Price of Protection

2.

By the time the congregation finished their prayer and raised their heads, Bradon had watched the girl's last death spasm. Now her body stilled, her blood flowed into the drain, and Councilor Walker mounted the platform.

He gazed at the young girl for a long time. The congregation murmured about how compassionate he was. Bradon wasn't so sure. He thought he saw a smile.

The councilor looked back to the crowd sad-faced and spoke.

“To see this young girl die pains me,” Walker said.

The crowd muttered agreement.

“In a perfect world, we wouldn't need this, but unfortunately we require protection, and protection requires sacrifice.”

The crowd nodded.

Then Councilor Walker cleared his throat and cited the Laws section of the Holy Book that Councilor Herbert wrote. The wall would require another sacrifice before sunset the day of the next new moon. At the full moon, they would determine the subject—a prisoner if there happened to be one in the jail. If there wasn't, they would choose a group of five by lottery. From that five, the council would test their purity, and the least pure would take the platform.

“We must follow The Book,” Walker said. “Our forbearers knew better than us.”

And at all this, the congregation nodded, but Bradon grit his teeth. He knew he would see another youth dressed in rags in a month. It was always the poor.

“Is there a problem, Citizen Bradon?” Councilor Walker asked.

Bradon twisted his mouth, hesitated, and then stood. Rice put her hand on his arm.

“There is, Councilor Walker.”

The congregation turned toward Bradon.

“Sit!” Rice hissed. Bradon shrugged her off.

“No, Citizen Rice, let your brother speak.”

Rice sat. She twisted a handkerchief in her hands so hard her knuckles turned white.

“What is the problem, Citizen Bradon?” Councilor Walker asked.

Bradon set his teeth.

“Two things, Councilor Walker,” Bradon said. “First, do we still need the wall? A score of years have passed since the attack and...”

Bradon kept speaking, but he couldn't even hear himself anymore. A nervous shiver went through the crowd, and it shook out shouts of protest.

“Quiet,” Councilor Walker said. The crowd didn't hear. He raised his hands above his head, and little by little, they silenced. All the time, Walker smiled. He didn't show teeth, just a warm serpent's grin.

“I understand your thoughts, young Bradon, but you do not understand our enemy,” Walker said. “When they attacked our market, you were but a boy. Check your Holy Book. Councilor Herbert's chapter shows that they hate our way of life, and that hatred will not die. They will not negotiate.”

Bradon grit his teeth as the crowd hollered agreement. Councilor Walker silenced them again.

“You had a second question, citizen?”

When the the crowd turned to Bradon this time it felt like they turned on him.

“Yes, Councilor, I did,” he said. He pulled a long, hard breath and then spoke. “I noticed that todays sacrifice was poor, dressed in rags. Were not the last three as well? Why does it seem that all the sacrifices are poor?”

Silence.

The question hit the congregation like a blow to the stomach. Each looked like they had just discovered they forgot their clothes at home. A trickle of blood ran out of Rice's hands, and Councilor Walker looked sick.

Then the crowd broke. Some screamed at Bradon. Some screamed at Councilor Walker. Some screamed at each other. Some simply chewed their lips. Councilor Walker sneered at Bradon.

“Quiet,” he yelled. The crowed chattered on.

“Silence!” but they kept going. Councilor Walker's eyes blazed, and spittle burst forth when he yelled.

“By your mother's heart, shut your mouths!” He bellowed. And then the congregation shut up and turned to their councilor, who seethed against the backdrop of the thrice impaled girl.

“Bradon lies,” Councilor Walker yelled. “He's a—a...”

And Walker went quiet. He looked at the congregation, and they looked at him, wide-eyed and shocked. He closed his eyes, sucked a breath, and then that serpentine smile came back.

“What I mean to say is, your fellow citizen is mistaken. Not all of the sacrifices are poor. Don't you all remember when Advisor Luther's daughter submitted as a sacrifice?”

The townspeople nodded, and the shock dimmed.

“And perhaps there are more poor sacrificed, but wouldn't it stand to reason that they are furthest from God, and less pure? Isn't that what The Book tells us?”

And the congregation nodded more firmly. Their shock evaporated. He had them again, and his snake-smile showed it.

“Thank you,” Councilor Walker said. “The congregation is dismissed.”

3.

“How could you?” Rice said.

Bradon bowed his head and pushed through the crowd. Townfolk glared at him against the backdrop of the setting sun. Behind him, Councilor Walker waded through, shaking hands and smiling as he headed in Bradon's direction.

“Like I said the last five times, sister, Walker is lying to us.” Bradon said.

