few have not 15

made themselves known to you yet because they are watching young Conner." "The new Judge?" "The new Judge," affirmed an unfamiliar buzzing sensation on the edge of En'che's mind. It brought to mind a round woman with a husky voice that he remembered from the market he visited as a young man. She had sold blankets woven out of the wool yarn that she prepared herself. "A woman?" he asked the room. "I was, once. Though now, there really isn‘t much of a difference. I‘m surprised you could tell. You must be catching on rather quickly," she said. ―I did not know the Nanebo ever allowed a woman to be a Judge,‖ En‘che admitted. ―I was what you could call a special case. My name was Fim‘pa.‖

***

―Look, that‘s all I have to say, okay? I quit.‖ Conner crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against a stack of flattened cardboard boxes bundled for pickup behind him. His supervisor didn‘t have anything resembling an office, and the employee break room was too loud for a one-on-one meeting. So they were standing on the loading dock at the back of the store. ―I don‘t know who you think you are, to just come at me with something like this,‖ the angry little man fumed. ―You‘re supposed to give us two weeks‘ notice! Where am I going to find someone to replace you so soon? We‘ve got a truck coming in here at two-thirty—who‘s going to unload it?‖ ―Look, I‘m sorry, but this is just the way it is. I‘m going now.‖ Conner stepped down onto the asphalt lane reserved for deliveries and started toward the far end of the back parking lot, where he had left his car. He could hear his agitated manager yelling behind him, but he never looked back. He just smiled and kept walking, feeling better than he had in years.

***

Laney had listened to her grandfather‘s stories her entire life. At times, she doubted the old man‘s word. But most of the time she thought she really believed him. She had tried not to let her emotions show before, during, and for a while after the ‗magic‘ ritual that had been the central preoccupation of Grandpa‘s life for so many years. For nearly a week, her dearly held image of her grandfather was perilously close to being lost forever. The whole thing took a little longer than she thought it would. She had always envisioned the Judges‘ eyes ablaze with righteousness as they extinguished the ceremonial candles. Conner, however, didn‘t seem to change much at all for a few days. She observed him as if he were some sort of experimental specimen at first. Now, waiting for some sign of change, she discovered that she was afraid of what might happen, what might become of Conner. Laney couldn‘t decide what to think about him anymore. Whenever he was around she felt strangely defensive. She was testy with him more often than not. For the last week he came by the store every day after work and sat 16

for hours listening to Grandpa‘s stories. She didn‘t know if she was upset because he was no longer paying her the same attention he had before, or if it was the stories themselves. She liked to think it was the stories. Laney had thought she‘d heard all of them, but she was wrong. Apparently Grandpa only told her the pleasant ones. The tales that he shared with Conner ranged from the merely unsettling to the truly horrific. She had to leave the shop more than once to escape the violent images that her mind created to accompany Grandpa‘s narration. Until now, she thought that his travels were just what he told her they were: adventures. He had climbed mountains and discovered villages and cut paths through virgin rainforest. But he didn‘t tell Conner those stories. He told Conner about trying to find a room for rent outside of Algiers and finding instead a bordello of child prostitutes. He told him about murders committed for revenge, for pocket change, or for no reason at all. He had seen public beatings and executions. Laney wondered how he had kept so many terrible things hidden from her for so long. He told Conner stories that had been told to him by people living in fear of local gang lords, civil war refugees who had given up the search for their missing children. Sometimes, Conner cried. Sometimes he paced the floor, stalking back and forth like an animal in a cage. Sometimes he just sat there with his eyes closed, taking it all in. She wanted to ask him what he thought about when he sat that way, so still and quiet. The day that everything changed, Conner came over earlier than usual. Grandpa wasn‘t at the store; an old friend dropped by that morning and after a few hours they decided to go get something to eat. Laney made sure the sign in the window said ―Sorry, We‘re Closed‖ and waited for Conner. She wasn‘t alone twenty minutes before he showed up. ―Come on. We‘re going for a walk,‖ she told him, pushing him right back out the door. ―Oh. Okay….‖ She marched down the sidewalk, not waiting for Conner. He had to jog to catch up to her. ―So, what‘s up?‖ he asked, placing a hand on her arm in an attempt to slow her down. ―Not much. Just wanted to get outside, you know, chat a bit.‖ They speed-walked in silence for several minutes. She tried to calm herself down, not knowing what in particular had triggered her sudden frustration. It was overcast but warm. The fact that there was absolutely no air movement made it seem even warmer. She concentrated on slowing her pace and watched the sidewalk under her feet. There were no shadows anywhere, she noticed. ―Do you want to tell me what‘s bothering you?‖ Conner asked. She could feel him looking at her. She did not turn to see. ―Yes, I do. I‘m just not entirely sure what is bothering me,‖ she began. ―I think it‘s Grandpa‘s terrible stories. He never used to tell stories like that. Only nice ones. And now that you‘re around, it‘s all death and destruction and depravity. I hate it, Conner. I don‘t want to hear those stories.‖ ―Well of course you don‘t. No one wants to hear them,‖ he replied. She glanced over at him. ―Then why do you come over all the time? Why do you listen?‖ ―I just feel like I should. I feel like I need to know about all the really awful 17

things that happen that I didn‘t know about before. I‘ve spent my entire life shut off from the ugly reality of the world. I thought my life was terrible, with my crummy apartment and my crummy job, but I‘ve never really suffered. I‘ve never even seen someone really suffer. So, if I‘m going to start doing some good with the rest of my life, I think I need to know about the worst of the worst. The stuff that needs to be stopped.‖ Not knowing what to say, Laney didn‘t say anything. She had thought that Grandpa might be telling Conner his grim tales to get him fired up—to push him toward action. Now it looked like that was indeed the case. ―I quit my job today, Laney.‖ This time, he didn‘t look at her. She watched him for a while but he stared straight forward, walking with his hands in his pockets. ―Why?‖ ―Needed to. Should have quit a long time ago, actually. I finally realized that I should be doing something more meaningful. I wasn‘t helping anybody wasting my days in the dairy section. So I quit. Your grandfather gave me the idea, actually.‖ ―What will you do for money?‖ she asked. They turned a corner to avoid crossing the busy road. The street they found themselves on was lined with banks. There was less foot traffic here. ―I‘m not sure yet. I‘ve got a little bit of money saved, not much though. I figured I would ask your grandfather.‖ ―Are you just going to let him run the rest of your life?‖ She was sorry as soon as she said it. ―That didn‘t come out right.‖ ―Yes it did. And… probably. I don‘t know what else to do yet. I feel like I should be doing something big, but I have no idea what it is.‖ As they walked past the entrance to a small parking lot behind the First Independent Bank, a man who had been sitting on an overturned plastic trash can stood and approached them. He wore a torn purple nylon jacket, despite the South Florida heat and humidity. ―Hey, you got a dollar?‖ He asked, following a few feet behind them. Laney responded without making eye contact, ―No, sorry, I don‘t have anything on me…‖ Before she could finish, Conner stopped and took out his wallet. ―All I‘ve got is a twenty,‖ he said, and held the bill out to the man in the jacket. The panhandler stopped too, and glanced around the mostly empty street. He eyed Conner uneasily. ―Take it,‖ Conner said, and stepped toward him. The man took the bill and backed away quickly. ―Thanks buddy,‖ he called when he was a few yards away. Then he turned and half-jogged down the street and around the corner. Laney couldn‘t believe it either. ―What the hell did you do that for?‖ she demanded. ―One minute you‘re wondering where your next meal is coming from, and the next, you‘re handing out twenty dollar bills to every wino on the street?‖ ―It was the right thing to do, Laney.‖ ―Oh? Oh really? What do you think he‘s going to do with that money, Conner, share it with his less fortunate brothers?‖ ―I don‘t have any idea what he‘s going to do with the money. All I know is that it was the right thing to do,‖ he said softly. Laney could see he was troubled. She thought 18

about what he just said. ―Wait…what do you mean you knew it was the right thing to do?‖ ―I just knew. Well, more like there was someone pushing me to give him the money because it was the right thing to do. So, I did.‖ ―So that‘s justice, a bully in your head?‖ As she came to a better understanding of what she had just seen, Laney found that it didn‘t make her feel much better. ―In his case, I guess it was.‖ All of a sudden, she felt like a jackass, remembering the first conversation they‘d had about all this, over falafel. Hadn‘t she insisted that the poor weren‘t inherently bad even though relieving their poverty was a form of justice? And now this? Arguing with a man whose life has been dedicated to the idea of justice because of her preconceived notions about the homeless? She felt her stomach twist into a knot. Conner put his arm around her shoulders and she was grateful for the comforting gesture. He turned them back the way they had come and headed for the store.

*** En‘che allowed his mind to relax, and watched the vision of Conner and Laney fade. It was much harder than he had expected to maintain his concentration on the young man. It had taken him several tries before he could hold a link long enough to actually make contact with Conner. ―It will be easier as you grow more accustomed to searching out the boy‘s consciousness,‖ Mi‘con told him. ―Yes,‖ agreed Fim‘pa, ―soon you will find yourself attached to his mind, as closely and easily as if you rode on his shoulder like a parrot.‖

***

When Laney and Conner got to the shop, her grandfather was waiting. ―We need to have a talk,‖ he announced gruffly. He headed toward the back room. They followed. ―Sit down. Both of you.‖ Grandpa shut the door behind them and then settled himself against the paper-flooded desk. Confused and a little nervous, Laney took one of the armchairs. Conner sat down in the other. ―An old friend came to see me today, Conner. His name is Hector Montes. He and I traveled together for a good many years. He came to tell me that he has found what we have been searching for.‖ Laney looked at Conner, wondering if he knew something that she didn‘t. He was staring at Grandpa. ―I thought I was what you were searching for,‖ he said. It sounded like an accusation. ―You were. It was most important that we found you. But… do you remember what I told you about the Nukego still being a threat?‖ Grandpa repositioned himself against the edge of the desk. Laney‘s stomach lurched. She had dealt with enough surprises in the past few days, and wasn‘t sure she wanted to hear what her grandfather was about to divulge. ―Conner, when I told you that I had been waiting for years for someone like you to come along, I left something out. The truth is, I spent almost twenty years searching 19

for my old partner, Nathan Baile. But I couldn‘t find him. Eventually, I gave up and started looking for you.‖ Laney had never heard Grandpa talk about any Nathan; in fact the only partner she could remember him mentioning was Hector. ―So, this Baile guy was the one who should have been given my quest?‖ Conner sounded angry, which she could understand. For whatever reason, Grandpa was only slowly letting out the truth about his intentions for Conner. Every time the poor kid thought he had come to terms with his situation, her grandfather pulled the rug out from under him. ―Why were you searching for Baile?‖ she asked. ―Nathan Baile was my partner for a long time. He and Hector were with me when I first met En‘che. Nathan was fascinated by the story of the Nukego and the Nanebo, and he decided that he was going to find the last of the Nukego. So, we parted ways. Hector and I stayed with En‘che for a while, and he taught me about the Judges‘ magic. Nathan went looking for Nukego. At first, we didn‘t think anything of it. He was an adventurer, like us. I thought he had merely hit upon something that tickled his fancy and he was off to explore it. It was only later that Hector and I realized that he could not be trusted to merely observe the Nukego. Now, we think that he has something to do with the dangers En‘che spoke of. ―While I had long ago learned to live with Nathan‘s strange ways, Hector hadn‘t known him as long and so had a harder time dealing with Nathan‘s eccentricities. Sometimes Nathan was very much like a child that must have whatever he sees for himself. For him, it was not enough just to discover and learn about a new place or culture, some part of him needed to own it. But, he was a dependable traveling partner for the most part, subdued and very careful, so I accepted his tendency to take our discoveries so personally as a lamentable but minor flaw in his character. Had I stopped to think that he could learn from the Nukego in the same way that I learned from En‘che, I might have been able to track him down and stop it before it was too late. Hector caught on much more quickly than I did. I suppose I just couldn‘t imagine that Nathan would end up being a partner in their scheming. ―Of course he did just that. We were able to track him for a while with the rumors En‘che had heard about the location of Nukego descendants and following word of Nathan‘s appearances. At some point he started picking up delinquents and wretches that had fallen on hard times. He changed them into thieves, arsonists, extortionists, what have you. I think he was experimenting in the beginning. Testing whatever power he learned from the Nukego. His victims were easy to identify. Almost everyone, criminals included, is driven to some extent by self-preservation. For these poor souls it no longer mattered. It was as if they were being forced to act out their crimes, whether or not it put their lives in danger.‖ Laney immediately turned to Conner, but she could not read his expression. He just sat and waited for Grandpa to continue. ―But they were just the beginning,‖ Conner said softly. ―Yes. After a while, he stopped. We lost track of him. I hoped he might have amassed enough wealth to satisfy himself. But now, it would appear that he turned his attention to larger goals. Hector tells me that Nathan has installed himself in a position of some power. He is in Brazil.‖

