James Axler – Bitter Fruit

He sat huddled up in the fissure, a cloak pulled over his body. Blood smeared his pale face, and he looked up at them in fear.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged.

The voice and look reminded Ryan of Dean as he peered at the boy over the SIG-Sauer’s open sights. “Secure the area,” Ryan said. “We’re on triple red here.”

J.B. took another torch from his pack and lit it from Krysty’s. He held his shotgun at the ready as he went forward. Jak took rearguard.

“The boy’s been shot,” Krysty said.

Ryan could see the blood covering one side of the cloak. “Yeah, but he’s also dressed like one of them.” He waved the blaster at the boy. “Stand up. Keep your hands where I can see them or I’m going to shoot you through the head. Understand?”

“I understand,” the boy said weakly. “I’m not yet ready to be reaped.” He struggled to push himself up, but finally made it. He listed badly to one side and had to keep correcting his balance.

“Anyone with you?” Ryan asked. He moved forward and searched the boy while Krysty held the torch and kept him covered.

“No. I’m alone. They killed Bean.” The boy’s eyes were fevered and tormented. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked him to help me. But the Time of the Great Uprooting is wrong. My father and the others knew this. They killed my father, too. Smashed his head with a rock.”

Ryan turned up a short knife with a worked wire handle that showed care. A cornstalk had been designed into the wire with green metal. Yellow stones had been placed into the design to represent ears of ripe corn.

“What are you doing here?” Krysty asked.

“Hiding. They’ll kill me, too, if they can find me.” He opened the cloak and showed them the wound in his side. The cloth had been torn, and efforts had been made to make a compress. Clots of dark blood hung in the material. “They’ve already tried.”

“Who?” Doc asked.

“Pepper and his men.”

“Who’s Pepper?” Ryan asked.

“Pepper is the Prince’s most favored seed herald,” the boy answered. “He reaps who the Prince says should be delivered from our people, those whose paths have made them wander too far from the one vine.”

Ryan struggled to understand the boy’s words. Most of the meaning was clear, but the terms were nothing he was familiar with. He looked at Doc.

The old man shook his head. “I do not know, dear Ryan. From the cut of his clothes, I’d say they’re homespun, very well done. As to the seed-herald titles and reference to reaping and wandering too far from the vine, I’d say we’re dealing with an agrarian society. The seasons were at the whim of the godstherefore sacrifices, often animal or human, were offered to appease them.”

“Who are you?” Ryan asked the boy.

“My name is Tarragon,” he answered, “son of Foxglove, the druid.”

“Druid?” Doc repeated.

“Yes. He was one of the finest of healers.”

“Who are your people?” the old man asked. His concentration was total as he inspected the boy again, reaching up to capture Krysty’s torch and bring it closer.

“We are Celts,” Tarragon said. “Lugh Silverhand created us to retake the earth in his name after the great freeze.”

“By the Three Kennedys,” Doc said, squatting on his bony haunches to study the boy more closely. “You are a Celt.”

Ryan could tell from Doc’s pose that he was intrigued by the announcement. A torch flared into view ahead of him as J.B. rounded the corner.

“Clear,” the Armorer said. “Walked to the mouth of the fissure. Nobody there. He came alone.”

“Not alone,” Tarragon insisted. “Bean was with me. He got killed. Someone put a quarrel through his belly. I held his hand as Ivory Ginnifer harvested his soul.”

“Who’s Ivory Ginnifer?” Doc asked.

“Lugh Silverhand’s mate,” the boy said. “As Lugh breathes his life into a seed so that it may blossom, Ginnifer is the one who takes us back.” His brow wrinkled in consternation. “There is so much you don’t know. And the Time of the Great Uprooting is upon us.”