Rice slapped him. Her palm cracked against the flesh of his cheek. It left a streak of blood from her palm. People around stopped and stared. A few grinned smugly.

“Stop this,” Rice said.

She showed him her palm, raw and bleeding in the middle.

“Do you see this?” she said. “This is what you're doing to me. You keep speaking your silly ideas. I'm worried what's going to happen to you and me and our family.”

“But sister,” Bradon said, “can't you see that the last three sacrifices...”

He didn't finish. Councilor Walker spoke nearby.

“Dear Citizen Bradon,” he said, “what's happened to your cheek?”

He stepped out of the crowd and looked at Rice.

“Such violence,” he said.

“I'm sorry Councilor Walker,” Rice said. “I didn't mean to...”

But Councilor Walker laid his hand on her shoulder and Rice quieted.

“Don't worry, young lady. Everyone transgresses now and then.”

Rice curtsied. Bradon bit his tongue.

“Thank you, Councilor Walker,” she said.

And Walker's snake grin crept back.

“You're welcome child,” he said. “But if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to your brother in private, just to make sure there are no hard feelings.”

Rice blushed. Bradon's gaped.

“I don't think I'd like that,” he said.

“I insist,” Councilor Walker said.

Bradon took a good look at the man right then, and he saw something. The serpent grin still spread across his lips, but his eyes weren't smiling. They showed an expression of “don't defy me.”

“I'd still rather...” Bradon started. But he stopped. Rice glared at him, but he stopped because he heard armor clinking closer.

“Okay,” Bradon said.

“Good,” Councilor Walker said.

And Rice smiled.

4.

As soon as the door closed, Councilor Walker changed. While they strolled to his office, he chatted with Bradon, and greeted every citizen he passed with that smile, but now he fumed and stomped.

“What are you trying to do, Bradon?”

“I just thought that—” Bradon started.

“Shut up,” Councilor Walker said. “I don't want you to open your mouth unless I tell you to. Get it?”

Bradon considered his position. He remembered seeing two guards outside. Both outfitted in leather and armed with swords. Bradon nodded, but Councilor Walker wasn't paying attention by then.

“I don't appreciate your accusations, and I really don't appreciate you stirring dissent.” Councilor Walker said.

He stomped to a cabinet, opened it, and poured a glass of brown liquid that stank of liquor. He sipped, and by the time he swallowed, his smile came back.

“Tell me, Bradon, do you love your sister?”

5.

His brush with Councilor Walker didn't stop Bradon. He had to know more. He thought the library might help him.

The old books smelled musty—bitter almost, like a warning: let these lie, but Bradon read on. Before long he found a record of every citizen sacrificed to the alter in the last 20 years. The book only listed them by name, age and date. A mark showed which were prisoners, which were volunteers, and which were selected by lottery.

In an hour, Bradon reviewed the last ten years. He didn't need a guide. The family names told him all he needed. In 123 sacrifices, only 13 had been from anything above the poorest classes: eight volunteered at an old age, and four came from prison. That left Adviser Luther's daughter who got chosen by lottery at the beginning of Walker's reign.

He found what he was looking for. 90 percent of the sacrifices were poor, and the poor only made up 30 percent of the town's population. Evidence enough, Bradon thought. He put the books back and stepped out of the room, but froze in the lobby.

Councilor Walker sat in a chair next to the door. He didn't bother with the serpent-smile.

“Don't you take a hint?” Councilor Walker said.

“How...” Bradon started, but his words trailed off as he saw the librarian cower. Councilor Walker stood from his chair.

“Save it, Bradon,” Walker snapped. “I have eyes everywhere. And apparently you don't take hints, so we'll have to go with a clearer lesson.”

6.

After a week and a half, Councilor Walker hadn't done anything else, but now that he sat at temple, Bradon knew what was coming. His palms sweat, his chest felt tight, and for once, his lips actually served prayer.

Then it was time. Councilor Walker mounted the altar. Deacons had removed the body and polished the steel and granite so it sparkled in its own glow.

“The moon is full,” Councilor Walker said. “As you all know, that means we must choose a new sacrifice. We don't like to do it, but the marauders outside the wall would kill us if we gave them the chance, so The Book reminds us.”

As he spoke, a pair of deacons carried wooden box on a platform to the top of the altar. They set it before Councilor Walker and scurried away. Councilor Walker stuck his hand in the box. It rustled, and he pulled out a wooden disc.

“Arla, daughter of Morgan,” Councilor Walker said. A woman in a pew walked to the front of the room and stood in front of the altar.

