Chapter Eleven

“Missed me!” Katalene exclaimed excitedly with a certain youthful, innocent enthusiasm in her voice, her unkempt hair tangled with hay and her face coated in mud and dirt.

Rooven had a frustrated look his face, and why shouldn’t he? The game was simple enough and he was ‘it’. Katalene, her cousin Dally, and their neighbor Reese, all stood on the metal rectangular can, a can that would other-wise be what the pigs ate their slop out from. The metal can was thin and narrow, for an added challenge, it was unbalanced, propped up by buckets. The objective was simple, with them standing on the metal can, it was in Rooven’s interest to change that. Behind him were worn clothe stitched sacks filled with hay, as well as a stone at the center to add a little more oomph and weight to the throw.

The uncoordinated Dally didn’t take more than two attempts to stifle and make fall off. The goal was not as much to hit them off from the pig can as it was to make them fall off from it. Balancing on it was tricky enough, but when one had to challenge themselves to dodge the stitched sacks, it made it even more arduous a task. The rule was to either knock the person off from their position or hit them three times with the sack. After that, they were eliminated. Rooven’s first attempt was a miss on all accounts, but, with the second, Dally’s attempt at dodging the hay failed and sent him tumbling off into the hay behind them.

The splatting sound that Dally made as he landed was enough to emphasize the mud and horse manure that likely waited for her should she be hit next. Dally played it off like it was no big deal, laughing with a wide-grin that showed his large buck-teeth.

Rooven laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever seen, and Reese made a face of disgust at the sight. Truth is, Reese was the definition of femininity in Wilson, she was very against dirt and outdoor activities, which is why, the very second she heard the splat of Dally’s backside into the mud, she hopped off from the can to make her leave. None of the rest had it in them to be upset at her, however. After all, they were simply surprised she had tagged along with them for as long as she had.

This left Katalene on the can by herself, and left Rooven staring back at her, tossing one sack after another at her. It was all in vein, Katalene able to dodge each of them with relative ease. She was good with her balance and was also very small, able to dodge each attempt because of it.

“Get,” Rooven began, throwing one of the sacks at his sister, “Out!”

His voice carried his frustration, he had been in a particularly competitive funk as of late. Thirteen years old, Father and Mother both said he was making the first few footsteps toward manhood. Manhood came with a need to assert his superiority on everyone, it seemed.

Rooven was able to, at last, eliminate Katalene, not through outmatching her, but capitalizing on a distraction. Every other time he missed a shot with the sacks, he struck Dally, who played it off like it was a fate worse than death, sticking out his tongue for theatrics, she found herself bursting with laughter in moments, leaving her a sitting duck for Roo to take advantage of.

And, take advantage, he did, striking Katalene in the legs with one of the sacks. In doing so, he caught her by surprise, herself flinching in a failed effort to dodge what had already hit her, she lost balance, falling off from the metal can. Then again, falling “off” wasn’t really a word that did justice to the displays.

Rather, she slipped off, kicking her feet forward and falling awkwardly onto the metal can, bending it down the middle between the buckets that elevated it. The noise was loud, and the act was sudden, her brother had a stunned look on his face that actually seemed to suggest concern, but once he saw she wasn’t upset, he celebrated in rejoice of himself.

Katalene felt at the bruise on her stomach with a small sense of anger, but she bit her lip until it left her. Dally’s strides at comforting her also helped alleviate the anger she felt toward her brother.

* * *

Katalene and Dally sat on the wooden porch outside her house, they drank cold water from glasses and rested from the day’s adventures.

“I tell you, when the day comes, I’ll get out of here and I’ll be a star, like, in plays and junk!” Dally said. “Momma says I have the looks to make the girl’s swoon.”

“Swoon!?” Katalene repeated, unable to suppress laughter from the idea.

“You know, like, they’ll faint because how handsome I am?” Dolly explained, and as he did, he smiled, widely exposing his large buck teeth, that had a gap big enough to fit a coin in them.

Dally was the wild child of Wilson, and that’s because he was so unlike all the others in Wilson. Katalene and Rooven had been brought up to respect authority and their parents, but Dally played by his own set of rules in that regard. It was difficult to blame him; his parents had mostly been absentee and uninvolved in his life. He attended classes and regular schooling, then, was set free to roam the town. Sometimes he ate dinner with them, but that wasn’t very often. Mother Jane felt sorry for his situation, but Father Ark had less patience when it came to his defiance and rebellious nature, believing him a bad seed that neither Roo and Kat should associate with.

Every child received free rations of corns, beans, and potatoes, along with the occasional extra thrown in. The parents, other-wise, would receive food and supplies for the quantity of work they contributed to the farm. Considering that Dally’s father was known as the village drunkard and his mother, at best, helped babysit every now and again, that couldn’t have been very much. Dally’s frail body did a lot to imply how his parents kept themselves fed, however.

“I’m certain you’ll be a big-time actor in Jerleak!” Katalene assured him, patting him on the back with a smile on her face.

If she was being honest, Dally had the furthest from what it took to be a Jerleak big shot as far as looks were concerned. His small, wiry frame, big buck teeth and freckles weren’t exactly endearing, but he was a nice person, and, for that reason, she hoped he would be one of the very few to be able to make it out from Wilson.

“Thanks,” Dally said, grinning back, “I think you’ll be a real adventurer someday too, maybe your Uncle will even take you for one of his trips!”

“Over Father’s dead body, he will,” Katalene answered, shaking her head at the audacity of such an idea. “Besides, I don’t know how much I believe what Uncle Morgis says, Father says he greatly exaggerates it.”

“Sounds like what an adult would say, try to make you not want to do it no more,” Dally remarked, taking a sip of the water from his glass.

A rock struck the front-porch with a small thud, coming only a short distance away from Dally’s foot.

“Dally, stop catching flies, and on-guard!” Rooven announced, pointing a stick forward in his direction, a serious look on his face.

Dally smirked at the sight and rested his water down on the porch, lifting his stick off from the ground and readying it in his hands.

