Tales of Downfall and Rebirth (69 page)

“Shh, Mum!” Frank Valentine hissed.

Ben glanced at Rebecca. She knew what he was thinking. Where had they come from, and how many of them were there? Their group was so small. While they might overmatch three men, they'd almost certainly lose one or more of their number, and what if there was an army of brutes in the shadows?

“I'm Ben and this is my wife, Rebecca,” Ben said. “We're about to have our supper. Join us.”

“We'll always take food,” the first man said, trying not to look too eager. “Call me Boss Green. This is Jax and Tiger. Toss over all your weapons. Now! Not taking a knife in the ribs from someone who wants to be a hero.”

Ben nodded carefully, and signaled to the others to comply. Rebecca tried to sum up the men. They were lean, as who wasn't these days, but fit as fighting dogs. Their gums and skin looked horrible, hinting that their diet was inadequate. They certainly hadn't been as well fed as Beech Grove. An idea began to form in her mind.

“We have food,” she said. “And beer.”

“Beer?” Even Boss Green's muddy eyes lit up at the word. He let the bowstring relax. “Hell's bells, where the fook did you find beer three years after the end of the world?”

“We made it,” Ben said, giving his new wife a strange look. “Just tapped today. Come and try it.”

Rebecca couldn't enjoy a mouthful of the succulent roast boar she ate. She was too worried about her children, who sat on their benches at the far end of the long table, pretending they weren't scared and wary. The strangers tore at their meat like the starving wolves that they were, and guzzled down beer as if to put out fires in their bellies. The pitch-soaked torches that lit the feast made the visitors look like demons.

In spite of their greed, the strangers were still cautious. They kept their feet on top of the pile of swords and bows they had taken. They had even collected the ritual athames.

“Why do you want to know where we live?” Boss Green demanded, angrily, as Ben asked for the seventh or eighth time. He pounded a fist on the tabletop, making the chewed bones around his platter jump.

“Well, there are only a few of us left practically in the world,” Ben said, leaning back to show he was at ease. He toyed with his single glass of beer. “Stands to reason we might all join up. Against them cannibals out there and all.”

“Don't want to join up with no witches,” Tiger said, grouchily. The beer was beginning to affect him, but not quickly enough for Rebecca's taste. “T'others won't like it, neither.”

“Sha!” Boss Green snapped. Tiger stopped talking and drained his glass. He waved to Nora to come and refill it. She did, although she had to keep dodging the hand he tried to put on her backside.

Others? Rebecca exchanged glances with Ben. Not close by, though, or he might have summoned them when he realized there were only twenty-three in Beech Grove.

“Well, perhaps you can take a vote on it,” Ben said. “If there are a lot of you, we might move close to where you are instead of the other way around.”

“What do you live in?” Boss Green asked. His voice was starting to slur, but he still sounded too alert.

“Huts,” Rebecca said at once. “Lean-tos, mostly. We built them from garden fences. They're very cozy.”

“Not a chance in hell. Got better digs.” Boss Green realized that he was starting to speak too freely. He pulled himself to his feet. Curses! Rebecca thought. “Got to go. Men!” His bark brought Tiger and Jax upright. “Take the weapons. They ain't so good as ours, but better we have 'em then they.”

“Thank you for joining us,” Rebecca said. “Merry meet and merry part.”

Boss Green spun to level a glare full of hate at her.

“You'll stop that pagan shite when we're done with you, madam,” he said. “Maybe you'll be one of my wives instead of this mealy-mouthed bastard.” He threw a scornful gesture in Ben's direction. Tim growled, and Boss Green pointed a dangerous finger in his direction. “Be back soon. Count on it.”

Rebecca's belly roiled with seething anger and fear. If she had a knife, she might actually throw it into this monster's eye. She never wanted them to come back. If they made it out of the woods, a horde of barbarians would come and destroy the place that was just beginning to feel like home. They had nowhere else to go!

The idea that had been dancing in her mind came roaring to the fore, demanding to be heard. It was their only chance. The only thing she could think of. But she hesitated. What else could she do?

“Wait,” she said, standing up. She held out both hands to them. “It's the summer solstice and our wedding day. Let us give you a gift.”

Boss Green echoed it uneasily.

“A gift?”

“You liked our beer,” she said. She forced a trembling smile to her lips. “I have something special that I was saving for our full moon celebration later on, but I'd rather use it to seal our new friendship. Moonshine, the Americans call it. Grain alcohol.”

“Moonshine?” Boss Green asked, his expression incredulous.

“It's absolutely delicious, but I couldn't let the children have it. It's too strong. Tim, won't you go and get it for me?”

Tim's small eyes widened, but he caught her meaning immediately.

“Do we have to give it to 'em, mum?” he asked, reluctantly. Thank all gods, the lad was a born Olivier.