Councilor Walker chose three more names and each lined up next to the last.

The whole time, Bradon clenched his pew.

“What's wrong with you, brother?” Rice asked.

Bradon looked away.

“I'm sorry, sister,” he said.

Councilor Walker dug into the box for the last time. The discs rumbled like a thunderstorm. Then Councilor Walker seized one.

“Rice, daughter of Kren,” Councilor Walker said.

Blood rushed in Bradon's ears, and the world turned red, but then he look at his sister and saw a curious thing. She smiled as she walked to the front of the room.

7.

Bradon wore a shepherd's cloak and waited outside the door. He didn't have much time. He just had to hope.

He knocked.

A moment later, the latch let go. A stooping old man looked out. He squinted for a long second before opening his mouth.

“I knew—” the old man said, but he fell into a coughing fit.

“Are you okay Adviser Luther?” Bradon asked.

Luther held a hand out.

“Don't call me by that title,” he wheezed. He coughed more. Bradon offered an arm, and Luther leaned on it and finished his cough.

“I knew you'd come,” he said. “Come in.”

Luther hobbled into the apartment and fell into a chair that seemed as unsteady as the man that sat in it. Bradon stepped in, clicked the door shut, and pushed his hood back.

“So you decided to oppose Councilor Walker, and what did it get you?” Luther said. He labored through every word.

Bradon sat in the chair opposite Luther's and stared wild-eyed.

“Adviser Luther—” he started.

“I told you not to call me by that title,” Luther said. “It's the wrong title anyway. Walker doesn't want people to advise him. He just wants the image. He makes all the decisions.”

“Sorry,” Bradon said. “Elder Luther. I need to ask you—”

“You need to ask me why he sacrifices the poor, and why he sacrificed my daughter,” Elder Luther said. “You know the answer, or you wouldn't be here. Yes, he's using the sacrifices to control the village. There you go. He sacrifices the poor because they don't pay him, and he sacrificed my daughter because I opposed him.”

Bradon looked up.

“You know,” he said.

“Of course I know,” Elder Luther said. “I'm old, half-dead even, but I'm not stupid. After your stance two weeks ago, Walker took you back to his office and warned you, but you kept on looking and now your sister's up for sacrifice. If you don't, it'll be your mother, your father, and your best friend.”

Bradon's jaw set.

“Why not just kill me?” Bradon said.

“He'd much rather beat you into submission.”

Bradon drew a long sigh. The weight of responsibility hung on his shoulders. Elder Luther went into another coughing fit. Bradon offered a hand, but Elder Luther waved him off and continued to sending hacking tremors through his chair. Finally, he weezed to a stop.

“Why did you come to me?” Elder Luther Asked.

“I thought you could help me,” Bradon said.

The elder laughed so hard he coughed.

“Me? Help you? I'm an old man. I have trouble opening my own door, and you want me to what? Rescue your sister? Take on Walker?”

“You know things.”

“I do, and I know that you can't fight the monster. It will only get worse. You'll wind up an old man with no loved ones who can only wish...”

Elder Luther trailed off. For a second, his eyes sparkled. Then his head and the hope in his face faded.

“Too late for that,” Elder Luther said. It was more to himself then to Bradon.

“Tell me how he managed to choose my sister—how he managed to choose your daughter.”

Elder Luther chuckled.

“You are a dumb one,” Luther said. “What are the two parts of the choosing ceremony?”

“The discs, and then the ritual of purity.”

“Right. Who sees the discs aside from Walker?”

Bradon's eyes shot open.

“No one.”

“Right. He can announce whatever name he wants to. Nobody checks them. The same goes for the ritual of purity. Who makes the announcement? Walker.”

Bradon sunk into his chair under the weight of new knowledge.

“If you want the real truth, Citizen, that altar never needed but the first sacrifice.” Elder Luther said.

Bradon sat straighter in his chair.

“What?”

“Yep. The ritual required one sacrifice—the blood of one of those to be kept out. Everyone else has been nothing but control.”

Elder Luther went quiet.

“Tell me more,” Bradon said.

Elder Luther gave Bradon a history lesson he couldn't find in the library. Herbert decided sacrificing prisoners would keep the people in line. He decided, for consistency, that he'd have to run all the sacrifices through the same two-hour long preparation rite as the first one. He was right about the crime reduction, but when his son took over there weren't many prisoners left. Elder Luther thought they should end it, but Walker wanted to keep on sacrificing.

Elder Luther threatened to tell the townspeople. Then Walker sacrificed his daughter.

Bradon listened intently, but his mind stuck on sundown.