20

Chapter Three

Nathan Baile sat in an old claw-foot chair that he had positioned at the edge of a slightly raised stage at the far end of his receiving room. The walls and ceiling were white and sparsely decorated with a few simple wall hangings. There was only one visible exit, a pair of large, wooden doors at the opposite end of the room. Nathan himself used a separate portal, a small door at the back of the stage that was painted to match the walls and hidden from general view by his imposing chair. There were no windows. As he waited for his next appointment, alone in the large room, Nathan decided that he was satisfied with his work up to this point. Not that he was content, for he was not at all content. He had no intentions of sitting back and basking in his achievements. Not that he didn‘t occasionally take the time to enjoy the considerable advantages of his position—he just felt obligated to devote the vast majority of his time to the plans that would carry him ever forward and upward. The higher he climbed, the more difficult each ascent became. It had been all too easy at the beginning, befriending ignorant minor officials and deceiving them into accepting Benedict‘s ―gift.‖ Then all he had to do was wait a matter of days or weeks, until he could stand up and expose the atrocious things they had done in the meantime. Invariably, the offender was removed from office and jailed or assassinated. And each time, Nathan Baile was asked to fill the vacant seat, working his way up the chain of power and finally moving into the mayor‘s. He was acutely aware of the irony that he, a political savior, really only cast out demons of his own creation or, more precisely, cast out the same pet demon over and over again. It was an old trick, and it tickled Nathan to think of it that way. On the other hand, it was sobering to know that the people of his ward kept pictures of him in their homes, most of them clipped from salvaged newspapers. He had won the love of thousands as a crusader for morality in a world gone to hell. They would probably do whatever he asked, with or without Benedict‘s ―gift.‖ Things were really beginning to take shape. Magrado was his, to do with as he pleased. And now, it was time for another sacrifice. The chief of police, though he had not outlived his usefulness, had become too potentially dangerous to be allowed to live. Nathan had turned him over to Benedict quite some time ago, while the previous mayor was still in office, so that Nathan himself would not be associated and therefore held responsible for the chief‘s transgressions. As planned, the chief was now seen as an enemy of the people. He was cruel, greedy and without conscience. He was also surrounded by a handful of officers who had not needed any pushing to be almost as malicious and self-serving as their leader. Although he would not enjoy it, Nathan did not lament the fact that those men would die as well. If anything, they were even more evil than the helpless chief, for they chose to be cruel. The chief was powerless to stop the things Benedict forced him to do. Three sharp knocks sounded, and then Nathan‘s assistant, Ramón, opened the door on the other end of the large room. He poked only his round, dark face in to announce that the chief and his lieutenants had arrived. Nathan thanked the young man and told him to send them right in. Six men in uniform filed through the double doors, their chief stepping in last. Ramón pulled the doors shut behind them. Because Nathan had demanded that all of the chairs be removed from the 21

receiving room--except of course for the one in which he rested--the six men were forced to stand before him, and slightly below, as the dais was raised a foot and a half above floor level. Nathan crossed one long, thin leg over the other and folded his hands on a knee. With his flawless gray suit and suntanned skin, Nathan looked more like a gracefully aging film star than anything else. ―Good afternoon, gentlemen,‖ he said in his smooth, clear voice. ―I‘m glad you were all able to make it.‖ ―It is always an honor to be called upon, senhor Baile. We all like to be useful.‖ The chief smiled weakly and among his men Nathan heard a few low chuckles. He was suddenly overwhelmed with disgust for the animals before him. The chief in particular, with his soft, sweating face, bore a striking resemblance to the large garden toads native to the area. ―Chefe, there are to be some executions. There are, among those in our police force, a small number of individuals who do not quite understand what this administration is trying to achieve. I fear there is no other way to deal with the problem.‖ Nathan watched the chief‘s expression as he made his own guesses as to the identities of the unlucky few. His officers shared a communal self-important smirk. ―We‘re the men for it, senhor.‖ ―So you are,‖ Nathan replied softly, saddened despite himself. He never would be comfortable with the crude ignorance of the wretches with whom he was forced to associate. ―We shall go apprehend these unfortunates immediately, eh?‖ ―No, chefe, they are already detained.‖ ―Ah, excelente. When will they be executed?‖ ―Tomorrow at midday.‖ ―We will be there, senhor,‖ the chief assured him, rubbing sweaty palms across his uniform. ―Wonderful. You may be on your way, gentlemen.‖ ―Thank you, senhor.‖ As they turned toward the doors, a dozen armed guards wearing drab green fatigues burst through and quickly restrained the surprised officers and their chief. Faces fell as realization dawned individually. ―Midday, gentlemen.‖ With a nod, Nathan dismissed the guards. They led the policemen away without a struggle. Nathan knew that he needn‘t have gone to the trouble of arranging a meeting with the doomed men, but he‘d always tended toward the dramatic. Also, he found it helpful to provide one‘s inferiors with a physical representation of the way in which one deals with undesirables -- face-to-face, as men. He hoped his staff would be intelligent enough to grasp that such a man should be respected and admired. Had he merely arranged for the officers to be gunned down in the street, why, that wouldn‘t prove much at all, now would it? Now it was time to move on to the next task. With the present chefe to be hanged tomorrow, a suitable replacement must be found. Nathan had been grooming a young officer by the name of Lucian for several months. Lucian came to him only days after he took office and begged him to remove the chief, detailing the horrors that had been inflicted upon civilians in his care. Over the following weeks, Nathan convinced Lucian that he was conducting an investigation in order that the chief might be brought to justice. 22

Since then, he led the boy to believe that they were, in fact, trusting confidants who might together make a lasting difference in the ward. It was time to reap the devotion that he had sown in the youth‘s mind. For now, Nathan was confident that he could manipulate the young man without Benedict‘s influence.

***

―Lucian,‖ Nathan began quietly, ―there is something I must tell you.‖ He stood, looking down at the younger man seated on a stone bench. Nathan had elected to meet with Lucian in the private garden adjacent to his living chambers. He paced across the narrow path of polished river stones that wound along in front of the bench and then stepped into the closely cropped grass. After pausing a moment to take in the scent of the orange tree there, he turned and walked back toward the youth. ―What is it, Nathan? What‘s the matter?‖ Lucian asked, obviously concerned. ―I have had the chief and his gang of brutes arrested.‖ ―That‘s great news! What‘s going to happen now?‖ ―Well, the six of them have been sentenced to death. They will hang tomorrow at noon,‖ Nathan watched Lucian‘s face closely. The younger man had visibly flinched at the mention of the executions, but he recovered quickly. ―They are all murderers. It is only right that they should lose their lives as well,‖ Lucian said, slowly. ―That was my thought also. I have come to another decision as well, Lucian.‖ Nathan sat down next to him and held his gaze for a moment before speaking. ―I want you to take over as the chief of police.‖ It was Lucian‘s turn to stand. He jumped off of the bench and began pacing back and forth in agitation, stones crunching underfoot. ―I don‘t know if that‘s a very good idea, Nathan...‖ ―Of course it is! Who else can I trust to protect the people? I know of no one. It must be you, Lucian. You are a good man, and capable. I have every faith in you.‖ Nathan rose and placed his hands on the younger man‘s shoulders. ―Lucian, I need you now.‖ ―Nathan, I...‖ ―You accept?‖ ―Yes. I accept,‖ he said with a sigh, his eyes on the stony path. ―Wonderful! I knew you wouldn‘t disappoint me! We will announce your appointment tomorrow after the hangings. The people need to be reassured that the police will no longer be something to be feared. Congratulations, Lucian.‖ ―Thank you. I‘ll do my best.‖ ―I know you will, son.‖ After Lucian left, Nathan took off his suit jacket and, using it as a pillow, stretched out on his back across the garden bench. He stared up at the stiff fronds of the palm that shaded most of the bench. Sunlight shot through in white flashes as the breeze shifted the fronds back and forth. At his feet, a young lemon tree drew butterflies. How I wish I could stay here, just like this, until it is all over, he thought, closing his eyes to the warm sun. How I wish it didn‟t all depend on me, me, me. You think these things on purpose, Benedict hissed into his mind, to taunt me with 23

my dependence on you and your mortal form. You enjoy this business as much as I would have, when I was alive. Nathan smiled to himself in the shade. It was true. He drew a certain amount of twisted amusement from their arrangement. Benedict was the perfect partner in crime. He could see all the angles—and claim none of the spoils.

24

Chapter Four

―I‘m coming with you, and that‘s final.‖ Conner hadn‘t heard Laney use her ice-queen voice since he first came into Tuttle‘s shop. Its effect was not at all diminished; he actually shuddered a little despite the fact that her words were not directed at him. ―I can‘t let you do that, Laney. It will definitely be dangerous. I won‘t allow you to take that kind of risk.‖ Tuttle had been trying to avoid this argument by reasoning with his granddaughter. She was having none of it. ―I didn‘t ask you to let me go. I didn‘t ask if you would allow it. I am telling you that I am going. That‘s all there is to it. I‘m nearly twenty-five years old and I‘ll go anywhere I damn well please.‖ To be honest, Conner rather hoped she would come along. Not only had he grown attached to her as one of the closest friends he‘d had since school, it was becoming harder and harder not to admit that there was something else between them. There were times he thought that she must surely feel it too, that tingly fluttering that closed his throat sometimes when he tried to talk to her. If she did, she hid it very well. Conner and Tuttle had been busy stuffing their bags into Tuttle‘s old Mercury when Laney appeared with her own gear and the argument started. In an attempt to discourage her further, Tuttle slammed the trunk closed before she could throw in her bags. Though the gray town car was parked in an alley behind the shop that allowed only minimal maneuvering on either side, Laney managed to wriggle into the back seat with her pack on her back. ―Plenty of room back here,‖ she shouted, grinning smugly. Tuttle had to bend at the waist to peer into the backseat at his granddaughter. Then he stood and looked at Conner. Not wanting to get involved, Conner tried to keep his mouth shut, tried to deny the urge to tell Tuttle what he was thinking. ―She has to come.‖ ―What‘s that, son?‖ ―Laney has to come. I don‘t know why. But…I know we need her somehow.‖ Conner waited, cringing, for Tuttle‘s response. But the big man just lifted his great shoulders in a slight shrug and scrunched his way into the driver‘s seat. Conner slid into the seat next to him. Tuttle put his arm around the back of Conner‘s seat and turned to look out the back window. He backed the square sedan out into the street and headed for the highway. It was a silent car ride. Neither Tuttle nor Laney spoke the entire way to the airport except for the one time Tuttle asked Conner if he was cool enough. ―Yes, I‘m fine, thank you,‖ Conner said, watching Laney in the side mirror. She was leaning against the window behind him, her right temple pressed to the glass. At that moment, in the flat light of late afternoon, she looked very fragile to Conner. The reflection of her light skin and short dark hair reduced her to a black and white sketch. He imagined the slightest breeze could tear her away like a loose piece of paper. The image startled him, because he had always thought of her as tougher than him, especially when she stood up for herself as she had in the alley. It was confusing to see her look so passive and defenseless now. He watched her reflection in the small mirror until she pulled away from the window and lay down on the back seat, her pack under her head like a pillow. Conner wished that he felt strong enough to protect her—instead, he 25

sensed he was the one putting her at risk. The only reason he had been able to adapt so quickly to his new role as a Judge was because he didn‘t have anything worth holding on to. Her presence changed everything.

***

It took just under an hour to get to the international airport in Miami. After they claimed their tickets and checked their baggage, the three of them made their way down to their designated gate. A short, dark-skinned man stood under the 28A sign, leaning against a column with a small bag at his feet. His hair was completely silver, as was his neat moustache. The moustache looked fake, as if it had been glued to a younger man‘s upper lip. Tuttle walked right up to the man and clapped him on the back. ―Ha! You beat us here!‖ the big man boomed. His friend smiled and said something Conner couldn‘t hear over Tuttle‘s laughter. ―That‘s Hector,‖ Laney told him. She stood next to Conner; the two of them watching the older men exchange pleasantries. ―I should have figured he‘d be coming along.‖ By the time Tuttle had gotten around to introducing Conner, it was time to board. His was an aisle seat next to Laney. Tuttle sat directly across from them. After the final boarding call, Hector appeared from somewhere nearer the front of the plane and spoke to Tuttle briefly. Then Tuttle unfastened his seatbelt and followed Hector back down the aisle. ―There must be an empty seat up there where Hector is,‖ Laney said. ―Now they can spend the whole flight gabbing. They‘re worse than a couple of old women.‖ Conner laughed and shook his head. ―They haven‘t seen each other in years! Give the guys a break.‖ ―Yeah, I know. It‘s just Grandpa‘s really starting to get on my nerves with his whole yee-haw-I‘m-a-cowboy-again routine. He‘s an old man, and he‘s telling me I shouldn‘t have come because it might be dangerous? Just wait until he breaks a hip out in some jungle somewhere. Then we‘ll see what‘s too dangerous for who.‖ She pulled her knees up against the seat in front of her and crossed her arms around them. ―I don‘t think we‘ll have to worry about your grandfather breaking a hip anytime soon,‖ Conner replied, suddenly very aware of her physical proximity. He leaned into the armrest that separated their seats until he could feel the warmth of her body on his bare forearm. He dared not touch her, not in her current mood. So instead, he pressed his head back against his seat and settled in as if to sleep, his face turned toward her, inches from her hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled as quietly as possible, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. He decided to stay that way for as long as he could, maybe even until they landed. Unfortunately, Conner hadn‘t really understood just how long their international flight would be. He awoke to a faint tickling sensation from his chin to his chest. As he blinked himself back into reality, he realized that Laney had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, and it was her hair against his neck that woke him. He reached up with one hand to make sure that he hadn‘t drooled down the side of her head and then pulled away slowly, trying not to wake her. He needn‘t have worried. She was sleeping deeply, still curled into a near fetal position, and didn‘t seem to mind at all when he shifted her upper body so that she leaned 26

