\n
\nI<\/b><\/p>\n
\n
\n<\/p>\n
\nWill I turn into someone different when I put on the hooded robe of a Collector? <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI shivered under my blanket, tired of staying awake, tired of my mind running in endless circles like a water wheel, tired of being cold.\n<\/p>\n \nThe hall clock bonged<\/em> six times. Finally. I dropped the blanket. My fingertips were dead-blue despite covering them with the thin wool all night. I reached for my shoes, and just like everything else at this hour, their broken-in leather was frozen. A minute under my arm-pits softened them while the ice in my brain cracked, too. Of course I wouldn\u2019t turn into any-body different. No Collector in history had changed one iota, I was sure. Ihs saw to that.\n<\/p>\n \nI opened my bedroom door just wide enough to squeeze through. The bottom hinge liked to screech on cold mornings and I couldn\u2019t get caught\u2014not today. The rowdiest apprentices in ten years had a reputation to maintain. Besides, every Collector from Big Water to Kirkwood was packed into Refuge for Homecoming. Ihs had enough voices fortifying Him this morning. He\u2019d make it through this year\u2019s Redemption without power from three apprentices.\n<\/p>\n \nI tiptoed to the next narrow door along the hallway and tapped once. Joel slid out with-out a sound.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m impressed,\u201d I whispered.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThink I\u2019d sleep in today?\u201d Joel grinned, his flawless white teeth barely visible in the dim hall. \u201cIt\u2019s the perfect day to break a rule.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe crept to the end of the hall. Low voices trickled out every door we passed. At last I saw Clare\u2019s blonde head poke around the corner.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThey\u2019re all chanting on our side,\u201d she whispered.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOurs too.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe melted into that goofy smile. \u201cGood morning.\u201d Her deep, sweet voice washed over me.\n<\/p>\n \nI knew my own smile was just as silly. \u201cGood morning.\u201d I kissed her. That first kiss of the day was like water after a penance fast.\n<\/p>\n \nJoel sighed. \u201cRein it in, you two. Let\u2019s go.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI led them downstairs, a model head apprentice. \u201cThese stones are so cold my feet ache.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMy left sock has a hole in it,\u201d Joel said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBecause you\u2019re too lazy to keep \u2019em mended,\u201d Clare said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cJust because you fix Amos\u2019s for him\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShh.\u201d I stopped them at the third floor as a babel of voices hit us from another long hallway of closed bedroom doors. \u201cEveryone\u2019s chanting here too. Perfect.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWhen we passed the door to the second-floor arena gallery, Clare reached for the door.. \u201cI want to peek.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cClare\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWham.<\/em> The noise reverberated in the complete silence. We all jumped. Clare leapt backwards into my arms.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat was that?\u201d No footsteps came toward the door from the gallery. Maybe we were still safe.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d Clare squeezed my hands and stood up.\n<\/p>\n \nWe ran on tiptoes down the rest of the hall and into the stairwell. When I put my ear against the main arena doors on the first floor, I heard footsteps and another thump. \u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe careened around the corner onto the basement stairs and took them two at a time. Nobody followed. No more thumps.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019ll get the lights,\u201d Joel said from the black, windowless basement. A scritch<\/em> and a whiff of sulfur, and one lamp beside the doorway glowed, then another. A third, and the desk, bookshelves, floor, and stone ceiling appeared.\n<\/p>\n \nI plopped into a chair and wiped sweat from my forehead. \u201cYour fearless leader expects thanks for getting us down here. Unless you\u2019d rather sneak back to your rooms and lose your mind in chants with the rest of them.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAmos, we bow before you.\u201d Joel tossed the matches onto the desk. \u201cYou are our private Matthew. You, not that old, freaky-eyed blond, are the greatest Collector since the Last War.\u201d He went down on one knee at my feet.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShh,\u201d Clare said. \u201cClose the door, idiot.\u201d She did it herself, pushed Joel aside, and sprang onto my lap. \u201cWe\u2019re free! No more beautiful summer days wasted down here learning pre-War history.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo more lectures from boring old Collectors on the reasons for the fixed monetary sys-tem,\u201d I said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo more slaving over long division.\u201d Joel attempted a backflip and landed flat on his back. \u201cOw.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI nudged Clare off my lap and jumped up. We danced around the classroom between the rows of tables. \u201cReal life begins today!