“Do you still want to stop the sacrifices?” Bradon asked.

Edler Luther coughed.

“Child, I'm too old.”

“No. You just need to help me.”

8.

During the first two hours of Temple, a Deacon prepared Rice at the base of the altar. Another deacon lead the town in prayer. He sermonized and they prayed. All save Bradon and Elder Luther.

Elder Luther sat in the back with the other elders and strained his hands between coughing fits. Bradon sat in his family's spot and pawed at the empty place next to him.

When Rice finished her ritual, the Deacon took her away. An hour later Councilor Walker appeared near the front of the room.

It's time, Bradon thought.

The doors at the back of the hall opened, and Rice stepped in. The guards merely dressed her walk down the aisle.

Councilor Walker gazed over the crowd and spotted Bradon. That grin flashed across his face, but this time it dripped malice like Bradon had never seen. Bradon met the Councilor's eyes. He challenged the councilor with his stare.

Now Rice stood about half-way between the door and the altar. She made her way slowly.

As soon as she touched the bottom of the altar, Bradon burst from his seat.

“I order the ceremony to stop,” he yelled.

Rice turned. So did the guards, and the rest of the congregation.

“Brother...” Rice started. Councilor Walker held a hand to her and she silenced.

“Citizen Bradon,” Walker said, “I know you may not like me, but will you really defile your own sister's ceremony?”

“This shall not be my sister's ceremony,” Bradon said. He finally broke his gaze to raise his Holy Book. “Friends, if you would turn to Laws, Chapter seven, verse 12.”

Councilor Walker mouthed the chapter and verse. He blinked, and his expression turned to shock.

“Citizens,” Walker said. “surely you're not going to entertain the requests of this trouble maker.”

“I am only citing The Book,” Bradon said.

One by one, the congregation turned to the section Bradon indicated. Pages stopped rustling and then Bradon spoke.

“Here you'll see a law written when Councilor Herbert created the altar. It says that any citizen may, at any time, may replace another as a sacrifice.”

The crowd read and grunted agreement. Councilor Walker scowled at the front of the room. The townspeople looked at Bradon, not sure what to expect.

“I wish to replace my sister,” Bradon said.

Councilor Walker faked a smile.

“But, citizen,” he said, “your sister has already undergone the rites. They take time, and sunset will be approaching.”

“At any time,” Bradon said.

He snapped his book shut, and the sound echoed like thunder off the stone structure. Elder Luther smiled in his corner.

Councilor Walker sucked a long breath.

“Let me discuss the matter with my advisers,” he said, and he stepped through a door.

The whole room went quiet. A few townspeople looked at Bradon. He glanced at Elder Luther. “Now or never,” the look said. Then the whispers started.

“What's he doing?” one said.

“Is this his repentance?” another said. Another dozen darted past Bradon's ears.

Then the yell came from inside the room.

“...can't stop him?” Walker's muffled voice said. A moment later, he came out with his snake grin. His eyes weren't smiling.

“Well, Citizen, it appears you are right,” Walker said. Bradon could see a vein pulsing in the side of the councilor's head. The councilor looked at Rice.

“You can return to your family's pew. Your brother will take your place.”

He turned back to Bradon.

“If you can join me, we'll prepare you for the sacrifice.”

“Thank you Councilor,” Bradon said. He couldn't suppress his smile.

9.

Walker smiled and asked the deacon to give him a moment with Bradon. Walker watched the deacon leave and the door clicked shut. When he turned from, he scowled.

“I don't know what your game is,” Walker said. His voice stayed low, even, and evil. “but it's not going to work. You're going to die up there on that altar today, yes, but you're not saving anyone. Next week I'll arrest your family for not paying their tithes—that's a four month sentence. Long enough put them all on the docket.”

Bradon only turned to the councilor with a smile.

“You had better start the rites,” Bradon said. “You're wasting daylight.”

10.

When Bradon stepped through the doors in the back of the hall the sun hung low in the sky. It's light passed through the stained glass windows and bathed the congregation in red. It mixed strangely with the golden glow from the altar, and the combination unsettled the town.

Bradon could feel the tension in the room. Not once in his lifetime could he remember a sacrifice this close to sundown. Some had been delayed in the past, yes, but never this much.

He glanced at Elder Luther, who nodded, and took his first stately step down the aisle. Half way to the altar, the guard on the right jostled him.

“Get moving,” the guard said. Bradon only looked at him and grinned. He continued his slow pace. When his foot touched the bottom step, Elder Luther stood.

“I will replace the young man,” Elder Luther said. Then he fell into a coughing fit.