against the window. His elbow throbbed where the joint had been digging into the armrest while he was asleep. His watch said a quarter to midnight, which meant they‘d been in the air for a little more than three hours. The flight from Miami to Belém was just over eight hours altogether. Outside the window, beyond Laney‘s sleeping form, it was only black. There were no stars above and no city lights below. The only proof that they were not flying through a void were the clouds that occasionally lit up beneath the plane‘s running lights. Conner glanced around the cabin. Most of the other passengers were asleep. A few people had switched their reading lights on. Conner decided to go see if Tuttle and Hector were still awake. He crept down the aisle, glancing into the rows of passengers as he went. He finally found them just a few rows behind first class. They had a map spread out between them. ―What‘s up, fellas?‖ Conner whispered, squatting in the aisle next to Tuttle‘s seat. ―Going over travel plans. We‘re still a few days away, at the very least.‖ Tuttle rubbed a massive hand over his furred jaw as Hector traced a route on the map with one short finger. ―After we land, it would be best to find a flight out to Altamira,‖ the smaller man said, jabbing at a spot on the map. ―It would probably take us a day, maybe a day and a half to drive. Once we get there, our only option is to then take the supply route into Magrado.‖ ―What‘s Magrado?‖ Conner asked, suddenly aware that he had little to no idea what exactly this trip would entail. He had thought of it in embarrassingly simple terms: fly down to Brazil, find the bad guy. Piece of cake--that was his job, never mind the fact that Brazil is practically the same size as the U.S. and covered in jungle. ―Magrado is the town where Nathan has set up shop. There is only one road in and out, which is used primarily for getting supplies in and the occasional truck of goods out.‖ ―Which means there‘s little hope of arriving unannounced,‖ Tuttle muttered. After he folded the map back into its original shape, he reached up and switched off the small reading light above his head. ―Okay son, time to get some sleep. We will have a long, busy day tomorrow.‖ The old man crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, so Conner struggled to his feet and headed back to his seat. Laney appeared to be in the same position in which he had left her. He wondered how she slept so soundly despite the fact that she seemed to be more worked up about this trip than he was. He settled into his seat and pictured the path that Hector had traced on the map. They were actually headed into the jungle. For some reason, that fact refused to sink in. The rain forest. Just like in the movies. Conner Browning was on a plane to Brazil to track down a madman in the rainforest. He still didn‘t believe it.

***

By the time they de-boarded in Belém it was seven-thirty in the morning, local time. To Conner‘s internal clock, however, it was only five-thirty. They made their way groggily toward Ticket Sales. While Tuttle spoke to the attendant about flights to 27

Altamira, Hector handed both Laney and Conner a small stack of bills. Another aspect of the trip he hadn‘t even thought about. Conner inspected the foreign currency which Hector informed him was Brazilian real. They stood in a carpeted waiting area, half- watching the muted soccer game on the television that was mounted on a wall above a brochure rack. Tuttle returned all too quickly. ―Apparently there are regularly scheduled daily flights into Altamira, at seven in the morning. She says the flight takes about an hour and fifteen minutes. So we missed today‘s flight, but we can be in Altamira by eight or eight-thirty tomorrow morning.‖ ―What are we going to do for the next twenty-four hours?‖ Conner asked, eyeing the rows of colorful, glossy brochures. It occurred to him that it should seem absurd to think about sightseeing on this trip, but it didn‘t. It seemed to him the natural response; as if he had convinced himself that they were just on vacation. ―Well, first we should get something to eat,‖ Laney said. She hoisted her pack from the floor and strapped it back on. ―Good idea, I‘m with you.‖ Conner‘s stomach responded immediately to the thought of breakfast. After consulting the giant glowing map of the city that hung beside the taxi service kiosk, Laney told them that they would be taking the VER-O-PESO bus line to the waterfront market. Half an hour later they stepped off of the bus and into the morning chaos of the street. The bus dropped them off a few blocks away from the market, but they could already hear the cries of vendors and the lower roar of the crowd of shoppers. As they drew nearer to the noise they passed by children and women sitting on the ground, blankets spread out before them displaying clay bowls of eggs and dried fish, lengths of rope and piles of gourds. As they entered into heavier foot traffic, the smell of cooking meat caught Conner‘s attention and he peeled off from the group to make a beeline for the source of the familiar aroma. He approached the flimsy stall and the young woman working the grill called to him in another language. She held out to him what at first looked like a raggedy excuse for a corndog, but was in reality a small fish that was skewered, breaded from tooth to tail, and fried. He shook his head ‗no‘ to the fish and pointed at a stack of sandwiches that sat on a braided grass placemat to her left and then to the small tub of ice and water that contained brightly colored cans of soda. He had no idea how much the meal cost, so he held out a few bills. The young woman smiled and took two of them and then turned her back on Conner in order to attend to the grill. With what he told himself must be ham and cheese in hand, he returned to the thoroughfare to find that Tuttle and Hector had also gone in their own direction. Laney stood in the shade of a basket- maker‘s awning--a frayed and faded blue plastic tarp--and grappled with a large, greenish fruit that Conner had never seen before. ―Hey, what‘s that?‖ He motioned to her fragrant breakfast with a bright yellow and green can of guaraná soda. ―It‘s bacuri. Hector says it‘s kind of citrusy, but I can‘t get through the skin. Here, hold this for a second.‖ Laney held out her softball-sized fruit to him with one hand as she tried to swing her pack around with the other. Conner held his paper- wrapped sandwich between his teeth to free up a hand and took the bacuri from her. Now able to work with both hands, Laney began digging through her pack, presumably trying to find something useful with which to pry open her breakfast. Out of the corner of his eye, Conner caught a glint of metal and turned to find an unfamiliar face 28

uncomfortably close to his own. Even less comfortable was the fact of the eight inch blade held aloft in front of his dark features. Conner immediately broke out into a cold sweat. ―Eh?‖ The stranger nodded at the bacuri, obviously asking Conner to hand it over. Conner offered up the fruit and watched as the newcomer skewered it on his knife. With a quick turn of his wrist, the man sliced into the green hide and popped it open into two halves, exposing the soft white meat inside. He then handed the fruit back to Conner. ―Shanksh,‖ Conner responded, hoping that his mouthful of breakfast sandwich would conceal both the relief and the slight quaver in his voice. The stranger showed a gap-toothed smile and walked away, wiping his knife on his shorts. ―Check your pockets,‖ Laney said in a low voice, retrieving the bacuri. She was speaking to Conner, but her eyes were on the milling crowd of shoppers. Conner removed the sandwich from his mouth with one hand and began patting himself down with the other. ―Do you really think he took my...yeah. It‘s gone.‖ ―What‘d he get?‖ ―All my cash.‖ ―Wallet?‖ ―No. That‘s in my pack, safe and sound with my socks. I had the money in my back pocket.‖ Conner felt like a fool, he hadn‘t felt a thing. ―I‘ve never been pick-pocketed before,‖ he said, ―he was very good.‖ ―We were lucky. I bet that knife is good for more than opening bacuri.‖ Laney pitched the two halves of the rind onto a pile of garbage that heaped up around an overflowing bin. Conner rolled his sandwich wrapper into a ball and missed the can completely. He gulped down half his meal hungrily, watching Laney as she peeled off a section of her own breakfast and popped it into her mouth. They stepped back out into the sunshine to look for Tuttle and Hector. ―Well, I‘m sure if he meant us any harm my super do-gooder reflexes would have kicked in and saved the day,‖ Conner said, finishing off his sandwich. The incident made him wonder again about his new ―gift‖. An armed criminal had just made off with all of his local currency, and he hadn‘t heard a peep from the voice in his head. He didn‘t even know the man was there until he was close enough to gut them both. Some great power he had, if he couldn‘t even protect Laney or himself from common thieves. His brooding was cut short as Laney grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled. ―Come on!‖ She threaded her way between shoppers and vendors toward some unseen destination, dragging Conner along behind her. Colors, smells and voices seemed to come at him from every side, battling for his attention. He clumsily dodged a small boy carrying a wooden crate of chickens and then stumbled into a parked bicycle in front of a tent that smelled of roasted nuts. ―Watch where you‘re walking,‖ Laney ordered. His shins throbbed where he had barked them on the metal pedal and chain of the bike. Craning his neck, Conner strained to see where they were headed. Up ahead, Tuttle towered over the rest of the crowd, his white hair glowing in the morning sun. He was no longer wearing the canvas bush hat he had sported since leaving the shop. As he and Laney drew closer, Conner could see that Hector stood by his side, speaking with the elderly female proprietor of an archipelago of folding tables, each one laden with glass jars, dried roots and what looked to be small bits of bone. 29

―Now I wish I had paid more attention in Spanish class,‖ Conner said as they sidled up to the rest of their party. ―Portuguese,‖ Laney responded. ―What?‖ ―They speak Portuguese in Brazil, not Spanish.‖ ―Oh. Well, then never mind.‖ Conner stared the contents of the jar table with curiosity. Each jar was filled with a clear liquid and something else. Some of them reminded him of the preserved shark-in- a-bottle he bought on a childhood vacation to the beach. ―What are those?‖ He pointed and nudged Hector. ―That is the penis of the pink river dolphin. It is very strong magic.‖ Conner squinted at the jar for a moment and then hurriedly moved along. He went down the row of specimens, eyeing each jar until one eyed him back. Stiffening and glancing around to make sure no one had seen him jump; Conner leaned in to get a closer look. Two giant eyeballs rested at the bottom of one of the jars. ―Whoa! What did these come out of?‖ ―Water buffalo. Don‘t touch them,‖ Hector answered sternly, turning to continue his conversation with the old woman. Conner lowered his outstretched hand and tried to ignore a strong urge to shake the jar like a snow globe and watch the two orbs spin and float. ―So this stuff is supposed to be magic?‖ He asked. ―Yes. Now will you please be quiet?‖ The exasperation in Hector‘s voice cowed him. He stepped away from the table and sullenly finished his soda. ―Oh stop pouting,‖ Laney said, moving closer to him. ―They‘re just trying to get some information. Grandpa says the potion lady told Hector that one of the other merchants flies back and forth to market in his own plane, and that sometimes he takes passengers for a fee.‖ ―But I thought we were going to leave tomorrow morning anyway. What‘s the difference of a few hours?‖ ―I don‘t know for sure. Maybe lives. Grandpa and Hector sure want to get out there as soon as possible, and I guess a lot of people from the market start to leave at noon, so we could get to Altamira with time to find a ride toward Magrado. Grandpa‘s afraid that if we wait for the seven o‘clock plane we won‘t be able to track down a driver before they all head out for the day.‖ ―Well, I guess that makes sense,‖ Conner conceded. ―So glad you agree. Uh-oh. Looks like the old guys are on the move again. Let‘s go.‖ Laney reached for his shirtfront, but he dodged out of the way this time. ―Don‘t worry, I‘ll keep up.‖

***

Their next stop was very different from the ramshackle booths and stands now behind them. The road grew wider, traffic lighter. One side of the street opened onto the docks and the water. Many of the fishermen were already leaving, their daily catch sold. The other side of the road was lined with large tents and huts. Inside these relatively upscale joints merchants sold sculptures of mahogany and teak, elaborate ruffled gowns in every color, parrots in cages and handmade jewelry. 30

―Souvenir shops,‖ he whispered to Laney as they trailed Tuttle and Hector. ―Yeah, looks like this is where they keep the high-end merchandise.‖ Up ahead, the two older men ducked into a bamboo structure with a thatched roof. As Conner and Laney approached the large hut, he could see that it only had three exterior walls, the side facing the street being completely open but for some mosquito netting draped curtain-like from the rafters. Conner pulled back a handful of the netting and waited to follow Laney into the shop. Inside, the floor was made of packed earth. Wooden tables and shelves took up the majority of the room. On display everywhere were bowls, vases, platters, serving ware and chests of various sizes and shapes. Each and every item, however, was made of wood and polished to a high shine. ―Beautiful, aren‘t they?‖ Tuttle turned a large decorative bowl in his hands. ―They really are,‖ Conner said, running a finger along the edge of an oblong cutting board. ―Smooth as glass.‖ ―They are all of kingwood,‖ a gravelly voice stated from the back of the hut. A portly figure appeared from behind a small partition. The man was nearly as tall as Conner and almost completely bald. His full brown beard was streaked with silver at the corners of his mouth and curled at the edges. ―The wood is so named because it has always been prized by royalty for its beauty,‖ he continued, stepping up to Tuttle. Tuttle carefully placed the bowl he had been inspecting back on its shelf and offered his hand to the stranger. ―Ian Tuttle.‖ ―Noah Richardson, pleasure to meet you.‖ Richardson shook Tuttle‘s hand and then glanced at the other faces in the room. ―How do you do?‖ he asked Laney, making a slight bow before repeating the question to both Conner and Hector. Then he turned back to Tuttle. ―What can I do for you, sir?‖ ―We have an urgent desire to make Altamira by this afternoon,‖ Tuttle replied, not taking his eyes off Richardson. ―Ah. Someone told you about the plane. Well, it is true that I do occasionally accept passengers...‖ ―No!‖ Conner didn‘t know that he had something to say until after he closed his mouth. Startled by his own outburst, he felt hot blood rush to his face. Tuttle turned to see what was the matter. ―Son?‖ ―We can‘t...accept,‖ Conner gulped, wondering why in the world he said it. Hector took a few quick steps toward him and then stopped, looked at Tuttle. The tense silence lasted several seconds, until Tuttle excused them and motioned for Conner to step outside of the shop. ―We can‘t accept? The man hasn‘t even offered anything yet,‖ Tuttle whispered urgently. ―We can‘t get on his plane.‖ ―Why not?‖ ―I don‘t know, sir. But it would seem that it is not the right course.‖ Conner watched realization dawn in the older man‗s eyes. ―Oh. I see.‖ The two of them passed back through the mosquito netting and into the shop. 31