\u201d I twirled her in the center aisle.\n<\/p>\n \nThe door opened. Joel leapt to his feet. We stopped in mid-twirl.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cUh\u2026Good morning, Patrick.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nOur teacher set a pile of folded brown robes on the desk. \u201cYou seem to have finished your chants in record time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe\u2026 got up extra early.\u201d I watched the color of Patrick\u2019s mostly bald head. If it turned red, I\u2019d have to do some fast talking.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI see. Since you\u2019re so eager to start today\u2019s instruction, solve this problem: All three of you are sixteen at last and it\u2019s Tuesday, November twenty-eighth. What does that mean?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick\u2019s scalp stayed pale and I breathed again. \u201cIt means you truly are a wise teacher, Patrick, because you remembered it\u2019s initiation day.\u201d I bowed so low my hair swept the stone floor.\n<\/p>\n \nOur tableau thawed. Joel whooped and drummed his feet on the large flagstone in front of the door. Clare fanned herself with a sheet of paper.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cObnoxious brats,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cIt means I\u2019m free of you. If this weren\u2019t Homecoming, I\u2019d pitch all your homework into the breakfast fires and run through the halls cheering.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe tossed the box of matches at Joel and sat on the edge of the desk. \u201cJoel, make your-self useful and light the rest of the lamps, please. It doesn\u2019t require deep thought.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cC\u2019mon, Patrick,\u201d I said. \u201cWe may not have been the best at math or history or neat handwriting\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick groaned and buried his head in his hands.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut you haven\u2019t had a boring day since we turned thirteen,\u201d Joel said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBoring,\u201d Patrick said. He placed one hand over his heart and raised his eyes to the ceil-ing. \u201cMay lightning strike me if I ever complain about quiet, studious, obedient apprentices again.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m going to paint you like that, Patrick,\u201d Clare said. \u201cIt\u2019ll be an\u2014\u201d she snickered\u2014 \u201cin-spiration to your next group.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThey might be innocent enough to believe it,\u201d I said, \u201cuntil we tell them about the morn-ing we dumped snow in your bed and you squealed like a girl hitting a high G.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe collapsed into chairs, laughing, even though the joke wasn\u2019t that funny. Initiation jit-ters, maybe. Patrick shook his head and circled the room, aligning textbooks on the built-in shelves and straightening stray pieces of blank paper.\n<\/p>\n \nI grabbed the moment to kiss Clare again. Joel moaned.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt will be a relief to all of us when you two get married,\u201d Patrick said.\n<\/p>\n \nClare blushed to the roots of her hair and I stopped laughing to watch her. I loved it when her ears turned pink and their curves peeked through her golden waves. \u201cOnly six more months to Carnival and our wedding.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEnough time for you to plant a garden for me,\u201d Clare said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019ll be your present.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re my sweetie.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJoel rolled his eyes. \u201cWill you please keep the sappy stuff for when you\u2019re alone?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cCut the comedy and the romance, you three, and get up. It\u2019s time for your last lesson.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI rubbed the tip of my nose\u2014stupid nervous habit. Clare caught my eye and wrinkled her own nose at me.\n<\/p>\n \nWe moved to our usual places in front of the lecture stand. I expected Patrick to open The Collection of Matthew<\/em> like every other morning. Instead, he stood in front of us and smoothed his brown robe, pulled the hood over his head, and tucked his hands in his sleeves.\n<\/p>\n \nFor a second I could\u2019ve sworn the lamps dimmed, but that was stupid. Get a grip, dummy.<\/em> It was stupid of me, but sometimes when a Collector wore the robe the proper way, I got the creeps. Maybe it was because the hood concealed their faces, or the way their walk changed: They became strangers. If I admitted it to myself, those were the only times I didn\u2019t think being a Collector was the greatest way of life ever, hands-down.\n<\/p>\n \nWill I still be me when I put on that innocent-looking folded robe? <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nAfter a long minute, Patrick said, \u201cWho am I?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cUh\u2026 you\u2019re Patrick.\u201d Joel said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nClare gasped as his mellow voice lashed at us. Joel hung his head, but I knew what Pat-rick meant. I ignored the shiver in my spine.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou are a Collector.