The Black Sentry (9 page)

12

Daman didn’t wait to hear any more. He raced past Xander, tearing down the street toward home.

His home was surrounded by the Black Sentry, perhaps forty or more of them, more than he had ever seen in one place at any time.

“Mister Adkins,” the Captain of the Guard shouted through the open window. “You are commanded to come out of your house. By order of the Black Sentry!”

A hush fell over the street as everyone listened for his reply.

Nothing came.

What w
as his father doing? He must’ve been as astonished as anyone when the Sentry pulled the Old Man out of the cellar. Was he afraid to come out? Or was there something more going on?

“If you do not come forth immediately,” the Captain bellowed, “we will be forced to come in after you.”

Still no reply.

Grimacing,
the Captain of the Guard hit the door shoulder first, then bounced back into the street. The door barely moved.

The door must’ve
been barricaded on the other side. Rubbing his sore shoulder, the Captain motioned for several of his Sentry to join him.

Together, they exerted their c
ombined strength on the door. Slowly but surely, it gave way. When the opening was sufficiently wide, they poured into the front room of his house.

The spectators
surged forward, craning for a better view. He wormed his way through the pack and pushed his way to the open window. Most of the people in the crowd recognized him and let him pass.

Inside, hi
s father had turned the kitchen table on its side and crouched behind it. He threw everything in sight at the intruding Sentry—firewood, fruit, even coals from the stove.

And in this manner, h
is father—the quiet, unassuming, mild-mannered baker—held off two platoons of the Black Sentry.

But h
e knew his father could not hold them back forever. Ducking and shouting, the Sentry continued to pour into the room.

From
his window vantage point, he saw that his father was poised at the far end of the table, crouched down, as if preparing to spring at any moment. He could not imagine why—at first. Then he noticed the open kitchen door just beyond. The door faced an alleyway behind their house. With the Sentry drawn to the front by his father’s attack, escape through the rear was a possibility.

More than twen
ty of the Black Sentry were in the entry of his home. If his father planned to make a run, it had to be now.

His father
sprang out from behind the table, diving headlong toward the rear window.

He was fast, but
the Black Sentry were faster. One had a rope with a loop at the end. It caught one of his father’s legs as he made the leap, then jerked him hard back into the room. At least ten of the Sentry were on him in an instant, tying his hands and legs, beating him with their fists.

“Father!” he cried out through
the window.

But t
here was nothing he could do. The Black Sentry had him.

13

Daman broke away from the window, burrowed through the crowd, and pushed his way past the front door. Two of the Sentry grabbed him, holding him back.

“He’s my father!” he
shouted, but it made no difference.

O
nce his father was completely immobilized, the beating ceased.

“Let me go to him!” he
begged, but they did not. Several others dragged his father out of the house.

Mykah
was one of those dragging him away.

“
Mykah,” he said, “my father has treated you like his own son your entire life.”

Mykah
’s eyes did not meet his. “I’m sorry,” he said, in an odd, hollow voice. “But the Sentinel’s will must be done. He’s our Master.”

“A Master who would do this is no Master of mine!”

A sudden, deathly quiet fell over the room. Wide eyes flitted from side to side.

Xander appeared behind him
, seemingly out of nowhere. “Master, why are you out and on your feet? You know the physic said you should remain in bed. After that severe blow to your head, you are not yourself.”

It took him
a moment to realize what Xander was babbling about. “Oh…yes…”

Xander put his arm around hi
s shoulder and led him out of the crowd.

Mykah
and the others hauled his father away. They would take him to the Keep, where he would be held until his fate was determined at trial. But that was just a formality. He already knew what the result would be. In the entire history of the village, the Black Sentry had never once brought charges without receiving a verdict of guilty from the Magistrate. To be charged, as his father surely would be, was to be sentenced to death.

“An
d it was all for nothing,” he heard one of the Sentry say. “All the noise and fighting. We still caught the Rebel.”

Whipping around, he
saw that the Old Man had been taken captive. Two large and particularly cruel-looking members of the Sentry held him, arms pinned painfully behind his back. He appeared dazed, barely conscious. Blood smeared one side of his wrinkled face. His temper boiled thinking of what the Sentry must have done to him.

The Old Man saw him
as well, but quickly looked away. Obviously, he didn’t want the Sentry to know there was a connection between them.

It was all over then, he
thought to himself. This new opportunity, this new hope, however small, was gone.

*****

After the excitement ended and the crowd cleared, two of the Sentry warned Daman to remain near his home should he be wanted during the trial. He did not argue with them. After his imprudent words, he fully expected to be hauled to the Keep himself. Apparently the Sentry decided to be generous, realizing he was young and under a great deal of stress. Xander’s bluff about the “blow to his head” probably helped as well.