―Thank you, Mr. Richardson, but it looks as though we will be taking the long way to Altamira. My friend here is apparently deathly afraid of flying and it simply would not do for him to arrive in Altamira in anything other than pristine condition,‖ Tuttle told the shopkeeper. ―So sorry to have taken your time.‖ The four of them filed back out into the street and headed back toward the bustle of the main thoroughfare. Conner felt something on his arm and looked down to see Laney‘s hand gripping his elbow. She studied his face. ―Someone‘s pushing you around again,‖ she said softly. She almost sounded angry. Conner tried very hard to thoughtful, to give the impression that he was actively engaged in his own destiny. It was a difficult task with Laney on his arm. He felt more like whistling, though it would have been more difficult than usual given the amount of sweat pouring down his face. ―Everyone will be packing up soon,‖ Hector announced. ―We should probably find a room for the night. It will soon be oppressively hot outside—even for a bunch of Floridians. I suggest a siesta.‖ ―A fine plan,‖ Tuttle rumbled. ―If I remember correctly, we passed several hotels on our ride toward the market.‖ By the time they made their way to the first hotel it was already moving from miserably hot to unbearable. The pavement itself seemed to steam under the equatorial noonday sun.

32

Chapter Five

Why can‟t I just talk to him? En‘che demanded of the cosmos. All of the time wasted in nudging and prodding Conner frustrated him. It would be so much easier, so much more efficient, if they could have a real conversation. Not to mention more personal, added Fim‘pa. Precisely! Laney is right, you know. The way we push the Judge around—it makes us into bullies, not guides! En‘che wished he had his body back. He longed to vent his aggravations aloud. Just to have a fist to slam into something in his anger… but then, there was nothing for a fist to hit here. Mi‟con… I wanted desperately for an ancestor‟s voice to talk to me when I was a Judge, En‘che admitted. We all did, Mi‘con replied. Then why don‟t we try? I don‟t know. Perhaps simply because no one ever has. It is not the way things are handled, young one. The new arrival pressed heavily on En‘che‘s consciousness. He imagined the unfamiliar presence as an enormously fat chieftain he had settled several quarrels for in life. We are not kept here in the void that we might be friends to the Judges. We are here to make sure they follow the path we see for them, the old spirit grumbled. Besides, it may not even be possible to have any kind of two-way conversation with a human, even if he is a Judge. I know only one way to find out, En‘che thought. ***

Noah Richardson unconsciously smoothed his beard as he spoke into the phone in the back of his shop. It was not so much a nervous habit as a calming gesture. He was trying very hard not to lose his temper. Nathan Baile was not the kind of man with whom one could take the chance of giving offense. ―The boy just said the word, and Tuttle went along with it, Mr. Baile. I was under the impression that steps had been taken to ensure their plans included making use of my services.‖ ―Obviously there has been a change in plans. Nothing can be for certain now, not if the boy is following… well, he will most likely see through any trickery on our part, but that does not mean we will not continue to try, Mr. Richardson.‖ Noah was glad he had not been deemed important enough to know the reasons for the ―favors‖ he was called upon to provide. It made things easier to forget, to walk away from with minimal energy spent considering the ramifications. ―Of course not. What would you have me do?‖ Noah listened intently to his new instructions and hung up the phone. Then he slid open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his gun.

***

Laney insisted that Grandpa only rent one room, since they would be leaving first thing in the morning. Though she liked to think that his desire to book a second room for

33

her use was driven by a sense of modesty, to her it felt as if her grandfather was trying to separate her from the group. She wouldn‘t put it past him to slip out with Hector and Conner in order to leave her here in the ‗safety‘ of the city. That would be much harder to pull off if she was sleeping in a roll-out bed in the same room. Unfortunately, the sleeping part was not going so well. Hector‘s suggestion of a midday nap in the air-conditioned hotel had sounded glorious an hour ago when they were sweating in the sun, but now she lay in the dark room and listened to assorted snoring, unable to sleep. She was already sunburnt. It wasn‘t too bad, but they hadn‘t been out in the sun for much more than an hour. She fidgeted on the lumpy mattress for a bit and then decided to take a cool shower. She kept the water pressure at a minimum, not so much to spare her tender shoulders as to make sure she could hear any movement beyond the thin bathroom door. She half expected to find the room empty after she finished. Stepping out of the shower onto slick tiles, she steadied herself with one hand against the wall as she reached for a towel. After quickly drying her short hair, she wrapped it around her torso and poked her head around the door. They were still there, three sleeping lumps. She opened the door the rest of the way to get some air movement in the small, damp bathroom as she toweled herself dry. Suddenly, she realized that with only two changes of clothes and some extra socks she should probably put on the clothes she had worn this morning, the same outfit she wore when they got on the plane in Miami. As she gathered her shorts, top, bra and panties, she could feel the damp sweat in the fabric. Loathe to climb back into them now that she was cool and clean, she got an idea. Still wrapped in her towel, she tiptoed across the room toward the window. Beneath it, the air conditioner was running full blast, fluttering the ends of the heavy hotel curtains. Laney spread her clothes over the face of the air conditioner to dry and plopped down to wait in a small, stiff armchair in front of the cool blast. Tucking her towel tightly around her, she stretched her legs and put her feet up on the square end table that sat next to the couch where Conner was sleeping. He lay on his back with his head propped up on the arm of the couch. His face was turned away from her, toward the wall. Bored and deciding she wanted someone to talk to, Laney gave his makeshift pillow a kick. She heard him inhale sharply as he turned his head to face her. He blinked a few times and then rolled onto his side. ―What‘s up?‖ he asked groggily. ―Nothing. Can‘t sleep,‖ she whispered. ―Oh.‖ Conner clumsily pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes. ―Hey. You‘re not wearing any clothes,‖ he told her, glancing around the room. ―They‘re drying out,‖ she explained, pointing to the air conditioner. ―I decided to take a shower.‖ ―You‘re supposed to take your clothes off before you do that, you know.‖ ―Ha ha. I forgot to laugh. So do you want to do something?‖ ―What?‖ Suddenly Conner looked very nervous, which struck Laney as funny. ―Do you think that just because a girl in a towel asks you if you want to do something she‘s propositioning you?‖ She smiled at his discomfort. ―Me? No, I was just...maybe you should get dressed and we‘ll go to the lobby or something so we don‘t wake them up.‖ 34

Conner found his shoes next to the couch and shoved his feet in, hurriedly lacing up his new hiking boots. He scrambled to his feet and patted at his hair. ―In fact, I‘ll meet you down there.‖

***

Laney found Conner sitting at the bar in Rio Norte, the hotel restaurant. Guests sat at a handful of tables eating lunch. She took the stool next to him at the bar. ―Do you want something to drink?‖ he asked. There was a nearly empty pilsner glass in front of him ―Sure. What‘ve you got there?‖ ―Brahma. Brazilian beer. It‘s not bad.‖ ―I‘ll take one of those. Wait, you don‘t have any money, do you?‖ ―I charged it to the room. Two Brahma drafts, please.‖ The bartender brought their drinks right over; they were the only people at the bar. Laney took in the unfamiliar labels and signs, the expected soccer game on the bar TV. ―So what‘s your story, Laney?‖ Conner watched her over his glass as he took a long drink of his beer. ―My story?‖ She forced herself to meet his gaze and tried to look casual. ―Yeah. What‘s the matter with you? Why are you here? What are you looking for?‖ She didn‘t know what to think about Conner, acting the way he was. Not that she really knew what to think about him the rest of the time. In her mind, he was strangely fragmented. Because of their closeness in age he had become a friend, an ally against Grandpa and Hector. His gift made him an object of respect and maybe even a little jealousy. His strange apathy about his own situation infuriated her. The attention he paid her made her feel powerful. But the Conner that demanded answers of her was a new one, and it confused her. She liked him better flustered. ―You told me once that you had a quest of your own. I‘d like to know what it is.‖ ―You‘re looking at it.‖ ―Sorry… where?‖ Conner cast his eyes around the small bar dramatically. ―Don‘t be an ass. My quest was to get out of that shop and make a difference in the world.‖ She pretended to focus on the soccer game, hoping he would drop the subject. ―So what you‘re saying is…,‖ he paused and sipped his beer, the sweat on the bottle catching the bar lights and flaring from green to red in the corner of Laney‘s field of vision. ―…you‘ve been waiting for me.‖ ―I‘ve been waiting for the man or woman who would take up the quest my grandfather told me about. The fact that it wound up being you is coincidental. And mildly disappointing,‖ she snapped. ―Touché.‖ Conner smiled irritatingly at his beer, looking for all the world as if he had just proven something. ―Don‘t do that, Conner.‖ ―Do what, Laney?‖ he asked with mock sympathy. ―Pretend that you know me. You don‘t know anything about me. All you know 35

is that you want to get in my pants and I won‘t let you.‖ She finished her Brahma, set the empty bottle onto the table and stood to leave. ―Oh come on, I was only teasing,‖ he said with the smile still on his face. ―Grow up, Conner.‖ Laney walked out of the bar and through the lobby. She didn‘t stop to consider where she was headed until she was outside in the muggy afternoon. It wouldn‘t have mattered; by the time she hit the sidewalk, Conner had caught up with her and was standing in the hotel doorway, calling her name. He was no longer smiling. ―Laney, wait...‖ ―Give it up, Conner.‖ She summoned up as much haughtiness as she could find and turned to stare him down, but he was no longer at the door. He was at her elbow, squinting into the sun and gripping her left arm. ―No time for that. You and I are going to go for a walk, Laney. Right now.‖ He was pulling her down the sidewalk, his eyes darting across the crowd. In a matter of seconds, Conner had slipped out of the role of a teasing youth and become an undeniable authority. It was more than Laney could handle. ―Conner, let go. You‘re hurting me. What‘s your problem?‖ ―What‘s going on?‖ she asked, scanning the streets for signs of danger. ―I don‘t know yet. We had to get away from the hotel as quickly as possible,‖ he replied. She let him lead her across the street, through an intersection clogged with people. On the other side, he released her arm and they ducked into a narrow dirt service lane behind a row of shops. It smelled of hot, rotting vegetables. Conner didn‘t slow down until Laney stopped moving. ―Do you have a plan?‖ she asked, after he turned to wait for her. ―Do I have a plan? Of course I don‘t have a plan. I don‘t know any more than you do about what‘s going on here. Only thing we can do is trust that whoever‘s leading me around will keep us safe.‖ ―What about Grandfather and Hector, are they okay?‖ ―I don‘t know,‖ he admitted. His shoulders slumped and he looked again like the boy Laney had met a few short weeks ago. ―I‘m sorry Laney, but I just don‘t know.‖

***

When Tuttle opened his eyes, it felt like the whole outside world kicked him in the head. His skull throbbed, especially near the crown, and the constant jerking and jolting wasn‘t helping things. So he closed his eyes again. He was in the back of a small delivery truck—that much he had gleaned from his short glimpse of his surroundings. There was no back door on the trailer. Instead, sunlight filtered through a net of thick straps meant to keep cargo from sliding out onto the road during travel. Bloody Hector, he thought, grimacing. Predictably, he was bound securely at the wrists and ankles. His knees were also lashed together, and it felt like a rope or cord had been fed through his bonds to limit his mobility even further. Tuttle was a man not easily surprised, but he had not suspected his partner. He had help, too. The big man from the market—Richardson—had held a gun on him. Then Hector brained him with what 36

looked like a damn caveman club. Not used to being unprepared, he felt foolish for not seeing all the angles before they were played. Conner warned them against dealing with Richardson and then immediately Hector recommended a hotel room. They were working together all along. Tuttle wondered where they were taking him. He assumed they planned to kill him, which meant they were after something else—Conner. He hadn‘t seen the boy or Laney during the short struggle in the hotel room, before the lights went out. Hopefully, they had made it out somehow. If anything has happened to my granddaughter, I will kill them both with my bare hands. He squirmed methodically in his restraints, but nothing budged. Hector made sure of that, he knew. All Tuttle could do now was wait and see what happened next.