\u201d Right, I was just being stupid. There was nothing sinister about Collectors. I\u2019d wanted it more than anything ever since I turned twelve and we got a hint of what Collectors did for the world. I\u2019d spent night after night pacing my room, pounding the stone walls and begging Ihs to make time go faster. I\u2019d lost count of how many nights I spent like that. But no more. After today, all the mysteries would be open to me\u2014to us.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cWhat have I done?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou saved the world.\u201d Joel raised his head and sat straighter.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhen?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAfter the Last War, um\u2026\u201d Clare closed her eyes. \u201cI know this\u20262196 minus 2022\u2026one hundred seventy-four years ago. Matthew and the other Collectors left their refuge in the Rocky Mountains and found the ruins of Colorado Springs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat did they do?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThey gathered the survivors,\u201d I said. \u201cPeople back then didn\u2019t know how to plant or harvest, or how to rebuild either, because they had things called machines to provide everything. The Collectors taught them, and they begged the Collectors to rule them.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCorrect. We have guided them since that day and there is peace and plenty in every town. The people honor us every year on that date with Carnival.\u201d His voice smiled. \u201cWhich is the perfect day for your wedding.\u201d The smile vanished. He stepped forward and faced his hood toward each of us in turn.\n<\/p>\n \nGoosebumps prickled my neck. I wished I could see Patrick\u2019s familiar, washed-out blue eyes. Why was he staring at us like that?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNow you will learn the rest.\u201d Patrick walked to the back of the room and opened the double doors. His footsteps echoed through the next two rooms.\n<\/p>\n \nClare whispered, \u201cAny idea what he\u2019s talking about?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNot a clue.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShh. Here he comes,\u201d Joel said.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick laid a tall, thin book on the lecture stand.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHe\u2019s got Matthew\u2019s Book.\u201d Joel\u2019s eyebrows disappeared beneath his shaggy bangs.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCome here,\u201d Patrick said.\n<\/p>\n \nWe looked at each other.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe\u2019re not allowed.\u201d Clare\u2019s voice was breathless.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCome here, all of you. Now.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe stood on either side of Patrick and gaped. Clare reached out to touch the gold letter-ing on the cover, but snatched her hand away.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLet us see it, Patrick.\u201d My voice trembled, but I didn\u2019t care. \u201cPlease.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick\u2019s familiar, wide fingers opened the book and the room seemed brighter. That was still our favorite teacher inside the dark hood, no matter how strange he looked or acted.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cListen,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cMatthew dictated to his first followers: \u2018I was alone in a cave high on the mountain when the war started. I saw a vision of Ihs just as a bomb exploded. The light enveloped Ihs, even Ihs, the god who created all, and impenetrable night covered the world.\u2019\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nNone of us moved.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201c\u2018My companions did not find me for two days. I feared all were dead from the war. In that interval, I heard the voice of Ihs cry out to me. Ihs, the creator of all things, cried out to me, his servant, for redemption.\u2019\u201d Patrick turned the fragile page, keeping his fingers away from the crumbling edges. \u201c\u2018When at last the others came to my cave, Ihs had entrusted me with the secret and only way to Collect him from the darkness.\u2019\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow?\u201d I leaned forward, careful not to breathe on the ancient paper.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201c\u2018I sent them into the city at the foot of the mountain. They braved fire and madness for the sake of Ihs, returning with three of the many evil people responsible for the war.\u2019\u201d Patrick looked up, with his \u2018answer my question\u2019 expression.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMilitary,\u201d Joel said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShow off,\u201d Clare whispered.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick nodded. \u201c\u2018I instructed my companions to build three spoked wheels, ten times the size of the ones on a wheelbarrow. If we did not Collect Ihs before three days passed, Ihs would be imprisoned in darkness forever.\u2019\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nClare said, \u201cI don\u2019t believe it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick gave her a small smile. \u201cSo we all said the first time we heard this story.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nClare shook her head. \u201cIt\u2019s impossible. We\u2019re talking about Ihs here. Matthew can\u2019t have meant that.