They circled each other, Rooven with a serious expression, whereas Dally seemed to have trouble maintaining one, always feeling the need to smirk or laugh. At last, Rooven made a slashing attempt, aiming for the waist, one that Dally was very easily able to deflect with his stick. Rooven leaped back, then, lunged his arm forward, using his weapon like a spear, but Dally chopped it down and swung his sword down like an axe, he was certain to go slow enough to keep from hitting Roo on the head and made it easy for him to block.

Rooven succeeded, then, in an effort that could, at best, be described as shady, he took a swipe at Dally with his feet, distracting Dally long enough that he was able to stop his stick at his cousin’s neck.

Dally smiled when he realized he’d been beaten, he was a good sport, through and through, he nodded his head and stood aside as Roo acted out the movements and taunts of a real warrior. Something about the display struck Katalene as arrogant, after all, he had been being a royal ass for most of the day. It bothered her enough to stand up to her feet and wield her wooden axe in her hands. She knew she could outfight Rooven as she had done it many times before but figured her older brother might have needed reminding of that.

“On-guard,” She announced, at once, holding her stick with a fierce look of her own.

Rooven scoffed at the fact, puffing out his bare chest like the tough guy he thought himself to be, but Katalene was far from intimidated by him. She swung her misshapen sword, at once, catching Rooven off-guard with the amount of force she had behind it. Roo managed to barely block the attack, but Katalene was quick to continue the offensive, making one swipe after another at increasing speeds. The key was to keep on the offensive for as much as she could but be ready for her brother’s receipt. Each attack stifled her brother more and more, and each of his attempts to defend himself was easily thwarted. His attacks were light and slow because she gave him little time and space to react.

And then, after the sounds of grunting frustration on her brother’s behalf, she felt his attacks become more and more aggressive, harder and with more force behind them. She blocked each of them, though, found herself caught off balance when Roo swiped at her legs in the same way that he had done Dally, the difference though, was that, along with the swipe, he drove the stick to her shoulder with a great deal of force, clubbing it over her.

Katalene dropped to her bottom, holding her arm in pain, and when she contacted Rooven, who had only just realized his mistake, she did the one thing she has been fighting off, she cried.

“No, no, Kat, I’m sorry,” Rooven said, looking at her with a sense of urgency, then, looking up at the front door with fear in his eyes, but Katalene didn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop crying. “Here, do you want to hit me back, here, take my stick, hit me back!”

Rooven pleaded with her, but Katalene wouldn’t relent, the red-hot warmth was in her chest and her face was red. Once the floodgates were open, it was much more difficult to close them again.

“What’s going on!?” Father Ark yelled out, running through the front-door like a fire had sprouted.

Dally flinched, intimidated by the way Father Ark could carry himself when he was mad. Ark surveyed the area, Katalene saw him give a death glare at Rooven for his troubles.

“What did you do!?” He yelled out, his voice did this scary thing when he was mad where it no longer resembled anything human, it was more like a growl or a snarl, too raspy and wet to be intelligible to the untrained.

“I, I, we were playing!” Rooven asked, stammering with his words, his voice reached a high-pitch, unlike the manly voice he tried to pull off most times as of late.

Father Ark crouched beside Katalene, who had stopped sobbing, but continued to hyperventilate, unable to fully quiet herself. Ark hugged her in an embrace, then, lifted her up, carrying her, Katalene wrapped herself around him tightly, sobbing on his shoulder.

“You are her older brother, Rooven. You’re supposed to protect and be good to her, that is not what you’ve done.” Ark said calmly, in a tone that seemed to tell Rooven that they’d talk more about it later.

Katalene couldn’t see how Rooven replied to that, but considering the presence that Father could command, she doubted he did anything except nod in agreement.

Father Ark carried Katalene up the porch and into the house, Dally opened the door for him as he made his leave, a sombre look on Dally’s face as he did so. Ark walked through the house, carrying Katalene, until, at last, sitting her down on the table.

Katalene sniffled some, still not fully able to regain her composure.

“Where did he hit you?” Ark asked, but it was a question he was able to infer by himself from the way she cradled her shoulder.

He lifted her sleeve, a small bruise was beginning to form, it was nothing too serious, really, it was the act itself and situation that upset her. Ark nodded his head, a warm smile on his face as he tended to her.

“Rooven was,” she stopped, breathing heavily, “So mean today!”

“I know, I know,” Ark remarked, handing her a piece of cloth that was dampened by the cauldron of cool water beside the fire-place.

He took her hand, making her hold the damp rag over her shoulder, long enough for Katalene to figure it out and hold it herself.

“Your brother is entering an age that every man has to deal with, and most consequently, every woman has to put up with.” Father said with a laugh. “It’s an age where egotism outweighs all logic.”

“Earlier, he was really rough, knocked me down, and he almost hit Dally with a rock!” Katalene confessed, upset enough that she didn’t care about being labelled a tattle-tale by her older brother.

“Rooven feels the need to show his mettle, to prove his superiority and his manhood. Dally, being a fellow boy, probably threatens him, he’ll get jealous when all the attention isn’t on him. I wouldn’t let it get to you, you know very well how highly he thinks of you. You’re his best friend, he doesn’t want to share you.” Father Ark jested, crouching down to make level eye-contact with his daughter.

She nodded her head; the sniffling and crying had mostly begun to subside, and she was willing to listen to reason again.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” Father Ark asked, a look of genuine concern on him.

“Much better now,” Katalene answered, moving the rag off from her shoulder.

“It doesn’t look so good,” Father Ark said, eye-balling the bruise, “Might have to cut it off, I’m afraid.”

Katalene glared at him but laughed once Father Ark gave her a wink.

“If you want, I can draw you a bath and you can call it a day for the night, but if you’re feeling well enough, you can go back outside and play, I’ll talk with Rooven and make sure he isn’t so rough anymore.”

Katalene ended up going back outside, sitting beside Reese who wasn’t much for outdoor playing in the first place. Dally and Rooven fought and played as usual, whereas Reese yammered on and on about what her little sister had done and how unnatural it was for Katalene to play sword fight in the first place.