***

Laney had started crying in the alley, as they watched Hector and Richardson carry Tuttle‘s inert form through the back door of the hotel lobby and throw him into the back of a large van. She was still crying as they made their way back to the room. She cried very quietly. ―Conner, why are we coming up here? We should go after them!‖ she hissed as he scanned the room for signs of movement. ―There‘s no way we could keep up with that truck on foot. Plus, we‘re going to need whatever supplies we have left. Most likely, they left your grandfather‘s knapsack here.‖ He spotted the bag leaning against the far wall, made his way across the room, and put it on his back. When he turned around, Laney was sitting on one of the beds with her face buried in her hands. Conner had never seen anyone cry without making a noise. It was exceptionally disturbing. ―Laney, look. We‘re going to find him. I‘m sure that my… guide will show me where we need to go, and we‘ll find him. It‘ll be okay.‖ Conner sat down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She didn‘t move. ―We have to go, Laney. I don‘t know if someone is going to come back here looking for us.‖ Her head snapped up, eyes red and angry. ―What the hell do you know, Conner? You don‘t know anything. All you know is that somebody‘s pulling your strings and you just hope to god they‘re steering you right. What‘s really sad is that you‘re our only chance.‖ She bit her lip and let her hands drop to her lap. ―I‘m sorry, Laney. We‘ll find him. I promise.‖ ―Don‘t promise. Let‘s just go.‖ ―Okay. Okay…we need to find a ride. There‘s gotta be somebody still at the market going that way. We‘ll just go ask everybody with access to a motor and wheels.‖ Laney looked at him for a moment. She appeared to be almost as surprised by his sudden usefulness as he was. ―You‘re right. It‘s worth a shot.‖ After three fruitless conversations in a mixture of broken English, Spanish and Portuguese, they found a driver getting ready to take his truckload of supplies to a logging camp in Magrado‘s general direction. So they sat on the front bumper of the old 37

machine and waited for him to finish rounding up the last of a very limp-looking flock of chickens. ―Cheaper at the end of the day,‖ he explained, tossing the last two birds in by hand. ―They spend too much time in the sun; they die in the truck on the way to where you‘re going. But my guys don‘t mind. We just cook them extra long.‖

38

Chapter Six

Nathan was in a murderous mood. Richardson called from the hotel to tell him that the young Judge and the girl were nowhere to be found. They were bringing Tuttle to him now, which was a fine start, but the fact that the others were still unaccounted for weighed on him. Benedict would not be happy. But then again, Benedict was rarely happy. They had been together for years, and Nathan understood him well. As a man, he had been consumed by his desire for power. It was the reason Benedict had become a Judge in the first place—only to realize too late that the Nanebo‘s magic had doomed him to a life spent in sacrifice for the ‗greater good.‘ I had the entire village slaughtered, Benedict told him. I didn‟t care what it took; I wanted the power that the Nanebo Judges held…the power to make people follow them unquestioningly. I watched the rite carefully, memorized it all. And then I had them killed, so that none could rise against me. As Benedict lay dying all those years ago, he had been afraid that the Nanebo would find him in the afterlife and take revenge on his spirit. But that wasn‘t what happened at all. He had not known then that, as a Judge, he would be forced into the role of an ancestor spirit. It was a singularly fitting hell for a man obsessed with power— alone, bodiless, floating in the void without the means to do anything. Ever. Until he learned to contact the living. At first, the pairings were clumsy, disappointing. Many of the men he chose to speak to were willing at first. They would eagerly take on the tasks he asked of them, until things became too complicated, or too bloody. Then he had to compel them. To make them obey. Most often, their weak minds snapped. The majority took their own lives. Benedict came to appreciate the Nanebo practice of the Judges—volunteers would embrace the opportunity they were given, whereas his recruits eventually cursed him. Some were proud enough to assume that he was one of their own personal demons, a being of their own creation. They didn‘t last long. It was not until his meeting with Nathan that Benedict found a suitable representative among men. But then, it only made sense. Nathan was a volunteer.

***

―You don‘t know what you‘re asking,‖ the old man told Nathan the night he met Benedict. ―Of course I do.‖ Nathan was having a hard time controlling his temper. These wrinkly old tribal wise men always wanted to tell you that you didn‘t know what you were doing. Like they knew everything, just because they were a hundred years old. And, as he said, Nathan knew exactly what he was asking the old man to do. He had been studying the Nanebo as long as anyone—including Tuttle. So it bothered him more than a little when En‘che, their ‗teacher‘ and the last real member of his once-proud tribe, shared the Judge rite with Tuttle alone. Rather than dwell on this disappointment, however, Nathan took things into his own hands. He found a Nukego. Nathan discovered the young man in a nearby ‗city‘ – no more than a collection 39

of shacks surrounding a handful of rundown factories. The boy had moved here from the village where he grew up to get a job in one of the factories making plastic zipper-pulls or something. When factory work turned out to be less than what he hoped, he began selling magical ‗favors‘ on the street to make money. ―Very strong magic,‖ he called to Nathan from his corner. ―You need a curse for your enemy? Luck for your family? Nukego magic is very strong! Give you power, give you love…‖ ―You are Nukego?‖ Nathan asked, approaching the young man. The youth pushed out his bony chest. ―I am. One of the last, is what they say. I am only learning to make magic, but my grandfather‘s brother has great power over the spirit world. Very strong magic, for a price.‖ ―That‘s wonderful.‖ Nathan grinned at the young man. ―Can you take me to him?‖ The youth‘s face fell slightly, unsure of himself now that his sales pitch was over. ―Yes…of course. I will take him to you now, if you like.‖ ―That would be ideal.‖ And so, he found himself sitting on the earthen floor of a dusty hut, trying—and so far succeeding, if only barely—to maintain a civil conversation with the old shaman. ―What I want you to do is very simple,‖ he explained, doing his best not to say it through clenched teeth. ―You will perform the rite of the new Judge over me, and you will not interfere with my own actions as you do it.‖ ―But no one has successfully performed a Judge rite for many generations. The last two attempts turned the subjects into madmen. There is something wrong with the magic. The only successful Nukego Judge was the first, and they say that he was barely sane himself.‖ ―Benedict.‖ Nathan said. ―Yes… that was what he called himself. How could you know that? Benedict has been dead for more than a century.‖ Nathan smiled as pleasantly as he was able. ―I know a great many things about your tribe‘s history, shaman. Now, I must insist that you perform the rite, or I will be forced to take my money with me when I leave. And perhaps something more, for the inconvenience.‖ He cast a meaningful look at the young man, who was sitting against the mud wall. To his credit, the old tribesman relented before Nathan had to get nasty. ―Very well. I will do as you wish. You risk your mind for this.‖ ―Just do it.‖ Nathan had no intention of allowing himself to be transformed into an unwilling vessel for good on earth. As the old Nukego man began his ceremony, Nathan deliberately kept his mind active, resisting the power of the herbs and smoke that pulled him toward unconsciousness. He focused on the sensations of his body—the feel of the rough mat under his bare arms, the air movement generated in the small hut by the shaman‘s gestures. He waited for some kind of a sign that it was working. Finally, he felt a tug, as if there were suddenly something very important that required all of his attention. He immediately focused on the presence in his mind. I am Nathan Baile, he thought. Who are you? My name is Benedict, the presence responded. I have been waiting for you. 40

Chapter Seven

Magrado had changed in many ways since Lucian was a child. He remembered running through the dirt streets in packs with the boys and girls of town. Those children were all grown up now, most with jobs and children of their own. Lucian knew them all. When he spoke to Ramón, who was now the mayor‘s office assistant, he saw a scrawny little boy just a few years younger than himself pulling a tired-looking black dog behind him on a leash made of a bit of fraying twine. In Lucian‘s father‘s time, Magrado was only a jungle village like so many others—brought into existence by a handful of growing families who banded together to find safety in numbers and proximity to water. The village grew as people from the coast travelled into the interior of the country looking for farmland, or for riches they could pluck from the jungle itself to sell to the outside world. Magrado became a supply outpost for the logging camps in particular, and began to scrape out a meager living by catering to them. Lucian was first made aware of the dangers of this relationship shortly after Nathan Baile had arrived in town. He had come to Magrado as all outsiders did, with the hope of making a profit off of the jungle. But as he began preparations to strike out on his final survey of the area, Nathan discovered an ugly truth about Magrado‘s single trucking business. The company—two men who had pooled their resources to purchase three old box trucks—had apparently been taking local girls into the logging camps as a part of their regular supply trips. The offending individuals were run out of town, and Nathan Baile split what everyone agreed was a fair price for the company‘s inventory and equipment among the girls‘ families. He then handed everything over to the town of Magrado. Trustees were selected to run the new Ministério do Transporte. They asked Nathan to become Magrado‘s first department diretor. Lucian‘s father used to talk about Diretor Baile constantly. ―He will clean up this mess that the outsiders have made of Magrado,‖ he told his son, his eyes bright with the hope for a better future. Around the time Lucian decided that he was going to become an officer of the law, there had been rumors that Nathan was being courted by some of the town officials to take over as the chefe da polícia. It never came to be—Lucian‘s understanding was that Nathan had refused the position because he lacked the experience he thought was necessary for the job. It was a disappointment for Lucian, who wanted very much to tell his father that he worked for the great Nathan Baile. As it stood, Lucian found himself a part of a fraternity of common thugs. Following the lead of its corrupt chefe, Magrado‘s police force had become little more than a street gang—beating townspeople who refused, or simply could not afford, to pay for their official proteção. ―Things would not be this way, if Nathan Baile ran this town,‖ Lucian‘s father said, looking out at the empty street in front of their cinder-block home. He did not live to see Nathan become the mayor of Magrado. But Lucian went to his father‘s grave the night of his inauguration and told him about the ceremony. He visited the spot again the day Nathan asked him to take over for the late chief of police. Lucian knew that his father would be proud, and he enjoyed their one-sided conversations now that there was good news to report. 41

―People still do not walk the streets after supper, pai,‖ he told the familiar headstone after his talk with Nathan. ―But they will again, soon. There are even more changes coming to Magrado. This time for the better.‖ He could feel it in his soul.

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Chapter Eight

Tuttle wasn‘t sure how long he‘d been riding in the back of the truck. He guessed it had been almost two full days. After he woke up the first time, he spent several futile hours struggling against his bonds, trying to escape. Then he decided that he would have a better chance if he rested as much as possible before they got to their destination. Maybe he could take them by surprise when they stopped to remove him from the truck. Wherever that might be.

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived in a small town. Tuttle watched the buildings go by through the netted door cover. He paid very close attention, orienting himself immediately, by habit. He wanted to be familiar enough with the town that he could find his way out by himself, should the opportunity present itself. Before long, the truck stopped. A young man, not much older than Conner, appeared on the other side of the cargo net. ―Mr. Tuttle?‖ ―You know it is.‖ ―My name is Lucian. I am the chief of police here in Magrado. Mr. Baile has asked me to meet you and to take you to your holding cell.‖ Richardson‘s bulk moved into his vision. Tuttle watched him unchain the heavy door covering. ―Where‘s Hector?‖ he asked as Richardson stepped to the other side of the opening. ―None of your business.‖ ―He‘s an old friend, you know,‖ Tuttle said, looking at Lucian as he spoke to the other man. Richardson snorted. ―Yeah. Well, with friends like that…‖ Tuttle said nothing as the bald man reached into the trailer and cut the rope that attached Tuttle‘s wrists to his ankles. His hands and feet remained bound, but now he could shuffle along, standing upright. Richardson, as the only man present who came near Tuttle in size, had to keep a hand under Tuttle‘s left arm to make sure he didn‘t fall over as they awkwardly made their way toward a low, square building. Lucian walked in front of them, and held the door into the empty prison after they made it across the packed-dirt road. ―Mr. Baile has asked that you wait here, for now. I believe he plans on coming to visit with you soon, at which point it is possible your quarters may be changed.‖ The young chief of police watched Richardson lead Tuttle into one of the four small concrete- block cells that formed the room. He shut and locked the barred door behind the older man before motioning to Tuttle to slide his hands and then his feet through the bars so that he could cut the rest of his bonds. Fully mobile for the first time in days, Tuttle stretched and then, rubbing his raw wrists, settled onto the simple bench built into one of the interior walls. Afternoon light filtered in through a small window cut high in the wall across from his seat. ―Is there anything I can get for you, in the meantime, Mr. Tuttle?‖ Lucian asked. ―Water. And aspirin, if you got it,‖ he replied, bending to inspect the rope burns on his ankles.

43

―Certainly.‖ Lucian‘s eyes lingered on Tuttle‘s wounds, and then snapped to Richardson‘s waiting form. ―I‘ll bring it myself. I‘m sure Mr. Baile will want to talk to you, Richardson.‖ ―Right.‖ Richardson looked almost nervous as he strode out of the prison building. Lucian nodded to Tuttle and then left, as well. Nathan‟s built himself a fully manned compound, here, Tuttle realized. He shut his eyes and eased his head back against the wall behind him. He didn‘t fool himself into thinking his captivity would be temporary, as Lucian had suggested. In fact, Tuttle was confident that Nathan would only let him out of his cage after he was dead.