“What?” Councilor Walker said. The vein throbbed on the side of his head.

The elder held up a hand and finished his coughing.

“Citing Laws chapter twelve, verse seven, I wish to replace Bradon as the sacrifice.”

The crowd turned and murmured.

“You can't,” Councilor Walker said.

“Oh?” Elder Luther said, “you shall defy The Book?” The hall suddenly seemed a darker red.

“You are endangering your townspeople,” Councilor Walker said. “There's no time to perform the rites on another sacrifice. Sunset is almost here.”

At that the crowd exploded into a cacophony. Insults flew at Bradon and Elder Luther. Another coughing fit seized the old man, but he shook it off.

“Silence,” he boomed, “you are in no danger.”

“No danger?” Councilor Walker said. “Those barbarians out there—those that would destroy our way of life are not dangerous?”

“That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it,” Elder Luther said. “You silenced me once. I'm done being quiet.”

As the argument continued, Bradon stared at the window. Just a little longer, he thought.

“We shall leave it to the people,” Councilor Walker said. “We shall vote, with a show of hands. All in oppposed?”

The vein pulsed huge on the side of his head. A forrest of hands raised.

“The ayes have it,” Walker said. “Bradon, mount the—”

“I demand a secret ballot,” Elder Luther said.

Walker froze, then turned, slowly.

“What?”

“I demand a secret ballot, per town law, allowing the townspeople to vote without their neighbors knowing what their decision was.” Elder Luther said.

Walker's face turned redder than the light filtering through the stained windows. His lips smacked, and his mind ground away.

“I declare emergency executive override to overrule your request for secret ballots,” Walker said, but it was too late.

Half the congregation had already been watching the windows, knowing that the sun would set any moment. The other half saw when Bradon shouted “look at the sun!”

The flaming disc dipped below the horizon, and the town's collective eyes immediately shot to the altar. It's glow pulsed on without so much as a flicker.

“The altar never needed more than that first sacrifice,” Bradon said. “Walker and his father kept the sacrifice to keep us in line. They lied to you.”

The congregation boiled.

“They lie,” Councilor Walker yelled. “Any moment now, if we don't offer a sacrifice, the light, the wall...”

The crowd closed in on him, a giant mass of angry faces.

“If he believes it so much,” Elder Luther yelled, “let's sacrifice him!”

At that, the guards started. They pushed through the crowd toward the Councilor, who offered money and power to anyone that got him out. No one listened. The guards seized him and dragged him up the granite steps.

“Anything you want,” Councilor Walker said. “Stop this madness.”

By then, Bradon closed the first manacle around Walker's wrist.

Elder Luther wobbled to the front of the room. Bradon snapped on the remaining chains.

“I deem you a proper sacrifice to the cause of ending your reign.” Bradon said.

“You're all worms,” Councilor Walker barked. “Worthless. Week. Stupid. Worms. I hope—”

But he never finished the statement. Elder Luther, in the midst of a coughing fit, fell on the lever and metal spikes crashed through Walker's body.

11.

Elder Luther never recovered from his fall. Two days later, he died. Bradon spoke over his grave.

“Elder Luther gave his life for this village twice,” Bradon said. Once when Councilor Walker's pressure made him turn recluse, and once when he killed the monster.”

Bradon continued, framing Luther as a frustrated hero. He didn't know much about the man. He knew only the historical record, and the help he got from Luther in his last two weeks of life. Sadly, that was the most anyone knew of him, even the Elders.

“We should honor Elder Luther as a hero,” Bradon said, “and forever remember his last actions. Thank you.”

Bradon walked away. Citizens filed up to the open grave and dropped flowers in. The piled on the lid of the casket—a compost memorial.

Rice caught up to him away from the funeral. Bradon wiped his eyes.

“Brother,” she said, “are you still leaving?”

Bradon turned to her with red eyes and a runny nose. He nodded.

“Why?” Rice said. “They wanted to make you councilor.”

“No,” he said, “let the people decide for themselves.”

“But, brother, you still don't have to go.” Rice said.

Bradon wiped his nose and stared across the cemetery. Trees lined its boundary, the leading edge of a forest. Behind that lay the wall, and behind that?

“I need to find out what's out there,” he said. “We may be able to bring the wall down. We may be able to work with them.”

Rice sniffled.

“Brother,” she said. Bradon looked at his sister. Her eyes burned red.

“Be careful,” Rice said.

Bradon opened his arms and Rice fell into them. He hugged her with the fierce tenderness that only family can show.

“I will, sister,” Bradon said into her hair.

And then he walked on, across the field, and disappeared into the trees.