What Katalene remembered from the night was not her brother’s behavior. Rooven was an ass on-and-off again thereafter, but remained her closest friend, and once his “coming of age” ended, he evolved into a very thoughtful and caring young man. The most loved person in her life.

What Katalene clasped onto from the day was how nurturing and loving Father Ark could be. For all his faults, she chose to believe in her heart that he was a good man, and, for all his faults, she never once questioned how much he loved her and the rest of the family.

2

“Do you think that The Hallow ever takes a day, week, or month off from The Sanctuary, to ready themselves for the festivities, is this a special occasion or event to them, where they migrate here annually in celebration? Is there a time when The Sanctuary is out of season?” Katalene asked, herself laying comfortable in the sand, a certain casualness to the way she laid.

“In the time we’ve watched The Hallow and what I’ve seen from them before that, it doesn’t appear that they ever close-down shop. The customers are the customers, visitors that pay to experience The Sanctuary, but for The Hallow members, this is where they live and breathe.” Sol commented, he spoke from a small way away.

Sol’s objective was to keep an eye on the Western side of The Sanctuary, to off any Hallow that might return from The Trade Network, and to off any Hallow that might try to leave for The Trade Network. They had changed their primary attacks to this side of The Sanctuary. It took only until night’s end for the men on their sand rays to return from Tuncid, but it took several days to make it back from The Trade Network. Killing the ones going to The Trade Network would make them slower to realize they were being hunted.

“What would you be doing right now if you weren’t helping me?” Katalene inquired next as she bit into a small piece of bread smeared in butter.

“Either wandering around the Deserts at night-time or sleeping at Birgo’s Tomb,” Sol answered, “The life of a dragon isn’t always an exciting and adventurous one.”

“Is it because you’re bound by the gauntlet, or is it because of some other reason that keeps you here?”

“I tried to fly away from the deserts once, the very second Birgo died, the second I saw the last life leave him. I tried to fly away from him and flee, but before I could get far, I felt myself begin to lose consciousness, falling back down because the gauntlet’s hold over me.”

“Why did nobody else try to take the gauntlet from him, if he was this vile man, clearly, taking his control over a dragon would be imperative?”

“They didn’t know about the gauntlet, didn’t know what it was capable of. By the time the Sand Trials were winding down, they didn’t despise him, they respected him. A vile man wasn’t a vile man in The Deserts, they were very careful in his burial, nobody would’ve even thought about touching his gauntlet.”

“The gauntlet basically latched onto me like a leach, hard to believe anyone could’ve avoided it clinging to them.” Katalene jested.

“If they did, they put it back on him, they would’ve sooner buried him with that person’s arm before burying him without his gauntlet.”

Katalene attended The Sanctuary’s night-time festivities again. She carried a backpack on her shoulder she had retrieved when she and Sol ambushed a group of Hallow members on sand rays and disposed of them. This time, she’d decided against watching The Trials they conducted at the night’s end, and instead, opted for a different approach. She followed The Hallow members after they gathered up the food to be thrown away, the food, of course, was slopped together, a mesh of everything on the tables conglomerated into a pile of garbage.

The men wore the same get-ups as they normally did, distinctive because the red scabbards at their waist. A fact that sent shivers up Katalene’s spine, however, was The Bulky Man from The Hallows’ Final Trial, true to their word, he was newly appointed as a member, it seemed.

The reason she followed them is because she wanted to see where the food ended up, and more importantly, she wanted to see how the new food was brought in. Most of the Sensations’ visitors were in-doors, in-preparation for the night’s event, which made it very easy to hide from and follow The Hallow members as they made their rounds.

She followed them until, at last, they led her to the food’s final resting spot, which was in the right corner of the fort, opposite the entrance, a very large tent that occupied at least a tenth of the whole Sanctuary. She couldn’t give herself a look at the contents inside, but she waited quietly, knowing The Hallow would leave shortly after they did whatever it is they’d do with the food.

She crouched herself down into her hiding spot, which was benefited full-heartedly by the fact it was mostly pitch-black. It took only a couple of minutes until The Hallow members started to make their leave from the tent, themselves walking with their stoic demeanor.

Katalene wondered the practicality of their existence, the actuality of its execution and how it was maintained. Nobody was willing to crack a smile or make a joke, what could they have talked about? To just sit in silence with one another, waiting to fuck or murder something when the time arose. It reminded her of Father Ark, a hardened man that was extremely dedicated to farming and cultivating crops. He provided for his family so greatly that he had very little time for anything else. It was how he was raised, that’s what Mother Jane said in defense. She said that his father was even stricter or more dedicated. It made Katalene wonder when there was time for anything else. For the intermingling of relationships or happiness of any kind. It was as though the individual had been simplified to a singular want, and need for the bare necessities, it was how Katalene felt when she left Rooven in the Tomb.

Once The Hallow members were far enough, heading the direction of the front-gate, likely to position themselves for the night’s Trial. Katalene sneaked, finding herself into the tent, the smell was odorous, the distinctive scent of shit and garbage overwhelmed her.

The area was almost pitch-black, she lit a pine-stick, one of the many items stolen from The Hallow, and brought herself out from the darkness. The tent’s confines had a deceptive plainness to it. A large crate struck her as familiar, however. Calling it a crate was a confusing term, as it was much larger than the containers The Hallow had their sand rays drag through the desert. It was more like a small room that had chains keeping it from being opened. Katalene thought that to be rude of them, but wasn’t completely deterred, because she saw a small flap that peeked in.

It was at this moment Katalene also realized this was where the smell of shit and garbage was coming from, was it a garbage-container for their leftover food? She pressed open the flap and pressed her hand with the lit pine-stick through it. She got only a small look inside before she felt someone’s hand grab hers. The act made her flinch, she plucked her hand out from the flap as fast as she could, losing her pine-stick in the process.

“Help me, please!” A woman cried out, holding the pine-stick up to her face and looking out through the flap.

Her eyes were sunken in and clearly bloodshot, she looked malnourished and like death, and the rustling commotion told Katalene that she wasn’t alone in the cage. This is where their mesh of leftover food went, Katalene realized.