***

―Hello, Ian.‖ Tuttle opened his eyes at the sound of a familiar voice. It was darker in his cell now. He hadn‘t planned on falling asleep, but he had been out for at least an hour—long enough for the sun to dip below the tree line. The breeze coming through the open door brought the scent of the cooling dust from the dirt road outside. ―I didn‘t expect to see you so soon, Nathan. I get the impression you‘re a very busy man these days.‖ ―Never too busy to make time for an old friend,‖ Nathan replied. Tuttle couldn‘t see his expression in the dim light, but he could hear the sneer in his voice. ―Old friends, that‘s right. Is Hector here, too?‖ ―Oh, no. He‘s gone out looking for your granddaughter and the young Judge.‖ Tuttle was at the bars in an instant, his arm thrust through up to the elbow, right hand clutching at Nathan‘s collar. Nathan stepped back, pulling the material from between the big man‘s fingers before he could get a good grip on him and laughing softly. ―It does my heart good to see you reduced to this, Ian. The last true adventurer, lashing out like a cornered animal. Did you think you could change things this late in the game? You‘ve always been a spectator. Just watching the world go by, taking a few notes and moving on. The great observer who scolded me for ‗getting involved‘ along the way. You didn‘t want to leave a mark on the places you‘d been or the people you‘d met. Such strange notions of cultural integrity. Well, allow me to grant you your wish. I‘m sure you know I didn‘t bring you all the way here just for old times‘ sake. You will die without having changed anything.‖ ―I found the Judge,‖ Tuttle heard the desperation in his own voice and was surprised. Nathan had hit a nerve. ―And you made sure that he was of no threat to me. Your little ritual has shackled him as effectively as your own outdated ideals. He can‘t do anything anymore. You took that away from him. He is nothing more than a puppet on a string.‖ ―What makes you think his power is any more limited than your own? You are meddling with the same magic, only with less understanding.‖ Tuttle watched Nathan literally throw his head back and laugh in response. ―You have no idea what a little meddling can accomplish, you old fool. I have all the perks and none of the drawbacks of the old line of Judges. I have the omniscient insight, the power to truly influence people…and retain my free will. I am no ancient spirit‘s puppet like the others. I cut the strings.‖ ―So when do you get to be a real boy?‖ 44

―Ha. Good to know you haven‘t lost your sense of humor along the way. There‘s no fairy in this story, Ian. I have things quite under control without her help…,‖ Nathan stopped suddenly and looked as if he were listening for something in the room. Tuttle hadn‘t seen anyone other than Nathan. ―What‘s wrong, old boy, voices in your head?‖ he asked, eyeing Nathan curiously. ―Only one,‖ he replied, his attention apparently returned to the prisoner in front of him. ―His name is Benedict. And he tells me that Hector is on the trail of Laney and her young friend. He says we can expect them by morning.‖ ―Earpiece,‖ Tuttle deduced. This Benedict must be in contact with Hector, too. ―No, you idiot. Benedict is an ancestor spirit, a one-time Judge. A voice in my head. He‘s the best intelligence operative a man can get.‖ ―That‘s… not the way it works.‖ Tuttle decided that his best chance was to keep Nathan talking as long as he could, in the hopes that Conner showed up sooner than Nathan expected. ―Of course not. It‘s just the way it works for me. All that meddling, you know. Never could just leave well enough alone, could I? Benedict and I collaborate as equals, not puppet-master and slave. Not like your boy Conner,‖ Nathan paused again, another smile on his face. ―You know what, Ian? I think I will let you live for a while. I think you should see what you‘ve done. I‘ll keep you around long enough to watch me destroy your precious Judge. Then you can rest assured that in all your years, you made absolutely no impact on this world.‖ Nathan turned on his heel and walked out into the dark night.

***

During the bumpy ride down the jungle road, the conversation that she had with Conner in the hotel bar wouldn‘t leave Laney‘s mind at peace. His comment about her own ‗quest‘ had rattled her more than she would have liked. Had she really spent all this time in her grandfather‘s store in South Florida waiting for him? Waiting for Conner Browning to show up and start her life? For a long time, Laney had believed that she could be the One that her grandfather told her about so many times. She had imagined the adventures and thrilled to the hope that she would be as brave as Grandpa Tuttle, on their exploits together. She moved on from her heroine fantasies and into a more self-critical adolescence a long time ago. But, those stories, along with the constant search for the new Judge, made up the strongest memories Laney had of her childhood. Her parents had divorced when she was still very young. The same year, her grandfather returned from his extended travels around the world. Laney‘s mother had never really known the man—he had been out adventuring as long as she could remember. But as a newly-single mother, she could not refuse his offer of free childcare. So Laney grew up in the store. She went there after school as a child and a teenager, and at some point began to work there as well, taking over many of the administrative responsibilities of the business. Lately, she had been taking courses at the local commuter college, and coming in on weekends to catch up on the paperwork she missed the week before. 45

She spent most of her life in that building just waiting. Her expectations changed over the years, especially once she began taking literature classes. She no longer thought that the person her grandfather was looking for would be some kind of a demigod. In fact, she hoped he would be an everyman, a commoner like herself. And so he was. She glanced at him quickly without turning her head. He sat on the torn plastic seat next to her in the truck, bouncing along in silence. She was torn between feeling bad for Conner, who had taken on a responsibility she couldn‘t begin to understand, despite her years of trying, and feeling bad for herself. Her grandfather was missing, possibly dead. And her only hope to find him—and to hold on to the one thing in her life that had ever meant anything—was a young man no more capable or less confused than she.

46

Chapter Nine

Laney hadn‘t spoken to him in hours. The last thing she‘d uttered was a curt thank-you to the truck driver who‘d given them a lift. Then she just clammed up. Conner contemplated crawling over the seat and riding in the back, under the tarp with the sacks of grain and caged chickens, rather than sit in the uncomfortably silent cab and wonder what Laney was thinking. But it had been raining harder during the morning, hard enough to make the painfully quiet, yet dry, ride the lesser of two evils. It was more of a mist than a rain now that the afternoon was turning toward evening. After several hours of walking—they said good-bye to the truck driver and the main road when Conner was ‗compelled‘ to cut south through the jungle—they now rested to one side of the wide path, or small road, that they were following. Laney sat with her back against one of the slender trees that edged the dirt path, facing away from him. Conner was frustrated almost to tears. He didn‘t know what to tell Laney that would make her feel any better. He didn‘t even know if they were headed after Tuttle or not. Laney was right. All he could do was walk in the direction he was pushed toward. And for a while it had been west. Now it was south. Not understanding what was happening to them was driving him crazy. This would all be so much easier if you would just talk to me, he thought. I agree completely. ―What?‖ Conner spun around, startling Laney, who looked him in the eye for the first time since they left Belém. ―What‘s wrong?‖ she asked, standing and scanning the jungle around them. ―Did you say something?‖ ―I just said ‗what‘s wrong‘ because you jumped up like somebody shot you.‖ ―Before that.‖ ―No….‖ Laney slid back down to the ground and settled against her tree. It was me, Conner. My name is En‟che. I know that name, Conner thought. En‟che was the old Judge, the one who told Tuttle to find his „blank slate‟. That‟s right. I‟ve been watching you, Conner. Guiding you. Trying to help as best I could. I‟m a new hand at this too, you know. Why haven‟t you been talking to me like this all along? Conner found he was more relieved than surprised to finally have the clarity of a conversation, rather than the sensation of merely feeling things pressed against his consciousness. Apparently, this isn‟t the way things are done. For some reason there is some kind of a taboo against speaking directly to humans. Seems that someone made a decision long ago that it was easier just to pull the strings and let the explanations wait for the afterlife. I am going against centuries of traditional practices by breaking down this wall. Especially considering who you are. Conner noticed that Laney was now watching him. He took a deep breath. ―He‘s talking to me. Really talking this time, not just pushing me to do things.‖ ―Who is?‖ She asked. ―En‘che.‖ Conner thought about what the old Judge had just said. What does that mean, considering „who I am‟?

47

You are not Nanebo. You are an American, from the other side of the world. There are many past Judges here who don‟t believe that I should be helping you at all. Well thank god you‟re not siding with them! You‟re not, right? Of course not. I will continue to guide you…explicitly, from now on. All the doubt and pain in your mind before... I thought you might give up. Walk away. I can‟t let that happen. You have to go to Magrado, find Nathan Baile and stop him. ―We have to find Tuttle! That‟s what‘s important right now!‖ Conner flinched at the sound of his own voice. Nathan has him imprisoned. I will lead you there. You must not fail, Conner. I know, Conner thought, watching Laney watching him. I won‟t.

***

Lucian held his breath until Nathan was out of sight. He was confused about what he had overheard. On his way back to the prison to bring Tuttle the water and aspirin he had requested, Lucian recognized Nathan‘s voice coming through the open door of the building. He had hesitated in the road, wondering if he should interrupt the conversation with his presence. Standing there, a few feet from the doorway, he could hear everything that Nathan and Tuttle said. And he didn‘t understand any of it. When he heard Nathan moving toward the door, Lucian immediately pressed himself to the wall of the building, still warm from the sunny afternoon. He wanted answers to some questions that Nathan would probably not appreciate, judging from the overheard conversation in the prison. The memory of what happened to the previous chief of police made him cautious of stepping on Nathan‘s toes. So he waited until he felt it was safe to come out of hiding and slipped into the prison building, making sure to shut the door behind him. Tuttle stood gripping the bars of his cell, watching Lucian silently. Cautiously, Lucian moved toward the much larger man and held out the small plastic bottle of pills. ―I brought you some aspirin, Mr. Tuttle,‖ he explained. ―Thank you,‖ Tuttle replied, shaking several into a beefy palm. ―Here, this too.‖ Lucian produced a water bottle from his jacket pocket and handed it through the bars. ―Guess I don‘t have to worry about it being poisoned,‖ he grumbled. Then he tossed the aspirin into his mouth and took a long drink. He drained the bottle, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at Lucian. ―Your boss isn‘t interested in being sneaky at this point.‖ ―So I hear,‖ Lucian replied, motioning toward the door with a small nod. ―He left the door open.‖ Tuttle looked him over again, ―Oh, I see. You heard us talking.‖ ―Yes. Though I must say, I didn‘t understand most of it.‖ Lucian walked back toward the door and picked up a folding chair that sat against the wall. He carried it over and sat down just on the other side of the bars, nearest the small bench in Tuttle‘s cell. ―Will you explain it to me?‖ he asked, gesturing to the bench. ―Sure. I can‘t see any reason why I shouldn‘t. In fact, someone needs to know the truth, in the event that Nathan succeeds in killing us all.‖ Tuttle sat, facing Lucian through the bars. ―Of course, if he finds out I‘ve told you, he may kill you, too.‖ 48

―Then I suggest we don‘t let him know.‖

***

There is a man coming for you. ―What? Who?‖ Conner was no longer surprised at the intrusion of En‘che‘s voice in his mind. As they walked, En‘che was bringing him up to speed on Tuttle‘s situation and providing directions to Magrado. After Conner and En‘che‘s first cerebral exchange, Laney had requested that Conner vocalize his responses, so that she would at least be privy to his end of the conversation. He still had to repeat most of what En‘che told him, but he didn‘t mind. He was just glad she was speaking to him again. ―What‘s going on?‖ she asked, coming up behind him to where he had stopped on the trail. ―What did he say?‖ ―That there‘s someone after us,‖ he told her, and then after a pause, ―En‘che says it‘s Hector. Wait, how did he find us? He can‘t have followed us from Belém; he had already left the city with Tuttle.‖ It would appear that you are not the only one receiving special guidance. I must find out what can be done about this... In the meantime, allow yourselves to be captured by Hector. It will be the easiest way to get you into a position to confront Nathan. I believe we may have an ally in Magrado who will prove very useful. Conner told Laney what En‘che had discovered. She listened quietly, occasionally glancing at the surrounding brush. ―How close is he?‖ she asked. He will be close enough to observe you soon, so you must act as if you are unaware of his presence. Keep moving in this direction. He will most likely wait until after dark to attack. ―Close,‖ Conner told her. ―From now on, we‘re clueless.‖ ―Got it.‖

*** Where did he come from? En‘che asked the circle of ancestor spirits that had made themselves known to him. How could such a thing as Benedict have existed all this time without one of us noticing? He never tried to contact us, I would suppose, Mi‘con answered hesitantly. If he never reached out to see who else occupied the void, we would not have known of his arrival among us. How is that possible? Did you not expect him? He was a Judge, he must have had a guide, so at least one of the ancestors would have known the moment he passed and waited for him to join the ranks! Who was his guide? En‘che put the question to the cosmos at large, and waited in silence for the answer. I was, came the eventual reply. En‘che felt a profound weariness in the unfamiliar consciousness. What happened? En‘che asked him. You mean, what chain of events led to the creation of the spirit you call Benedict? He calls himself Benedict. His name in life was Pok. 49

Nukego? Fim‘pa‘s surprise rippled through En‘che‘s perception. Yes, the old spirit answered, he was the first to steal a Judgeship, and the last to do so successfully, I believe. The first one, En‘che considered this for a moment before its full meaning hit him like a wave. He is the one from the legend, isn‟t he? The man who led the slaughter of the Nanebo village? He is. He killed an entire population so that he could take the power of the Judges. How upset he must have been to learn that a Judge gives up his own will in order to act out the will of the ancestors. Indeed. He tried hard to get away from me, the old spirit-guide admitted. I had to force him to do the smallest tasks. I waited for him to arrive when he died. But I was not upset when he never appeared. I thought that probably he was truly dead—his spirit gone—because he was not a true Nanebo Judge. The thought had occurred to me that your Conner was doomed to a similar fate. But Benedict was not gone, En‘che thought, he only turned his attention to those on earth instead. He had no use for the Nanebo‟s fraternity of ghosts, so he did not bother himself with it. And look at everything he has accomplished. It was Fim‘pa who broke the short silence. He has surpassed us all, she thought. He has been constantly active on earth since his death, using the powers granted ancestor-spirits for his own foul purposes. This is our failing, Mi‘con added. Such a thing should not have evaded us. We must correct our error, or it will not stop here. There are more than enough of us to be on the lookout for suspicious happenings on earth. We should all be observers, keeping watch over the living. Instead, we have allowed a handful to look in on a single Judge, and ignored the rest of the world. Not anymore, En‘che promised.