“Yes, we do,” Rebecca said. “Go.”

The young man dashed off into the darkness, too swiftly for either Tiger or Jax to follow. He returned shortly with the enormous glass jug clasped in his arms.

Jax threw down the armloads of bows and swords. He seized the bottle from Tim.

“Try it,” Boss Green said.

His henchman uncorked the container and splashed some of the contents into a cup. He took a small mouthful, and grinned widely.

“It's good, boss. Real good.”

“Wanna get us drunk?” Boss Green snapped. Rebecca cringed, but she held herself erect. “Think we're stupid? Not stupid. Take it home, boys. We're going. Don't follow us unless you want an arrow in the guts. Be back again soon!”

He and Tiger drew their bows. Jax hurried out into the darkness. The other two backed out of the circle of firelight. Ben counted ten, then signaled to Julie and David. The scouts retrieved their own bows and glided silently after them.

The threshing footsteps receded. Rebecca found herself trembling with reaction. Ben sat down beside her and put his arm around her. She leaned against him, too frightened to cry.

“We've got to move!” Frank Valentine burst out. “Once they get over their drunk, they'll be on us in force! They'll take everything we've worked for. We're trapped. God help us!”

“They're not coming back,” Rebecca said.

“What do you mean? We just fed them the best food we have all year, let them drown themselves in our beer, and now you make them a gift of white lightning? 'Course they'll be back.”

“They won't, Granddad,” Tim said. He knelt at Rebecca's feet. “You think we're brave, missus. You're the bravest of us all.”

“Brave? She just let them take a year's worth of spirits!”

“She told them a little lie,” Ben said, holding her close. “'Twasn't moonshine. It was the rubbing alcohol from the surgery. Smells just the same. How long do they have?”

“Not long once they drink it,” Rebecca said. “Four ounces will kill a man. That container holds three gallons. As David might say, do the math. Goddess forgive me.”

Ben smiled fiercely.

“Well done, my love. I'll recover our weapons and probably theirs as well in the morning. They won't need them any longer.”

“How did you think to do that?” Ben said. “You've never wanted to be on the sharp end of the dagger.”

She nestled close to him, staring up at the full moon almost exactly overhead, and listened to the owls calling to one another in the treetops.

“I never thought I could kill, until someone threatened the people I love,” she said. He nodded understanding. “It's as you said before, Ben. We're trying to find our feet in a world that's different from anything we knew before. This is the new reality. I'm the only one who hadn't changed, and now I have.”

“Ah, no, you haven't,” Ben said gently. “The Goddess has many aspects. You just never wore this face before.”

“How does it look on me?” Rebecca asked.

He studied her in the dying torchlight, then kissed her on the forehead.

“Surprisingly normal.”

“Then it will be all right,” Rebecca said. “I hope.”

by
Emily Mah

Emily Mah Tippetts writes science fiction and fantasy as Emily Mah and romance as E. M. Tippetts. A former attorney, she now runs a cover design and book formatting company for independent authors and publishers. She lives in New Mexico with her family. In the Change universe, she is the Premier of Western Canada, a place she's never really seen but would like to someday.

T
he
doorbell rang at seven a.m. Marc stumbled out of bed, put on his bathrobe, and went to answer it, grateful that his roommate didn't seem to have awoken.

He assumed he'd see his ex, Chrissie, on his doorstep, but instead found himself face-to-face with Chrissie's older brother, Kevin; her younger sister, Rory; and Marc's own sister, Millie. Everyone from his tiny hometown of Bend, Idaho, who lived within forty minutes of the University of Utah campus.

“We need to talk,” said his sister. The three of them pushed past him into the front room and Marc was powerless to stop them. They were all typically broad shouldered and muscular, good Bend farming stock. Marc had always been the scrawny, nerdy one.

“Mom says you've dumped Chrissie,” said Millie.

“And Chrissie tells me you're interested in someone you talk to online,” said Kevin.

“Did you guys have a dig-into-Marc's-business conference?” Marc demanded.

“No,” said Rory. “Word gets around. You know how it is. I really think you've been awful to my sister. She waited for you your whole mission. Two years, she didn't date or even flirt with anyone else.”

“Which you begged her to do when you left,” added Kevin. “Now you won't even go out to dinner with her? Try to catch up?”

“Our families have been friends for how long?” said Millie.

“Chrissie's like a sister to us already. Everyone was so happy when you two started dating.”

“Things have changed since then, all right?” said Marc.

“Specifically,” said Kevin, “you aren't the runt of the litter anymore. You're just back from your mission, which is when you are the most attractive you'll ever be to girls, by the way. Remember that Chrissie liked you even when you were the guy everyone picked on. And she'll still like you when the shine of your plastic name tag wears off.”

Millie and Rory nodded in agreement.

“Guys . . .” said Marc.

“Name one reason why you shouldn't give her another chance,” said Kevin.