Other-wise though, she felt stunned, perhaps because this was the first coherently conscience being she’d met that was also a victim of The Hallow’s wrath. She couldn’t find the words to react to her though, worse than that, she couldn’t offer any reassurance for her. Try as she might, she would not be able to save all of them without risking her ultimate goal of stopping The Hallow in time, instead, she said nothing at all.

She stepped away from the cage, waiting until the woman, at last, lost interest, and began looking around the rest of the tent. She felt around the room in blackness until finding wooden sticks in the ground with candles attached to the head of them, candles not unlike the ones strewn about outside The Sanctuary as The Hallows’ guests killed for a chance at membership in the group. Taking another pine-stick out from her backpack, she lit the candles, allowing the darkness to be left behind.

The tint appeared to be a “behind the curtains” area for The Sanctuary, and more specifically, the final Trial. She found weapon-racks set off to the side, like axes and swords, and she found their other supplies, a place of storage for their medicines and pesticides, their speciality items like foreign rugs and furs, those likely made a fair amount in Jerleak.

The Hallow was a full-scale operation. The funds achieved from distribution of items between The Trade Network and Zeal, as well as the services provided by The Sanctuary, all of it allowed for the members to reap the benefits and live prosperous, fruitful lives.

Soon, Katalene found what she was searching for: their food supply. Behind a large black tarp, their food was sprawled across several very large tables. She walked forward, seeing the sands leave her in favor of a tarped-flooring. A lot of the food was already prepared and ready, though, a lot of it was simply ingredients that needed to be worked with. Several large pots and jars of spices stood in shelves by themselves. Katalene smiled, taking her backpack off from her shoulder and throwing it over one of the tables. She held a pine-stick in-hand but would soon go and fetch one of the wooden stake candles to bring into the kitchen.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” A voice yelled out, startling Katalene, who ran herself back into the obscurity of the kitchen, extinguishing the light on her pine-stick.

“Don’t fucking run from me, bitch!” The man yelled out, sternness and strength to his tone. And something else a little stupid. A buffoonish inflection.

She listened in on his footsteps, listened in as he rattled the chains by the cage for a moment, likely to see if she was an escaped Sensation. Katalene felt around the blackness until finding one of the tables, she crawled under it. The kitchen only had one clear exit and that was being blocked by the man. It was a tarp, however, and tarps could be cut through. But, to set things in-motion, she needed the kitchen to remain fully intact and not a cause for concern or caution.

The man marched through the kitchen, stabbing the sands with one of the lit sticks and drawing the scimitar out from his red scabbard. Hiding beneath the table, Katalene instantly recognized him as The Bulky Man that had won the final Trial a few nights prior. Even without the heavy paint and his face being mostly obscured and cloaked by a scarf and a hood, it was the way he walked and his sheer size that gave away his identity.

Katalene watched on, watching his feet stamp down through the sands, he circled around the kitchen tables. She couldn’t bring herself to act, the last time she’d seen him, he had been accompanied by many other Hallow members. He must have heard the cries of the caged woman and come to investigate, but Katalene knew not if he was alone or expecting support. She had thought of clipping the back of his ankle and killing him but didn’t want to risk alerting anyone else.

Nervousness might have been actively petrifying her and clouting her decision making, but that didn’t change the fact that the best move was to make her leave and avoid conflict. If she could make her escape from The Bulky Man, it would appear as someone trying to smuggle food that he scared off, and once he was out of sight, she could do what needed to be done.

The sound of The Bulky Man biting down into a piece of food was very loud. Maybe it was a tactical mind-game, maybe he was hungry. Either way, his chewing acted as a clear notifier of his whereabouts. Katalene crawled fourth, her hands and feet digging into the sand, she listened in on The Bulky Man’s chewing, waiting until he was far enough that she could go from him. Her heartbeat was rampant, and worse still, she had a paranoid suspicion that she wouldn’t be alone on the other-side of the tarp, and that the fellow Hallow members were waiting for her. The thought was a scary one, but it wasn’t as if she had much in the way of options.

She crawled through, quietly spreading open the small slit that left the kitchen, she did it as discreetly as she could. She crawled through and then, climbed to her feet, attacking the air to extract the blade out from her gauntlet.

She felt a sense of relief after realizing there was nobody else there, she let out small breaths, lowering her guard. She’d have to wait until a later time to act on her intentions, go into hiding until the coast was clear.

A second after that thought, she felt herself tackled to the ground by The Bulky Man from behind the tarp! The man made a grunting noise and Katalene echoed the sentiment with her own guttural wince. Still, she was quick to roll away from him and create distance. Just quick enough, it’d seem, as she watched The Bulky Man stab his scimitar into the sand where she’d once been.

Katalene climbed to a standing position and went for a slash over The Bulky Man’s head. However, his reflexes proved much faster than she anticipated, himself being able to bring his scimitar out from the sand and block it before the strike could land. He stood to his feet, striking his foot into Katalene’s stomach in a feat that easily took her off her feet. Katalene rolled backward back to a standing position and went back on the attack, attempting an assault at the man’s rib-cage. She succeeded, though, not with the amount of force she would have liked. The attack, undoubtedly hurt him, but he returned the favor by hitting her in the face with the hilt of his weapon.

This sent Katalene in a daze, she could almost feel her eye blackening, and in what felt like a split second after, she saw The Bulky Man swing his sword at her head, trying for a decapitation. Katalene ducked beneath his attack, sending The Bulky Man fourth, Kat searched the area, looking for some tactic to give her the edge.

The Bulky Man swung his scimitar again. Katalene was able to block it with her gauntlet’s blade. The Bulky Man’s footwork was minimal, he was all about brute force and strength. His grace and speed also left something to be desired. He wasn’t particularly comfortable with the scimitar, having much more comfort with a flail. Those were the advantages that she saw for herself, but none of them really provided an opportunity for her.

She made a jab at his mid-section. It wasn’t intended to penetrate his flesh, it was intended to make him flinch backward, and he did, which Katalene used as an opportunity to flee out from the tent, running away as fast as she could, the sound of his expletive yelling was heard from behind.

