Chapter 177: Hostages.
That same evening at the stone village, silence hovered in the air, no story telling or singing among the villagers. A meeting was going on at the village square, the torches burnt low and restless as the elders new and old gathered in the circle under a tent, wrapped in the thickest blankets they owned.
Some smoked through their pipes; others nursed on cups that held locally brewed alcohol which they had buried in their houses since the beginning of the year.
Misery clung to them like a friend. The former chief’s death hung over the place like smoke after a fire_choking stinging and inescapable. As the council of chief’s murmured, grief quickly turned into bitterness.
Calls of executions had started immediately after the cremation of their dead and they were still ringing through the cold air, loud and determined.
Some voices shook with fury, saying they could not bear to see the faces of the Quinns, even though Morris had suggested that they be kept around for labor purposes. They would work to earn off their debt.
Some of the villagers agreed but others, particularly the ones that lost loved ones wanted vengeance. They wanted to plunge their blades in the chests of the Quinn.
Some of the women whose husbands had died were calling for the flogging and killing of his wife Nora. Others, more cautious, suggested taking the unproblematic Quinns to Hades Quinn.
This suggestion had been raised in the last five minutes, and the discussion was just picking up.
"He is kin to them," one of the elders muttered, "if we take them there, what justice will we have?"
Nala, the leader of the women that wanted Nora dead stood up and said, "What if the ones we release return and come back to rescue Damien. What if they kill us all to avenge him? I say we tie them to posts in the snow and let them freeze."
"Maybe we should let the mountain god decide." Another chief said.
There were six chiefs altogether, the oldest was eight nine and the youngest was forty-one. All of them were attending the meeting because they were the voices of reason in the village.
"Where was the mountain god when Damien Quinn was killing my husband?" Alana screamed.
One of the chiefs whispered to his wife that she should take Alana away so that she could calm down.
Morris continued to hold his silence as he listened to them all. But he did not listen with the ears of a grieving man. His father had been buried it was time to think like a leader not a pained son.
His mind had slipped towards something more urgent: survival. If the current cold was any indicator of what was coming, or if any of the claims the Quinns had made about the long winter were correct, not many villagers would make it through what was coming.
Even with all the bush meat he had returned with, the food that was available would barely take them through the two months.
While they were hiding from the freezing cold, they would not be able to check their traps. This meant hunger would kill them if the cold did not do the job.
His wife had told him that children were already falling ill from the unusual cold. And there was the mist he had encountered in the forest. Even if they could hunt, he could not recklessly allow his people go into the forest. They needed to move or get more food.
That thought brought him to the Quinns--Hades Quinn to be exact. He was the man that had built the large settlement and all those walls on the other side of the mountain.
He had seen Hades once before from a distance, when the man came over to meet his father and warn him about the betrayals of mother nature. He did not trust outsiders, so he told his father to ignore the warning.
That was a mistake. He wanted to remedy that mistake now.
If he took the Quinn’s to the huge settlement and demanded for food and other necessary things, his people would be able to survive the winter. That night, as the torches burned low, Morris made a choice.
****
In the morning, the prodigal Quinns were dragged out of their small house and tied like livestock. Their wrists rubbed raw against the coarse ropes, their eyes hollow with exhaustion. Damien, broken and legless, was slung like a sack onto the back of the cart. His curses were weak but venomous.
Nora and their children huddled as close as they could together. All of them shot Damien hateful looks every once in a while.
Brigitte wept quietly while Avenn trembled, his shoulders stiff with fear.
Ambrosia held her twins close worried if they were being taken to their graves.
The village watched in silence, some furious that the Quinns were being shown mercy, others smiled grimly, convinced that the trade was justice.
The caravan trudged across a mildly frozen earth, the sky a dull iron lid overhead. Three hours later, the walls of fortress four loomed into view, formidable and jagged.
The guards on the walls saw the caravan first and alerted the watchtower. The ones in the watch towers alerted those on the ground and patrol about the incoming intruders which was normal since many people were flocking the gates in search of food and shelter every once in a while.
When Morris and his group came into view, a voice came from the speaker on the wall. "Stop and identify yourselves."
Damien laughed, mocking Morris with his tone. "You brought us here? It would have been better if you had dumped us in the forest." He added a whistle to the laugh.
Morris moved ahead alone and looked into the camera. "I have hostages. And a demand. Tell Hades Quinn that Morris, chief of the stone village, has come. I have his kin in my grip, and I will trade them for supplies."
The guards exchanged glances, their faces unreadable, one grabbed his walkie-talkie and relayed the message to Hades.
It was not long before Hades appeared at the first wall gate, Sunshine at his side. The gates were opened and armed soldiers turned their guns on Morris and his group.
Cold air stirred Hades’s coat as he stepped forward, his presence sharp as a drawn blade. Sunshine walked at his side, her eyes darting over the captives.
A part of her ached when she saw the children shivering, their faces streaked with tears. These were children whose growth she had witnessed from infancy stage to where they were. Her hands trembled whether from rage or grief, no one could tell.
"Those poor kids." She whispered to Hades. They looked like captives of slave traders being taken away for sale.
Hades’ gaze swept over the children, pinching his lips. Then he shifted his eyes to the adults with a calm that felt colder than the frost beneath his feet. They stopped on Damien, taking in the man’s broken state, legs gone, one arm missing and yet his spirit was still venomous.
There was no surprise in his eyes, only quiet acknowledgement, as though the world had simply delivered its judgement. This was probably the consequence of stabbing Morris in the forest. Damien had it coming.
"Damien," Hades with an open smile, "You look different."