He
went to the Keep. He was refused entrance. They would not let him visit his father.

On his way back, he
met his mother. She had been at the grove near Blaine River collecting berries and had just heard what happened. She looked as if she had aged ten years since breakfast.

“Have you seen your father?
” He knew she was fighting back tears.

“Not since he was taken away.”

“They say he aided the Rebel. That he’s part of this Resistance that fights the Sentinel.”

“Yes,” he
said, bowing his head. “That is what they say.”

“I do not believe it
. It cannot be true.”

“No, Mother,” he
whispered. “It is not true.”

Her eyes burned down on him
, splitting his soul.

She knew
. He was sure of it. She knew he was the one who had betrayed the Sentinel. She knew it was his fault Father had been arrested and beaten. She knew it was his fault her husband would be executed, leaving her without a partner for the rest of her days, leaving her with no one but a disobedient son who would soon lose his Winnowing and be transported somewhere else.

Her face trembled, but she said nothi
ng more. She brushed past him and entered the front office of the Keep. A few moments later, she too was turned away.

He
sat on the steps outside, too unhappy for words. He had been foolish and impetuous, as always. He was the most miserable wretch that ever lived. And the worst son.

*****

About half an hour later, Daman saw Mykah emerge from the Keep. Mykah walked past without speaking. Then, as if by afterthought, he stopped.

“You must understand
,” he said quietly. “These are troubled times. This old Rebel and his Resistance—they pose a great threat to our way of life. The Sentinel must be protected.”

He fought back the words that came to mind
.

“The Captain of the Guard has decided not to prosecute you for your foolish words
and actions,” Mykah continued. “We all agreed that you were in a strained frame of mind and did not know what you were saying.” He paused. “I personally assured them that you did not mean what you said.”

Hi
s eyes rose. “I did mean it.”

Mykah
’s mouth became thin and tight. “Daman, listen to me. We are no longer children, passing our time at games and nonsense. I’m a member of the Black Sentry. I must obey and enforce the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel.”

“I will n
ever obey the Sentinel.”

“Then from this day forward, we can no longer be friends.”

He stared at Mykah, barely able to believe his own ears. They had always been friends—
always
. As far back as he could remember.

“There’s more.
” Mykah shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “If I learn you’re part of this Resistance, or you’re acting contrary to the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel, I will report you to the Magistrate. Do you understand?”

He did not answer.

“Make no mistake, Daman. I
will
report you.” He turned abruptly and walked away.

“Goodbye, friend,” he whispered
, long after Mykah was gone.

*****

Daman sat on the stoop for a long while and thought as long and as hard as he had ever done before. He knew he was at a critical turning point. The decisions he made today would set the stage for the rest of his life—however long or short it might be.

He was responsible
for all that had happened.

And
since he was responsible, he decided at last, it was time he acted responsibly.

He walked to the headquarters
of the Black Sentry, adjacent to the Arena. He went to the back entrance and pounded on the door.

The
Sentry on duty peered out.

“Go away!” he shouted
. “You’ve already been told. You may not see your father before trial.”

“That is not why I came.
” He tried to keep his voice firm, although he was trembling inside.

“Then what
?”

“I wish to speak to the Prosecutor.”

“And what would you want with him? If this is some sort of game—”

“It’
s no game, sir. I have business with the Prosecutor.”

“He’
s busy.”

“Get him anyway.
”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you
—”

“I have come to give the Prosecutor
information. Important information.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Information about the Resistance.”

The Sentry
’s head twitched. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’
m not lying. And if you don’t get the Prosecutor, I’ll let it be known throughout the village that you prevented important information about the Resistance from reaching the Prosecutor. I do not think he will be pleased. Do you?”

He
could see the man wanted to knock him off the step. But he couldn’t risk incurring the Prosecutor’s wrath. “One minute,” he growled.

The man disappeared
. He waited, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

The Sentry returned with someone
about Daman’s father’s age, the same man he had seen leading the assault on his home only hours before. His name was Arlen Crusher. He was the senior officer and Captain of the Guard, which entitled him to serve as Prosecutor. He was a tall man with black hair and small, dark eyes. He wore a solemn expression at all times—never the least hint of a smile.

His voice was slow and heavy
. “I am told you have something you wish to tell me.”

“You have taken my father on charges of harboring the Rebel.”

“This is so.”

“The Black Sentry has acted in error
. My father committed no crime.”

“You are a loyal son and you speak out of a well-placed affection
. Unfortunately—”

“No, sir,” he
said emphatically. “I do not speak out of affection. I speak out of fact. I know my father did not commit this crime.”

The Proseutor’
s left eyebrow arched. “And how do you know this?”

He
drew in his breath. “Because I committed this crime. I was the one who hid the Rebel in our cellar. My father knew nothing about it. I’m the guilty one.”