The darkness slowed her heartbeat, made her feel an element of safety, about the only sanctity that The Sanctuary could provide her was anonymity. She hid herself behind one of the houses, the light from the moon didn’t provide very much. Half of her considered breaking into one of the houses and staying for the night, she’d off whoever was staying as soon they came back. The only issue is that she wouldn’t be able to set things into motion.

The Bulky Man would report the incident to the men and, from then on, the kitchen and the tent itself would be looked after. This was the only opportunity she’d receive and, even if she wanted to wait for another day, she had made the mistake of leaving her backpack in the kitchen.

The sound of The Bulky Man stammering through the tent befell her ears, “Aggggh!” He unintelligibly exclaimed and began peeking into the darkness without the faintest clue where to look.

The Sanctuary was spacious enough that finding her would be like finding a needle in a haystack, “Fuck you!” Katalene yelled out in-response, retracting the blade back into her gauntlet.

The reaction from The Bulky Man was evident, she only hoped nobody else was still close by enough to this side of the fort to hear her comment. She assumed they’d be too busy observing the chanting and dancing done by the visitors, she also hoped it.

Katalene quickly left from behind one house in favor of another, and, like she had done in the very first night she spent in The Sanctuary, she scaled the house. Using the windowsill as leverage, she found herself atop the small abode in quick-time, still hearing The Bulky Man wandering around.

She stood atop the building, looking down on The Bulky Man and everything he represented. She watched him look around in aimless pursuit, until, at last, he came close enough. Like a falling angel, Katalene leaped off from the building and onto The Bulky Man, flinging her weapon out from its gauntlet, going in for the kill.

The Bulky Man anticipated it, catching her by her throat and flinging her against the wall of a nearby building. The act stunned Katalene, who had thought herself in full control of the situation. The Bulky Man let out a loud battle cry and went for another strike. It was by nothing except luck that Katalene fell to a seated position while she was gasping for air. The Bulky Man hadn’t anticipated it, and in a series of events that couldn’t have been greater in Katalene’s favor, his weapon found itself stabbed into the wall of the sand and clay made home.

A confused grunt escaped him, but Katalene was quick to react, stabbing the blade of the gauntlet into The Bulky Man’s chest. The blood poured out and onto Katalene, coming down on her like rainfall. She crawled away from The Bulky Man as he suffered, the way he twitched and convulsed told her that he would be dead in short time.

She climbed to her feet, brushing the sand off her person, and began heading back toward the tent. It wasn’t worth killing The Bulky Man, she preferred him to be an omen to The Hallow members.

The kitchen was the same as she had left it, with no signs of anyone else coming back to the tent, she felt comfortable moving fourth. Holding the backpack in her hands, she poured its contents out on one of the less crowded tables. The Belladonna poison was most evident in the roots and foliage, and the berries themselves were also toxic. Even better, the berries themselves looked attractive, with what Sol said victims described as a sweet taste to them. She grounded the berries up into the seasoning jars, burying them in to assure they’d stay hidden and unnoticed. In a cart of cabbages that looked recently pampered, and in a large pot with the ingredients for a stew, she mixed-and-matched the leaves of the belladonna plant.

Sol had told her stories about the woman, Trisha Alemay, he told Katalene of the use the belladonna had during The Sand Trials. Forced against her will by a Pharaoh, she poisoned the feasting of a small army, rendering them unable to stand. The peculiarity of it was not the use of poison, which was, albeit, a more tactical approach than what the barbarism of The Sands Trials usually welcomed, but the fact that the men he poisoned were among his own. When Trisha pleaded and asked why he’d kill his own men, the Pharaoh informed that he did not live for his people, with them, he carried no sentiment, he only cared that his beliefs, “the right beliefs,” were salvaged in the rubble.

Katalene wasn’t intending to kill all The Hallow. Sol said the reactions could be unpredictable and Katalene doubted The Hallow members would stoop to eating the visitor’s food. This would weaken them, however, and that was a start.

3

As nightfall came, Rooven and Katalene found themselves both in their beds, they shared a room, the two of them. It was a small-sized room with pictures drawn on parchment resting on a desk, as well as books on shelves, above Kat’s current comprehension and reading level, most of them belonged to Rooven, who was two years deeper into his education. Taking off her leggings and feeling her toes beneath the brown rug that acted as a center-piece to the room, Katalene curled herself up and rested her head on the pillow.

Father Ark walked into their bedroom in the same way he did every night. Or, at least, every night he possibly could. In some occasions, especially when he had been working from day to night, he would be too tired and send them to bed for Mother Jane to tuck them in. Their Father carried himself with a chiefly stoic stance, a look on his face that was saggy and wrinkled, riddled with exhaust.

Seeing Mother Jane and Father Ark together, one might have mistaken him for Grandfather Ark, though, Jane had told them before he was only a few years her Senior. Ark was haggard because how long he spent under the sun, and with Jane watching over the kids most days, her complexion was saved as a result.

Mother Jane wasn’t with him now, however. A fact that Katalene recognized as peculiar, she, of the both of them, was the one who was always there to tuck them in at night. Ark smiled weakly, walking to Rooven’s bedside and laying him a kiss on the forehead. Rooven was less than receptive to the act, acting like his Father’s lips were the backside of a donkey, but Katalene’s smiled when he did the same to her.

“A new day for tomorrow,” He said aloud, brushing his hand over the top of Katalene’s head, bringing her hair back and away from her eyes. “What you’ve been through,” Walking over to Rooven, he, next, rested his hand on him, “What you’ve done.” Father Ark walked between their beds, he let out quiet breaths between speaking, “All of that, if you’re truly remorseful, or if you truly believe it’s what’s right, then, you’ll be forgiven when the morning comes, at last.” Father Ark’s smile died down, he no longer possessed the strength to maintain it.

His face seemed dejected, strained in some way or form. The crops were harvested, and everything was mostly readied for Winter, if it decided to come at all. She couldn’t understand why he would be so exhausted. He paced more around them, not saying anything, hovering over them in an absolute daze. Katalene even thought for a moment he might stand there until morning, it was only after a minute he spoke up again.