***

By the time Lucian left the prison building, he felt like his brain was about to burst. Tuttle had answered his questions about the mysterious conversation, but the old man‘s stories were difficult to swallow, despite the fact that they were corroborated by Nathan‘s own words. Lucian felt sick at the realization he was working with a monster. He wondered how many people had suffered or died at Nathan‘s hand, while he unknowingly aided a murderer. It would have been too much to bear, but Lucian quickly grabbed onto the one thought that would allow him to function. I have to do something. He left Tuttle with the assurance that he would find some way to free him. But first, Tuttle made him promise to find out where Conner and Laney were and protect them if possible. He agreed, and set out to find Nathan. Lucian made his way to the old courthouse, where Nathan had set up his living quarters as well as the large receiving room where he conducted his various ‗political affairs‘ which, before his conversation with Tuttle, Lucian had assumed were simple face-to-face meetings. The building itself looked different in the light of his new 50

understanding of Nathan‘s rise to power. His heartbeat quickened as he entered through the front door. Despite the fact that he had kept a small office here for the past few months, he felt he was in enemy territory. As if to confirm his fears, the brute Richardson appeared from around the hallway corner, headed straight at him. Lucian nodded in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner and moved to edge past the much larger man. ―He‘s not there,‖ Richardson announced without breaking stride. ―What?‖ Lucian turned around and hurried to catch up with him. ―Mr. Baile isn‘t there. Apparently he got word that Hector‘s on his way back with the kid and the girl. He‘s on his way to the lockdown.‖ ―You too?‖ ―I‘m taking a truck out to meet Hector, bring them in all the sooner.‖ ―If they‘re still outside of town, why is Nathan going to the jailhouse?‖ In response, Richardson slowed his pace slightly and shot Lucian a suspicious glance. ―Mr. Baile didn‘t feel the need to explain his actions to me. I‘d wager he‘s gone to take care of the old man before the real commotion begins.‖ Lucian broke into a full sprint toward the prison building, not caring whether Richardson chose to follow him or not. He didn‘t slow down until he stood outside the door, near the same place he stood earlier that evening, listening to Nathan and Tuttle‘s mysterious conversation. This time, however, the door was closed. Lucian stopped for a beat to compose himself, then opened the door casually and walked into the jail. Nathan had pulled the folding chair into the middle of the floor and sat, legs crossed at the knee, smiling in Lucian‘s direction. ―Ah! My young protégé! You‘re just in time.‖ ―I am?‖ ―Indeed. I was just telling Mr. Tuttle that we have apprehended his fellows. I had thought I would allow him to live long enough to see their arrival, but I‘ve decided against it,‖ Nathan said, turning to look at Tuttle where he stood in the middle of the holding cell. ―You tend to make Hector feel guilty for some reason, Ian. It upsets him. So I think I will remove you before he returns, to avoid any emotional issues.‖ Lucian could see Tuttle‘s jaw muscles working beneath his face as he clenched and ground his teeth. Tuttle didn‘t take his eyes off of Nathan. ―So go ahead,‖ Tuttle growled, moving toward the bars of his cell. ―Kill me. Do it already, you murdering bastard. Shoot me. Blow my head off.‖ He gripped the dull metal bars in giant hands and stared into Nathan‘s eyes. Lucian shivered. ―Such dramatics!‖ Nathan laughed. ―I‘m not the beast you make me out to be, Ian. It‘s been quite a long time since I‘ve killed anyone. A long time since I‘ve done it myself, that is.‖ Nathan pulled a gun out of a holster under his jacket. Lucian hadn‘t noticed it before. It was the same model he‘d given Lucian when he took over as chief of police. In fact, it was more than just the same model. ―Lucian…‖ ―What?‖ ―Take the gun, Lucian.‖ Nathan held the handgun at arm‘s length, the barrel facing the concrete floor. He motioned toward it with his other hand. 51

―Why do you have my gun?‖ Lucian unconsciously began stepping back and away from the man with the gun and the evil smirk. ―Because you‘re going to shoot Mr. Tuttle with it, Lucian.‖ ―No, I‘m not.‖ Nathan‘s face went perfectly blank in a heartbeat. At that moment, Lucian expected Nathan to shoot him where he stood. But he didn‘t. Instead, Lucian felt a strange prodding at the back of his mind. It took him a moment, but he connected the dots from previous conversations and realized what was happening. He shut his eyes and focused on his own being—feeling the floor pressing up against his shoes, the stillness of the air in the closed room. ―What are you doing, Lucian?‖ Nathan‘s voice dropped from its earlier playful tone to a chilling deadpan. ―Don‘t let him in, Lucian! You‘re strong enough to keep him out!‖ Tuttle said. ―Be quiet, Ian. Lucian, I asked you a question.‖ Lucian didn‘t open his eyes to look at Nathan. A part of him was afraid that if he did, the power that Nathan commanded would overtake him in an instant. Instead, he took a few deep breaths and concentrated on what it felt like to be inside himself. Alone. ―That‘s it, boy. He has no grip on you.‖ Lucian heard Tuttle‘s calm words as if he were standing next to him. ―I said shut up!‖ The gun blast echoed in the small concrete-block building and sent Lucian diving for the floor. He collided with another body on the way down. The shot had sent Nathan stumbling backward over the folding chair behind him. Lucian lashed out quickly, bringing the heel of his right hand down on top of Nathan‘s wrist. The gun skittered across the floor. Lucian was back on his feet immediately. Still fighting against Benedict‘s attempts, he bolted for the door, barely remembering to scoop up the gun on his way. Once it was in his hand, he turned and fired a shot. Suddenly, the push against his mind faded. Lucian fled the building without looking back. He didn‘t need to. Tuttle was dead. He‘d seen enough to know that before he hit the ground. Nathan, however, was very much alive. The single shot he had squeezed off had ricocheted off of the floor to Nathan‘s right, sending debris flying in the so recently still room. Lucian was not willing to take the chance that a second shot at Nathan wouldn‘t buy Benedict enough time for another attack on his mind. Which meant Lucian needed to keep running until he figured out his next move. His skin crawled at the memory of Benedict‘s hostile presence in his mind as he sprinted down the dark street, toward the jungle.

52

Chapter Ten

Conner strained, trying to hear the conversation going on outside the truck. After hiking along with Hector holding them at gunpoint for several hours, they were met by Richardson shortly after the path they followed widened into something that could reasonably be called a road. He and Laney were herded into the back of an old box truck. Hector hogtied Laney first, while Richardson kept a gun trained on Conner. Then Hector bound his wrists and ankles, as well. The truck banged along the jungle road for less than an hour before it slowed to a stop. They hadn‘t moved since then—almost twenty minutes ago. Now Conner could hear voices outside their box, apparently arguing. He held his breath and listened closely. ―I‘m not taking them in there.‖ That was Hector‘s voice. ―Those were Mr. Baile‘s instructions,‖ Richardson replied. ―I won‘t do it. Not until it‘s cleaned up.‖ ―Fine. Why don‘t I go let Mr. Baile know we‘re here, and that we‘d like to know what he‘d like done with them?‖ Conner heard footsteps moving away from the truck. Until what‟s cleaned up? He wondered. Nathan has killed Tuttle, En‘che answered. They are talking about his remains. Conner‘s eyes stung at the news, though he was not surprised. En‘che had told him during their truck ride that it was likely Tuttle would be dead before they got to him. He hadn‘t shared that part of their silent conversation with Laney. Tell her now, En‘che instructed. I can‟t. Conner was glad Laney couldn‘t see his face. A few slow tears slipped down his face and under his chin. She will find out very soon either way. Would you rather they show her? ―Laney…,‖ Conner turned to face her. He wanted to reach out and touch her—at least put a hand on her shoulder, but his hands were tied behind his back. She was lying on her side on the floor of the trailer, her back to him. ―Laney, I‘m sorry…,‖ he cleared his throat and tried to finish his sentence without sobbing out loud. He leaned down and laid his cheek on her arm. ―He‘s dead, isn‘t he?‖ ―Yes.‖ ―You‘re sure?‖ ―Yes, En‘che just told me.‖ She didn‘t say anything after that, but Conner felt her shaking under him. Behind you. Conner spun around quickly to find an unfamiliar form unfastening the cargo-net that covered the open end of the trailer. Who is it? The possible ally I spoke of earlier. He risks his life helping you. ―Are you two alright? Can you move?‖ The young man leaned into the darkness of the truck box and whispered. Laney jerked upright at the sound of his voice. ―We‘re tied up, but not hurt,‖ Conner answered quietly. Turning to Laney he explained, ―En‘che says he‘s a friend.‖ ―We must move quickly. I don‘t know how long Hector will be gone.‖ He motioned to Conner to come forward and began cutting his bonds with a hunting knife. 53

―Where is he?‖ Conner asked. He had assumed that Hector was still with the truck, waiting for word from Nathan. ―In the jailhouse, paying his respects to Mr. Tuttle, I assume. I saw the truck and followed it back into town, hoping you were the cargo. When Hector left I decided it was probably going to be my only chance to get you two out of here before Nathan…‖ the stranger glanced from Conner to Laney. ―I‘m sorry about your grandfather,‖ he said softly, finishing with the last of Conner‘s ropes and handing him the knife. Conner went to work on Laney‘s wrists while the young man leaned around the side of the truck box to peer down the dark street. After her hands were free, Conner started on her feet. ―Where will we go?‖ Laney asked. ―I don‘t know. I only have one gun to give you. If I don‘t disappear, Nathan will most definitely kill me himself. So I‘ll disappear. I advise you two to do the same.‖ He paused, listening to the night. ―Good luck,‖ he whispered, placing the gun carefully in Laney‘s hands. Conner cut away the last of the ties at her ankles and the two of them slid out of the truck as quietly as they could. ―Thank you,‖ Conner whispered, and held out the knife. ―Keep it,‖ the young man smiled. ―Something tells me you‘ll need it before I do.‖ ―What‘s your name?‖ Laney asked. ―Lucian,‖ he answered. Then he turned and jogged into the shadows. Conner looked at Laney, and then scanned the row of buildings behind her. ―Come on; let‘s find somewhere to hide until we get a plan together.‖ She followed him across the street and into a dark, narrow alley between two concrete-block buildings. He hunkered down onto his haunches with his back against the wall of one of the buildings. She stood beside him. ―I think you ought to stay here, Laney. I can go snoop around a little and, with En‘che‘s help, I should be able to track down Nathan. I don‘t know what I‘ll do when I find him but…‖ A loud thunk echoed in Conner‘s skull as fireworks started going off behind his eyes. He felt himself going over sideways and saw Laney‘s feet sprinting away from him. He figured out what had happened just before everything went black. But why would she hit me with the gun…?

***

―Please tell me you‘re joking.‖ Nathan sat in his chair in the receiving room. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and massaging his eyeballs through the lids with his fingertips. Richardson stood in the middle of the floor. He shifted his weight awkwardly. Just a few moments ago he‘d walked through the door with his story about Hector and the body. But this wasn‘t what had upset Nathan. It was the news he received immediately after that. The girl has escaped, Benedict told him. I don‟t know where the young Judge is, I can‟t find him.

54

What do you mean you can‟t find him? Nathan thought. Because he was conscious of Richardson‘s presence in the room he kept the conversation to himself. Precisely what I said. Alright, fine. How did they escape? I see Lucian in the girl‟s thoughts. I assume he released them. She is looking for you. She plans to kill you. So you can find her, but not Conner? I cannot feel his mind anywhere. Probably, this means that he is either unconscious…or dead. Or he has discovered a way to hide himself from you. Perhaps. ―Richardson?‖ Nathan said without looking up. ―Yes, Mr. Baile?‖ ―Our guests have gone missing. I‘d like you to find them.‖ ―Missing? They were just in the tru…‖ ―Richardson,‖ Nathan interrupted. ―Yes sir. I‘m on it.‖ Nathan didn‘t raise his head until he heard Richardson close the heavy door behind himself as he left. ―Where is the girl?‖ he asked aloud. Across the way, in the garage. She is watching the main road through the window. She will see Richardson when he leaves the building. She will come here. ―Let her come.‖

***

Conner groaned and pulled himself up into a seated position. He put his hand to his head and felt the lump on the back of his skull. When he brought his fingers to his face, they were bloody. He groaned again. Be quiet. Even with its urgent tone, En‘che‘s voice was soothing. It quieted his throbbing headache. You need to be very quiet and listen to me, Conner. Why should I? Tuttle is dead. We let him die. “We”? Why do you feel you are responsible for Tuttle‟s death? I chose this. Becoming a Judge I mean…I chose to trust that you were good. There is a greater good than preserving those who we are closest to. There is much at stake, Conner. Tuttle knew this. He knew the risks. Now, you must listen to me so that you can help his granddaughter. Help her? Help her do what? Isn‟t this what was supposed to happen? Isn‟t this why I told her grandfather that she had to come with us to Magrado? So that you could use her to ride yourselves of Nathan. And what does that make me? Just some chump you found to get the two of them fired up enough to come down here. So that Nathan would kill Tuttle, and Laney would murder him in revenge. It will destroy her; you know that, don‟t you? There was a moment of complete stillness in Conner‘s mind before En‘che responded. She will die if you do not go to her.