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick continued to read: \u201c\u2018At sunrise on the third day, we bound the three evil ones to the wheels and performed all Ihs required of us. When Redemption was complete, as Ihs had promised me, the darkness lifted and the sun shone upon us again.\u2019\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe closed the book, making the Sign of Ihs over it.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNow, you three who think you are the cleverest apprentices in ten years, explain that.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI glanced at Clare. Joel glanced at me. Clare stared at her feet, the most perfect blush on her cheeks. Patrick laughed and put a hand on Joel\u2019s and my shoulder, then on Clare\u2019s.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDon\u2019t look so embarrassed. Every single one of us had the same reaction. This is why we wait till now to open the truth to you. When you are assigned a town to inhabit, one of your du-ties will be to search out the world-destroyers.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNow?\u201d Clare\u2019s voice squeaked. \u201cThey can\u2019t be alive now.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJoel poked her. \u201cHe means anybody who still thinks like that. Right?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes. Matthew Collected Ihs, and through Ihs, the world. But evil is stronger than stone and more tenacious than weeds. Those who think like the world-destroyers still exist even after one hundred seventy-four years of Matthew\u2019s Peace. You will find them.\u201d He picked up the folded robes from his desk. \u201cKneel.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThis time I didn\u2019t notice the temperature of the floor.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAmos, Clare, Joel, this is more than your initiation day. You have learned the truth and grown in wisdom and power. You have earned the privilege of being called one of Matthew\u2019s descendants\u2014Collectors. Hold out your hands.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick stood in front of me first. \u201cIhs brought light from darkness.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI continued the ritual. \u201cYet darkness consumed Ihs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick placed the robe in my arms and I bowed my head. \u201cToday you Collect Ihs from eternal darkness.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI ran my hands over the wool. It was softer than any of my other clothes and its deep brown was warm and welcoming in the lamplight. I shook it out, slipped my arms into the sleeves, and wiggled it over my trousers. Next to me, Clare finished reciting and unfolded her robe. Her hair glowed against it. On her other side, Joel\u2014for the first time I could remember\u2014looked humble.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick traced the Sign with his thumb on my forehead, lips, and heart. \u201cYou are sealed with the mark of Ihs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWhen he had done the same to Clare and Joel, we all put the hoods over our heads. For a second my heart froze like the iced-over window in my room. Was I still me? Had I changed? But nothing felt any different. In fact, I felt just like I was in bed under the covers, protected against the cold.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick said, \u201cYou\u2019re used to Homecoming as a family reunion because that\u2019s the only part you\u2019ve been allowed to join. Today you enter into its true purpose.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIn the arena,\u201d Clare said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes. Ihs instructed Matthew to reenact the Redemption every year on that day.\u201d He picked up Matthew\u2019s Book. \u201cThis year I\u2019ll watch with you from the second-floor gallery. That way if you have questions afterward, we won\u2019t disturb anyone. I\u2019ll be right back.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick returned the Book to the far room and I touched my hood to Clare\u2019s. \u201cYou\u2019re beautiful.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick returned too soon for me because I wanted to see her familiar face inside that hood. When he extended his hands over our heads we all knelt again.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIhs has done great things for me,\u201d Patrick began and we joined in. \u201cHis power extends to those who fear him, from generation to generation.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMy gut flip-flopped. Fear? No. I was being stupid again. It was just a reverent way of talking.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnd now my head shall be raised above the evil ones who surround me.\u201d Good. My voice didn\u2019t shake. I finished: \u201cAnd I shall Collect Ihs and his people with joy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick pushed his own hood back just enough for us to see the huge grin on his face. \u201cWelcome to the family, my obnoxious brats.\u201d\n<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \nII<\/b><\/p>\n \n<\/p>\n \nI leaned backwards over the gallery wall to distract myself with the painted stars on the arena ceiling. Dread gnawed at me but I couldn\u2019t name its source. The arena looked the same as always. I felt the same as always\u2026 didn\u2019t I?