“Did both of you do your prayers?” He asked, rubbing his eyelids and letting out sighs, his eyes looked bloodshot.

Katalene wondered if Father was sick, a happening that was out-of-character for him entirely. Father Ark didn’t believe in being sick, he fought it off and thus, simply wasn’t, or if he was, he never showed it for even a flicker.

“Yes, we prayed,” Katalene said honestly, they prayed as they did every night.

“Good, good, good, …” Father Ark repeated the phrase over and over for a times, and even when he stopped, Katalene could swear she could hear him mumbling the word again and again beneath his breath.

Father Ark started toward the walkway that led out from their bedroom. Uncle Morgis told stories once about mummies coming to life in tombs when he entered them, a blatant lie that Father Ark was sure to correct, how he described them is about how Father Ark looked.

“Father, are you alright?” Katalene asked, leaning up, her voice carrying the worry behind it. “Where’s Mother?”

“Goodnight, I love the both of you, very much,” Father Ark said, there was little life to it though, like he was blurting it out on instinct.

Ark offered no reaction to what Katalene had asked. Katalene didn’t even think he had heard her speak.

Katalene laid her head back down against her pillow, realizing she wasn’t about to get any answers from him. The sound of his footsteps soon left them, there was a stillness and quietude amongst them, an eerie feeling where worries congregated about Katalene’s mind and established paranoia. What had happened to her Mother, that was the first worry that went through her mind. Could Father Arks’ eyes have been bloodshot, not because he was feeling ill, but because he’d been crying about something happening to Mother Jane? Father Ark was a tough man. He never cried over anything ever, but if Jane was in-trouble, that could be enough to spring a leak from his eyelids. She rolled over to Rooven, who seemed to have caught on to the peculiarities of their Father’s behavior also.

They rested in their beds, after all, that was about all they could do, if anything was wrong, the grownups would handle it, Father could handle anything. Katalene believed that sentiment, but it didn’t make her worries go away any faster.

“I think I’ll go have a look at things,” Rooven said, once climbing out from beneath his covers and climbing to his feet. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“What!?” Katalene responded, sitting up from her bed, “Father Ark will tan your backside, you saw how upset he seemed, they want to be left alone.”

“They’ll understand,” Rooven replied. “I’m not some little kid anymore, they can’t keep me in the dark about serious matters.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’ll go up to Father and tell him that, then?” Katalene asked, knowing the real answer whether Rooven would give it to her or not.

“Not exactly,” He admitted, going down to his hands and knees beginning to crawl out from the bedroom.

It was difficult to see in the dark, the only light they had near their bedroom was the small candle right outside their bedroom against the wall that was aflame for Katalene’s sake. Katalene shook her head in disagreement, but, nevertheless, crouched to a crawling position and began to follow him.

“You need to stay here, Katalene,” Rooven said, sounding aggressive and definitive.

She wasn’t afraid or intimidated of him, however, it was a character trait he had not inherited from Father Ark, “We do these things together, wherever you are, I am, always.” She answered, at once, Rooven might have been entering manhood, which apparently signified becoming a jackass, but that was a bond between them that couldn’t be broken.

Rooven looked at her with clear irritation, but, eventually, nodded, turning his back to her and beginning the crawl through the hallway. Katalene followed him. Their house wasn’t large, and thereby, if there was a loud argument going on or commotion, they would’ve heard it. They didn’t plainly hear anything, however. Not until they made it from the hallway to the kitchen, where they did hear Mother Jane sobbing quietly beside a candlelight. She sniffled and whimpered, and they could see her sitting at the dinner table, covering her face with a worn piece of cloth. The sight was a sad one for Katalene, and in Rooven’s current state that thrived on rebellion and causing a scene, it must have been taking all the strength he could muster not to leap to his feet and try to get the bottom of it. Katalene put her finger to her lips, instructing him to remain quiet. Then, with that same finger, she pointed at the light bleeding in from out the window beside the front-door. Something was happening outside.

Katalene and Rooven made discreet movements, they felt assured that Mother Jane was unlikely to see them in her inattentive state, however. Once they made it to the front-door, Rooven opened it quietly. Katalene could feel the ache of her knees from having to crawl such a way on them. Outside, they sneaked down the stairs from their porch, realizing nobody was in plain sight, they felt at ease to stand to their feet again. It was not the dead of night yet, but it was dark enough to make any light seem obvious. The commotion was coming from the fields, or, at least, what was left of the fields, them having already been harvested for the year, it was more like a plain section of open-land.

Were they celebrating the occasion, commemorating themselves on a job well done for finishing the harvest? That seemed logical to Katalene for about a second but stopped because it wouldn’t explain why her Mother was sobbing in the dining room. Katalene and Rooven both made way to the path, but stopped the moment they came too close, hiding under the porch of a nearby house, positioning themselves so that they wouldn’t be too obvious.

It might not have been a celebratory festivity, but it was a gathering of a sort. Although, Katalene could recognize none of them. They wore long black robes, thick clothing that would’ve been much too hot to wear during day-time. The hoods went over their heads, but over their faces, each of them wore dark blue masks, masks that made Katalene think of the dead-eyed face of a doll, and that they were made of clay or glass. None of them looked distinctive in their appearance, they almost blended in with the night, looking like a bunch of floating blue faces. A feeling of fear went up Katalene’s spine at the look of them. Some of the men carried lanterns. At the center of what was a half-circle, a large iron pike stuck out from the ground, it had limbs that were outstretched, after all, it was once where a scarecrow had been perched. Katalene remembered seeing it loom from afar when the stocks were high. They must have taken it down for some reason. Even more than that though, Katalene found herself transfixed on the men in the masks, they looked like something out of monster books, the kinds of books that Mother Jane insisted they didn’t read. Who were these men?

“Rooven, what is going on?” Katalene asked, even though she knew her brother could offer no more insight than she could.

She simply felt the need to establish he was still with her without taking her eyes off from any of the masked men.

“Shh,” Rooven whispered, resting his arm on Katalene’s shoulder, it assured her some.

A man was brought fourth through the path, this man was different than the rest of them. This man, Katalene recognized, this man was Dally’s father.