“Because of where my life is going these days,” said Marc. “Chrissie just wants to go back to Bend, and don't pretend that you guys aren't here because you know how hard it'd be for her to find someone else who'd ever want to live there. You think that because I know how to find it on a map, I'm better than some other random Utah guy. I'm not going back there. After I get my degree, I'm going to Silicon Valley, or maybe I'll start up a company here.”

“Have you talked to her about any of this stuff?” asked Rory.

“And meeting someone online,” said Millie, “sounds sketchy.”

“I didn't meet her online,” said Marc. “I met her on my mission.”

“While my sister was writing to you?” said Kevin.

Marc rubbed his hands over his face in exasperation. “I didn't start dating this person back then. We got in touch after I got home, and after things ended with Chrissie.”

“Marc, some advice, bro to bro?” said Kevin. “That plastic name tag with
Elder Branson
written on it that you wore for two years? Better than plastic surgery. A month from now, you'll be the same guy you were before, the computer science major with no friends.”

Marc scowled at him.

“And this other girl is in Chile,” said Rory. “It's not like you're going to see her ever again in your life.”

“And have you considered that she may only be after a green card?” asked Millie.

“Give me a break,” said Marc.

“There is that,” agreed Rory.

Marc wished he hadn't gone to the door this morning. “You guys are living in the Stone Age. Just because you're not comfortable with the whole online thing doesn't mean that everyone who uses the Internet is a scammer of some kind.”

“You do need to be careful,” said Kevin. “You don't know what other people might do.”

“What if she hacks into your bank account?” said Millie.

“She can't do that. Gimme a break. You guys don't understand anything about technology. You all plan to move back to Bend and take over the family farms—”

“And you look down on us for that,” said Millie. “You think you're too good for Chrissie and for Bend.”

“I just don't think I fit in there.”

Aware they'd reached a stalemate, his guests exchanged looks of resignation.

Marc wanted to dance for joy when they finally let him usher them out.

*   *   *

Once back in his room, Marc took a deep breath, sat down on his bed, opened his laptop, and activated the dial-up connection.

Please,
he thought as the modem hissed and boinged in its conversation across the ether.
Please, please, please!

On the nightstand was the often folded and unfolded letter written in halting English, the words inscribed in purple ball point pen. In the other room, the doorbell rang again, but this time he ignored it.

As his e-mail inbox loaded, he crossed his fingers. Four new messages popped up, three from his mother and one from his ISP. He shut his eyes for a moment in frustration, then opened the last e-mail he'd sent.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: March 1, 1998

Dear Angela,

Thanks so much for your letter. Now you have my e-mail address. Hope to hear from you soon!

Marc (it's not Elder Branson anymore!)

He'd read and reread those lines, obsessing over every keystroke. Did he come on too strong? Did he e-mail too soon after he received her letter? Was she just not interested? Did it make her uncomfortable to use his first name? He smoothed open her letter and read it again.

February 5, 1998

Dear Elder Branson,

Thank you so much for your letter. I do remember who you are. You have green eyes and dark hair and a very nice smile. I hope you had a good trip back to Utah after your mission. Do you think you'll ever come back to Chile to visit?

To answer your question, yes, I have an e-mail. It is [email protected].

Sincerely,
Angela

He knew those words by heart now, and with each repetition became more aware of what they didn't say. She was being polite, not flirtatious. His interest in her wasn't reciprocated. All his talk about dating someone else was just that, talk. Angela was five and a half feet of slim elegant curves and a mocha complexion who seemed to like him in person, but Kevin's words about girls digging missionaries stung. Perhaps he really had set his sights too high.

With resignation he folded her letter and put it in his pocket, then opened the first of his mother's e-mails. He skimmed it for news, to see if his other sister, Marie, had delivered her baby yet, or if his brother Max had his mission call. Finding no news of either in any of the three messages, he put them all in the trash.

In the other room, he heard the door open and shut, and then laughter of the exact pitch and tenor to make him cringe.

“Marc?” the feminine voice called out. “You ready for class?”

“I might be late,” he yelled back.

Without even knocking, she opened his door.

“Whoa, hey!” he shouted, snatching his robe tight around himself. “Chrissie, seriously! First you send our families over for an intervention, and now you just barge in?”

The girl who stood in the doorway was plain with fine, blond hair. She tilted her head. “Intervention?”

“Yeah, play dumb.”

Her bafflement seemed genuine, though. “You need to get ready. I don't want to be late.”

“Then you go on ahead.”

“No, it's okay. I'll wait for you. Just hurry okay?”

There was no point trying any harder to get her to leave. She had perfected her selective hearing of late.

Once she left the room, Marc picked up a dirty shirt and jeans from his floor and got dressed. His face had a three-day-old scruff on it that scratched the back of his hand as he pulled his shirt on. It was the latest of his attempts to put Chrissie off.