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Tell me what to do, Conner sighed and eased himself back against the rough cement wall behind him. While you were unconscious I felt something trying to find you. It was the spirit Benedict, the one who aids Nathan Baile. Because your conscious mind was not active, he couldn‟t find you. Instead, I followed him back to Nathan and listened to what they know. Benedict told Nathan that Laney is coming to murder him. She hopes to surprise him, but he will be ready for her. Meanwhile, Richardson hunts for you. What about Benedict? Can‟t he find me now that I‟m awake? For now, I am shielding you from him. However, I don‟t know if I will be able to keep you hidden if he begins to search in earnest once more. You must move quickly and quietly to avoid detection. Move where? To Laney‟s aid! She is walking into a trap, and I am afraid to shift my attention from you to her in order to find her location. If Benedict were to sense that you have awakened… I understand. As of a few minutes ago, Laney was hiding in a building down the road and Nathan waited for her in the great room of the courthouse. It won‟t be long before she figures out where he is and goes in after him. I‟m on my way. Conner pushed against the wall for support as he struggled to his feet. He leaned out of the alleyway far enough to see the buildings on the other side of the street. It didn‘t take him long to find the structure that matched the picture of the courthouse En‘che had left in his mind. Conner kept close to the walls, staying in the shadows and moving quickly. He knew that Laney would die if she found Nathan first, so he headed straight for the courthouse. He just hoped he would make it in time.

***

Laney watched Richardson emerge from the large building across the street. He headed back toward the truck that had brought her and Conner into town. She waited a few beats after he was out of sight and then sprinted across the dusty road to crouch in the shadows next to the front steps of the official-looking building. She didn‘t know how much security surrounded Nathan, so she decided not to try the front door. At least not at first. As she crouch-walked along the outside wall, she came across a first-level window that had been left slightly ajar—to catch the evening breeze, presumably. She slipped Lucian‘s gun into the waistband of her shorts, against the small of her back, and then slid her hands, palms up, between the window sill and the sash. She pushed up and the window slid open easily and—even better—with very little noise. A part of her watched as if from a distance, seeing anger and the desire for vengeance push grief and fear aside, for the moment. That part of her knew that she was going to crash as soon as she found Nathan. For now, the hunt was the only thing that kept her together. She kept moving, sliding into the building through the open window and quickly crossing the empty room in which she found herself. She listened at the door for almost a

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full minute before stepping cautiously out into the hall. The whole place was strangely silent. Maybe he‟s not here, she thought. Just then, she caught sight of the large, double door at the end of the hallway. She could see light from the room behind them shining under the doors. When she reached them, she put her ear to the wood and held her breath. After a few seconds, she heard the creak of old floorboards. Gotcha. She placed one hand on the doorknob and, with the other, pulled the gun out of her waistband. Slowly, she turned the knob until she felt the latch open. She leaned into the door with her shoulder, just enough to keep it from clicking shut. Now she could hold the gun with both hands. Laney took a deep breath and threw her weight into the wooden door. It opened wide and she stepped into the room, gun held out in front of her in a two-handed grip. She scanned the room quickly—not much to see. It was practically empty. But not completely. Nathan sat at the far end, looking for all the world as if he‘d been expecting her. She stood in place, not really believing that he was alone in the room and unwilling to inadvertently open herself up for attack by making any hasty moves. But there wasn‘t anywhere for Nathan‘s goons to hide. ―It‘s just us here, Laney. Were you expecting someone else?‖ Nathan smiled and leaned back in his big claw-foot chair. ―No. You‘re the one I‘m looking for.‖ ―So it would seem. Do you plan to use that thing?‖ Nathan asked, tilting his head slightly as if he were studying her weapon. Laney didn‘t know how to read his reaction. She hadn‘t expected to have a chat with the man before she shot him dead. It took her out of her rhythm. Flustered, she tightened her grip on the gun and leveled it at his chest. ―Let me help you with that,‖ Nathan said patronizingly. Immediately, Laney flinched at a sharp pain in her skull. It felt as if someone had sunk a blade just behind her right ear. The gun fell from her hands. Then her legs folded under her. ―W-what are you doing?‖ she asked, moments from tears. ―I‘m not doing anything,‖ Nathan said jovially, holding his hands out in front of him like a bad magician. Nothing up my sleeve. ―I don‘t think you should talk anymore, dear. You don‘t look well. Why don‘t you just sit there for a bit, and I‘ll tell you a story.‖ Laney opened her mouth to protest, but nothing would come out. Her jaw snapped shut by itself. She was no longer in command of her own body. She thought about reaching forward and picking the gun up off of the floor where it lay just a few feet away. She couldn‘t do it. She just sat on the floor in the middle of the room, breathing and watching Nathan. ―Interesting, isn‘t it? Kind of makes you wonder what your grandfather was doing all those years with the Nanebo. Well, let me fill you in. Nothing. He did nothing. He lived out his life without making the slightest difference in the world. I, on the other hand, have acquired wealth, political sway, and incredible personal power…‖

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Nathan was still talking, but Laney‘s attention shifted when she saw a hint of motion behind him. The wall looked like it was moving. Then it swung open, revealing a glimpse of a dark room beyond. And Conner. Still unable to move, Laney‘s eyes never moved from Nathan. They didn‘t have to. Conner appeared directly behind his ridiculous chair. She watched as he moved silently toward Nathan, who was still talking. ―…unfortunately, you‘re a bit of a liability for me, Laney. I‘m afraid keeping you around would be more trouble than you‘re worth. Not that I don‘t think you could be useful. You‘re a reasonably attractive, resourceful young woman. It‘s your loyalties that pose the problem. I couldn‘t ever be completely sure of you, despite Benedict‘s best efforts. You don‘t hold self-preservation as a high enough priority, as evidenced by your current situation. If you have no concern for your own well-being, I can‘t fully control you. Do you understand?‖ At this, Nathan reached under his oversized chair and retrieved a compact handgun. ―I explain all this because I don‘t want you to think I‘m some psycho that goes around shooting people all day. I don‘t do anything without a very good reason…‖ Another figure appeared in the hidden entrance behind Conner. She couldn‘t see who it was because he stayed just inside the darkened room on the other side of the doorway. She wanted to scream, to warn Conner. And she couldn‘t. All she could do was watch. She saw something flash in Conner‘s hand—Lucian‘s bowie knife. He was only a step or two behind Nathan, the knife in his right hand. Then suddenly the scream that had been welling up in her throat was echoing through the chamber. Nathan jumped from his chair, his eyes wild and his gun still trained on her. Laney dove for her weapon as Nathan began to turn toward Conner. He wasn‘t fast enough. Conner‘s arm shot out and across Nathan‘s front, the knife tracing a thin red line across his throat. Laney watched, her hand on her gun, as Nathan‘s head lolled back. The slit pulled open wide and the blood seemed to jump at her, splashing over the dais and chair beside him. Conner stepped away as Nathan fell backward, gurgling wetly in the otherwise silent room. Laney finally stood, the gun hung heavily in her hand at her side. She met Conner‘s eyes, and then remembered the shadowy figure from the doorway. In an instant she had the gun out in front of her, moving toward the opening in the wall. Before she had made it to the other side of Nathan‘s blood-soaked chair, she saw him again. It was Hector. He stepped out of the doorway into the great room—Conner to his right, Laney to his left. He looked down at Nathan‘s body on the floor and spat. ―I‘ve wanted to do that for a long time.‖

***

It isn‟t over, En‘che told Conner. We have to assume that Benedict will continue to find human accomplices to use in his grasping for power. So you can‟t find him? Conner was not surprised.

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We have no way of sensing him, unless he chooses to broadcast evidence of his consciousness from the void. He has kept to himself for generations, though. All we can do is watch for evidence of his meddling among the living. So that‟s where I come in? Conner asked. Yes, in a way. We will be vigilant, Conner. Now more than ever. You will be our operative here on earth—you can go and put a stop to the pain Benedict causes, and perhaps eventually we can force him into a confrontation that will reveal him to us on this plane. Then, maybe, we can keep him from hurting anyone ever again. Operative. Conner had to smile at that. That‟s a nice way to put it. I will not force you to do anything, Conner. That isn‟t how things work anymore. I will merely provide you with all the information you need. The Judgeship has changed, for the better, I think. I think so, too, Conner replied. Then he thought for a moment and asked: How do you know I will do the right thing, if I make the decision for myself? I believe you know what is at stake, En‘che said. Also, it‟s easy to make the right decision if you know the ramifications of every possible alternative. I‟ll keep you well informed. I bet. Between you and Laney, I‟m sure I‟ll get all the input I can handle. Do you believe that she will go with you? En‘che asked slyly. Let‟s just say I‟m optimistic. Conner felt the strange, though not unpleasant, sensation of En‘che‘s disembodied laugh ripple through his mind. So am I.

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Epilogue

Lucian sighed and sat down for what seemed like the first time in four days. Now that everyone had gone their separate ways, he finally felt free to take a moment for himself. He sat on the stone bench under the palm tree in what had once been Nathan‘s private garden. It had only been a week since Nathan had asked him to take over as chief of police as he sat in this very spot. So much had changed since then. Well, since Ian Tuttle explained to him the kind of man Nathan was. It‟s too bad our first real conversation was also the last, Lucian thought. He had felt a connection with the older man. Kindred spirits, perhaps. It seemed that some of it had rubbed off on his granddaughter as well. Lucian had arrived at the courthouse the night of Nathan‘s death shortly after surprising Richardson in a blind alley and relieving him of his weapon. Laney, Conner and Hector were all there, sitting on the blood-spattered dais at the far end of Nathan‘s receiving room. They were talking softly as he marched Richardson in at gunpoint. Richardson visibly relaxed when he saw Hector, alive and well. Not because he liked Hector, Lucian knew. Because it meant that the new regime hadn‘t started lopping off the heads of underlings. It didn‘t take long to decide that there could be no repercussions against the people who worked for Nathan. Richardson left soon afterward, to get back to his business in Belém. He, like Hector, felt neither love nor loyalty to Nathan. They did as he told them because he could make them do it with or without their concession. At one point, Hector was in tears as he described his body going through the motions of knocking Tuttle unconscious and tying him up—while he struggled to stop it. At first, Lucian was afraid that Laney would want retribution for what Hector had done to her family. But, after her experience in the receiving room, she understood all too well what Nathan and Benedict were capable of. This was why she and Conner and Hector had taken off earlier this morning. Though it would have been easier to act as if it were all over and done with, the truth was that Nathan was nothing more than a tool for Benedict. And Benedict was still out there. The three of them had decided that it was their duty, as those who were most familiar with the reality of the situation, to try and make sure he never found as useful a tool as Nathan again. Lucian did not envy them their work. Though there was much to do here in the jungle to repair the damage done by Nathan and his ruthless scheming, Conner, Laney and Hector‘s path would take them into the most troubled parts of the world. He was glad they would have En‘che to guide them. A part of him wished for a guiding spirit. It would make his ascension to mayor of Magrado much easier to handle. He longed for the assurance that his every decision would benefit his people. In this way, he was jealous of Conner‘s position. He said as much to the young Judge before they left for the city and a flight out of Brazil. Conner laughed. ―What‘s so funny?‖ Lucian asked, taken aback. ―En‘che‘s response to your wish. He says, ‗Just because we are omniscient and immortal does not mean that we are perfect.‘‖ Conner‘s smile faded as he continued to relay En‘che‘s words. ―‗People do much better when they think for themselves. They 60

are most dangerous when they allow someone else to do the thinking for them… especially someone like Benedict or Nathan.‘‖ He did not truly envy Conner‘s position. Lucian knew from their conversations over the past few days that, despite En‘che‘s presence in his mind, it was Conner— without any ‗guiding‘—who had killed Nathan. He and En‘che would change the relationship of Judges and the ancestors forever—effectively doing what Nathan thought he could achieve through deception and force. They really did cut the strings. ―Thank you,‖ Lucian said, looking Conner in the eye. Conner managed a half- smile before Laney grabbed him by the elbow. ―Okay boys, time to get going,‖ she announced. They climbed into the same truck that had first brought them to Magrado and started down the dirt road. Conner stuck his hand out the window to wave as they drove off. Which left Lucian alone with his thoughts, for the moment. He shifted on the garden bench and peered up at the brilliant sky. The first thing to do, he decided, is find a new chief of police.

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