Led to the center of the half-circle by more of the masked men, Dally’s father stumbled in a daze, every now and again, he flailed his arms trying to free himself, but was subdued. The way he walked told Katalene that he was most certainly drunk, which wasn’t uncommon for him by any stretch of the imagination. Katalene took some comfort in seeing a familiar face but couldn’t escape the harrowed feeling that swam inside her. These were the men that made Father Ark feel the way that he did, the ones that made him feel dejected and weak. And, for him to feel that way about them, Katalene knew they must have been very capable and very dangerous.

The robed men in the blue masks plucked the iron rod out from the ground, resting it down flat. The man made a second brash attempt at escaping from them, only to be forced down to a laying position. It was at this moment Katalene stopped being able to see what was happening, the men crowding around Dally’s father, obscuring him from sight. She was able to see them pouring a liquid out on top of him, it looked like a bottle of alcohol. Next, the iron rod was propped up again, this time, however, it was propped up with the drunken man attached to it, himself fastened on by his stomach and wrists. It made it look like Dally’s father was the scarecrow, the audacity of such an idea.

“Please don’t do this,” The man begged, Katalene wasn’t close enough to see his expression, but she could easily hear the fear as he pleaded. “I have a son, you can’t take me from him, I’ll do anything at all!”

As he yelled, it was silence on the other end from the masked figureheads, the inability to see their expressions made them terrifying to Katalene. The man flailed and waddled on the iron rod, trying to free himself from the ropes binding him to it, although, it was to no avail. In a single moment, Katalene watched as a lantern was thrown up against the man’s chest by one of the masked figures, in a single moment, Katalene watched as Dally’s father went up in flames.

The screams were loud, the flames engulfing him as he tried to squirm free and failed, and his body burned. The men in the masks didn’t rejoice or take satisfaction in his screams, they simply stood quietly amidst it all. Katalene could feel herself shaking, a stunned and petrified look forming on her face. She fought the desire to scream the best she could, resting her head down against the wooden step of the porch, her hands clawing in the dirt, silently screaming to herself. She could hear Rooven sobbing as well, the sounds of the screaming still ongoing, until, at last, it stopped. The man was dead. Etched into her mind was the visual of the scarecrow, screaming and burning to death.

* * *

Katalene could feel herself shaking as her eyelids broke apart and she looked up into the night. She leaned herself up, the sweat dripped down her brow and she could feel that her hair was damp with the stuff. Her eyes wandered about Alemay’s Tomb, she breathed heavily, but began to calm herself once the realization came that it was a nightmare. Though, the dream really happened, and it ended before the most truly terrible event occurred. She climbed to her feet, looking over to Sol’s massive body, whose body breathed in and spread out while he snored.

The worst thing happened when Katalene and Rooven tried to make their leave from underneath the porch. They kept clear distance away from the men in the blue masks, only moving from porch to porch when the opportunity arose. She could almost feel the pain in her chest from the night’s events, so frightened, but too terrified to say a word. The worst thing that happened was when they watched where the masked men ended up, they walked up porches to their houses. They were not a mysterious group that visited villages to slaughter everyone, like, maybe, The Hallow would do, but, rather, they were civilians of Wilson. They removed their masks and they went back home as if nothing had fucking happened. As if Dally’s father wasn’t burned to death, as if they couldn’t smell the odor of his charcoaled flesh from where they once stood. The worst thing that happened was when she watched one of the masked men end up at their doorstep and unmask himself to reveal Father Ark’s cold and faraway stare as he entered.

Katalene never saw Dally again after that. She didn’t know where he went, was never able to see if he knew about what had happened to his father.

Every now and again, Katalene looked up at the scarecrow, the burnt and rotting flesh, she guessed was meant as a symbol. It was a symbol she never knew existed until after that moment, a symbol that illustrated what the people of Wilson were capable of. She could never fully forgive Father Ark for that act. Even if, through it all, she liked to think of him as a good man, that act would always blemish what she thought of him. It was a wound on their relationship that would never heal. For so long, she had buried it and tried to forget that it happened. It worked most days, repressing it made her able to look Father Ark in the eyes again, and even love him. She couldn’t always stuff it down though, and this was one of those times. This was one of those times where she could only feel affection for Rooven, as Father Ark had done the act, and Mother Jane had let it happen.

The sun peaked out from beneath the desert afar from her, the visual would have been a beautiful one under different circumstances. Truth be told, nothing seemed very beautiful anymore.

The Hallows’ final Trial had either already culminated or would culminate soon. The final contestants would kill defenseless “Targets,” and would fight to the death for an opportunity at membership in The Hallow. After that, the residents of The Sanctuary would return to their abodes, they’d wash their war-paint off and they would sleep deep into the afternoon. When they came to arise again, they’d partake in The Sanctuary’s splendors for one last occasion. They’d rape malnourished men and women, they’d bruise and batter the ones whose skin most closely resembled their enemies.

In the mean-time, however, The Hallow, or, whoever The Hallow had employed to do so, would begin preparation for the day’s feasts. They’d use the poisoned seasoning and heat-up the poisoned stew, the kabobs had belladonna berries stabbed onto them.

The poison would hurt The Sanctuary on a significant level. For the gluttons that feasted upon enough would garner a fatal dose, they would find their grave sooner than others. Katalene had a feeling that would be many of them. The fort’s members didn’t exactly show moderation or discipline in their vices. For those that only ate a little, at the very least, they’d find themselves sick or fatigued. They’d shake it off the best they could, not wanting to squander a single day of their visit to The Sanctuary, but they’d feel the effects of it. They’d go out and even, perhaps, participate in the ritual at night’s end. The vials of pesticide she had gotten out from The Hallows’ cargo was used as well. She had poured the poison into each big bottle of alcohol that she could find, ones in shelves, and, she had contaminated their water supply. This would surely finish a few more of them off as well.

Katalene reached into the back-pouch of her leggings, taking a journal out and holding it in her hands. The journal that she had taken from one of The Hallow members that her and Sol had offed as they were transporting items with the sand rays.