With one eye on the clock, Marc dragged his feet until five minutes past the start of class, only to emerge into the living room and find Chrissie on the couch, her backpack slung over one shoulder, one flip-flop clad foot tapping impatiently.

Good,
he thought.
Get mad. Get furious. Storm out.

She looked up at him, took in his rumpled clothing and blinked in dismay, but then a smile blossomed on her face.

“Okay, let's go.”

“You don't have to walk with me to class.”

“No, it's fine.” She crossed to the front door and they were off.

Marc knew better than to drag his feet on the way. She'd only clamp on to his arm. The way to keep her from touching him was to walk fast.

“I seriously cannot learn HTML,” she chattered as they dashed along. “I'm so bad at it. Maybe you can help me?”

“Or maybe you should switch to poetry or art,” said Marc. “You don't have to take all the same classes as me.”

“No, it's all right.”

Marc pivoted on his heel and turned to face her. “You aren't interested in computers. It makes no sense for you to be a computer science major, okay? That's my thing, not yours.”

For a moment she stared at him, aghast. Marc hoped against hope that this was it, that she'd snap, yell at him, and storm off.

But no, that glorious smile spread across her face again. “That's so you, caring like that. I'd rather spend time with you than paint pictures or write poems.”

She looped her arm through his and tugged him on down the path. “Come on. I don't want to be too late. Oh, do you want to go to the movies on Friday?”

“Chrissie, we're not dating.”

“Well, you aren't going to the movies with anyone else. It's been two years. Would it kill you to go on one date with me and see what I'm like these days?”

She was far too good at this. Rather than make puppy dog eyes or pretend she didn't hear him, she resorted to logic. Chrissie knew him better than anyone, as loathe as he was to admit it.

“You know I'm seeing someone,” he said.

“That girl you're e-mailing? I'll believe it when it happens. I know you think the Internet is the way of the future, but I don't see the point of it at all. You can't really connect via e-mail.”

Marc knew better than to mount an argument. He knew the Internet was the way of the future because he just felt it, in his bones. Five years from now, geography would be irrellevant. They'd be able to talk every day. They'd use video chat rather than phone calls.

If only that day were today.

*   *   *

It was past five when he finally made it home again and retreated to his room and his Internet connection. He found two e-mail messages in his inbox. One from his mother and one from [email protected].

He blinked and looked again. No, it was there all right, an e-mail from Angela. With shaking hands he clicked it open.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: March 5, 1998

Hi Marc,

It is very strange to call you by your first name (but nice). I'm so glad you e-mailed me. I am still figuring out how e-mail works. Perhaps with you I can practice.

Did you have a good trip home to Utah? Do you see any of your other mission companions there? It is strange to not have you in our ward anymore. Maybe someday I can visit you in the USA.

Angela

His heart soared as he read the words again and again until they were seared into his retinas. He clicked to reply and wrote:

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: March 5, 1998

Hi Angela,

It's great to hear from you! I did have a good trip home to Utah, and yes, some of the missionaries I served with go to school here with me.

It's strange to be up in the northern hemisphere again, speaking English. Some days I feel like I almost forget how.

Have you ever tried using a chat room? It's a way to type to each other in real time. There's a chat room called LDSChat with the password: Moroni, if you click this link.

Marc

He pasted the link, hit
SEND
, and the agony kicked in before the screen even refreshed. He should have reread that e-mail. He'd probably sounded overeager, and she'd definitely be scared off by that.

After an hour of lurking in the chat room with no sign of Angela, Marc emerged to forage in his freezer for a Hot Pocket. His roommate, Jake, sat on the couch reading for his homework and waved without looking up.

“No Chrissie tonight?”

“I hope not.”

“Aw, just buy her a ring.” He looked up, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Right, because that'll fix things.”

“She's the most stubborn girl I've ever seen.”

“She and my mother believe that God's in favor of us getting married, so who cares about trivialities like my opinion?”

Jake chuckled. He was Mormon by upbringing, but hadn't been to church in as long as Marc had known him, and hadn't gone on a mission. He thought the whole prayer to God and getting detailed answers was a sign of lunacy, and in the current situation, Marc couldn't argue.

Right then, there was a knock at the front door. “Hey!” chirped Chrissie's voice. “I brought dinner.”

Jake got to his feet, shook his head, and retreated into his bedroom.

“Come on, bro,” Marc called after him.

“She is your problem.”

“You don't even want to help me eat her food? She's a good cook.”

“For a crazy person, sure.” He shut his door behind him.

Marc answered the door, but kept his foot braced against it so that Chrissie couldn't open it all the way.

“I'm not feeling well,” he lied.

“I made tuna casserole, and blondies for dessert.”

“Thanks, but I'm good.”

“No, you just take them. You can put them in the fridge or whatever.”