She rifled through the book, which had a leather cover over it. The sides of some pages had blood stains on them and the binding was in disrepair, with many of the pages falling out as Katalene opened the book. The journal was riddled with notes that would, oftentimes, seem nonsensical and in need of explanation. The sentimental kind that would only hold meaning to the person who wrote in the journal. The book detailed some level of what the man’s participation in The Hallow was, but the details were vague at best. The pages Katalene liked most were the ones that detailed the life he lived outside of it.

The man had a small daughter named Malerie and a wife named Margery, and he had a page-length section that detailed her learning to walk for the first time. It was one of the greatest moments of my life, the idea I was able to produce life like that, a child so beautiful and perfect. She read that a few times after the first, it was such a difficult concept to wrap her head around. The idea that this man, who participated in such heinous acts like he did, could feel such deep and personal affection for somebody else. How could he live with himself or exist in society being such a bad human being? The man was a father and a husband. By Katalene’s command, she had made that woman a widow and taken the child’s father away from him.

But, in that book, she could find nothing of remorse, of sadness or guilt from the man about what he has done. In that book, he spoke highly of The Hallow and partook in what The Sanctuary provided. And, by that, Katalene believed he deserved to die.

A lot of those who frequented The Sanctuary had families to look after, wives and sons, husbands and daughters, this would have adverse consequences for the innocent. The many outweighed the few, it’s the phrase she hugged tightly, because, by finishing The Hallow and the visitors that supported them, she would save hundreds, thousands in the long run, and the world itself would be a better place for it.

She wondered about God, about how such a loving force could cause as much agony and suffering as he had. Maybe this was a creation of The Devil, intervening in God’s master-plan and raising Hell. Or, maybe The Hallow was right, maybe there was no Devil, and maybe this was God having a hissy-fit at his play-thing’s expense. Maybe there wasn’t a God at all, and this was the product of nature, the people around her no different than the plants or the insects that ruined the crop, things that had developed and evolved with the times for their survival.

In the end, it didn’t matter very much what it was. If it was God, if it was the Devil, or if was Human Nature itself.

She would kill them all and she would make it hurt.

4

Katalene held onto Sol as he ran through the Whispey Deserts, herself on his back, it was far from the most comfortable of arrangements. The day was young, and they had a small loose end to cover before the late-night provided the window for their attack. The cogs were already set in-motion and it was a matter of waiting for the cogs to turn that kept them in waiting, but Katalene still had preparations to make. Ones that she had ignored and procrastinated on for as long as she could.

Sol was smart about navigation through the Whispey Deserts, he didn’t know the whereabouts of all the Tombs and all the hidden mysteries that they provided, but he knew the whereabouts of certain ones, he helped her return to the secret entrance to what once was Birgo’s Tomb.

The entrance was mostly buried in sand but knowing where it was made it easy to enter. And, with Sol’s assistance, brushing and digging off the sand, the ceiling was broken off enough for Sol to enter the Tomb as well. The fact that she had desecrated The Tomb she’d dedicated to her brother was not lost on her.

She felt the hotness of the desert with little dread as of late. Her body had become accustom to it, on some level. The inside was the same as it had been left. She walked with caution, watching out for every pressure pad, knowing full-well what they were capable of.

Entering the Tomb was tough for her, but it was something she needed to do. Her eyes watered at every glance to the coffin at the center of the room. Her brother was dead inside that coffin, the only one she had. She let out a breath. At this moment, it felt most opportune to pay her final respects or say some last words to him. The only problem is she couldn’t think of a word to say to him. What would he say if he could see her now, that she was about to attempt the massacring of around three-hundred people? She didn’t have time to think about it. She didn’t have time to carry the emotions that grief brought along, didn’t have time to cry or mourn him. That didn’t stop her, however. She felt the tears run down her cheeks, biting her lip and shaking her head, unable to contain herself.

“You’ll be missed,” She said, at last. “You’ll be missed by me and everyone else that ever knew you.”

“I knew him, … for a little bit,” Sol whispered in her head. “He seemed like a good person.”

Katalene looked at him, smiling with tears in her eyes, “Be quiet.”

Katalene gathered what she needed. The onyx armor didn’t fit her very well. The armor was specially made for Birgo himself. A big man, the armor weighed her down and was unmanageable because of it. Disappointing, after all, the armor was a rare-breed, with a slot left especially for her gauntlet. In the end, she took nothing for herself, after all, it wasn’t as though she needed a sword, and it was too difficult for her to even think about taking any of the coin for herself.

This visit was for Sol. After all, Sol was the one who would be doing the heavy lifting of the attack. Katalene’s sword-play wouldn’t be useful for much. Sol’s armor was heavy, much too heavy for Katalene to offer him any assistance with. A pure silver color that shined and glistened when the light hit it, Katalene bet it would burn like fire to the touch out in the sun. Sol pried the armor open and laid on his back to equipped it. The sight of Sol trying to waddle back to a standing position reminded her of a turtle on its shell. In due time, he stood before her in the full armor. The sight was unique.

When she first saw Sol when she was with Rooven, he intimidated her because of his sheer size and need for destruction. But, being around him longer, he looked something more comparable to a very large gorilla with a beer belly that just so happened to have a very long tail and rock-hard back. The same couldn’t be said now, however. The sight reminded her of the gargoyles she’d seen statues of in the past, bright silver armor and emerald eyes that had a permanent look of seriousness on them.

The armor had a pouch at the back, one that made it easy for Katalene to be fastened in with straps, made it easier for Sol to be rode into battle.

“Are you ready to go to war?” Katalene asked, looking up at Sol.

“A one-dragon army,” Sol jested.

“You won’t be alone,” Katalene replied.

“You’ll be with me,” Sol concurred.

“Among others,” Katalene said, then smiled when she saw a look of confusion on Sol’s face, his head tilted in a crooked fashion.

As they left the Tomb, Katalene took a final look back, her brother might have been dead, but, if nothing else, his life set in motion something that could save lives. That meant something, she guessed. She turned her back away from The Tomb of Rooven, its new and official title, if she had anything to say about it, and started away with Sol.