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI never noticed how many there were before,\u201d I said to Clare. \u201cAll the constellations, too.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNow that I see them with all the lamps burning, they could use some touching up,\u201d Clare said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGuys, check out the shine on the benches,\u201d Joel said. \u201cLooks like they tried my new polish.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGlad we were only allowed in the gallery till now,\u201d I said. \u201cOtherwise, you know we\u2019d\u2019ve had to polish all one hundred and fifty of them.\u201d If only my fingers would stop trembling. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnd mop the floor in between all the rings of benches down to the center circle,\u201d Clare said. \u201cOh, no.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe\u2019re the youngest Collectors. Bet those will be our jobs starting tomorrow.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI groaned. \u201cAt least there\u2019re no windows to wash. Wonder who has to refill all the lamps?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cUs, now.\u201d Joel groaned with me.\n<\/p>\n \nThe doors beneath the gallery opened.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEnough,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cIt\u2019s time to begin. Remember, whisper if you have a question. Tomorrow I\u2019ll give you copies of the ceremony to memorize for next year.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI grabbed Clare\u2019s robe to steady her as she bent over the three-foot wall.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLook at them all,\u201d she whispered. \u201cThere must be hundreds. I never realized how many of us there were in the evenings when we\u2019re all eating and talking in separate groups.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThere are one hundred thirty-five Collectors today,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cIncluding a certain group of three who received their robes this morning.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI beamed inside my hood, worry falling away at last. Finally, a Collector. Finally allowed to see behind these closed doors at Homecoming. Other Collectors had only given tantalizing hints about what happened every year, even this very last year of our childhood.\n<\/p>\n \nOther Collectors. Like us now. Like me.\n<\/p>\n \nThe rustling below of one hundred thirty-two robes and pairs of feet stopped. Matthew the Eighth walked from the back of the room straight to the center circle. He bowed his head a moment and then faced the assembly.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIhs is the Light,\u201d he said, his voice carrying despite the hood over his head.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMen made the darkness,\u201d Patrick and the other Collectors said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe darkness swallowed Ihs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cToday we Collect Ihs. Today we Collect the world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew stepped out of the circle. Twelve Collectors followed him through the side door, the one that led to the storerooms. Six others removed three of the flagstones and pulled up three huge cranks.\n<\/p>\n \nI craned my head to better see what they were doing.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick put a hand on my arm. \u201cWait.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nTwo to a crank, the Collectors pushed and pulled the oversized metal rods around their circular hubs. The massive central flagstones slid underneath the first circles of benches. Gears groaned and creaked, but the Collectors worked in silence. Three wooden wheels rose into the light. Bigger wheels than I\u2019d ever seen\u2014they had to be six feet across. Dark wood. I squinted at its odd staining pattern.\n<\/p>\n \nAfter at least ten minutes of work, the gigantic wheels settled into place with three clunks<\/em> that echoed off the starry ceiling. The six Collectors returned to their seats.\n<\/p>\n \nAnticipation built in the room, flowing through the circular benches all the way up into the gallery. Below me, nearly everyone leaned forward or grasped the back of the bench in front of them. Next to me, Patrick gripped the top of the wall. I caught the urgency and my hands claimed the space between Patrick\u2019s and Clare\u2019s.\n<\/p>\n \nEagerness smothered my early, stupid fears. Now, at last, the greatest secret of Ihs would be ours. The meaning of the wheels. The truth about darkness and light. Everything.\n<\/p>\n \nHeavy footsteps. Matthew glided to the center of the circle, wheels on his right hand, left hand, and at his feet. Behind him, four Collectors carried on their shoulders a squirming man who looked about my own height. The group behind them carried an old woman, and the last group another man.\n<\/p>\n \nThey were barefoot and wore thin, ragged penitents\u2019 clothes, like we had to wear for fast-ing days.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI have a bad feeling about this,\u201d I whispered to Clare.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t. Ihs would never guide Matthew wrong. Shh <\/em>now.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew raised his right hand and sketched the Sign of Ihs in the air at the four points of the compass toward all the gathered Collectors. \u201cIhs created light but men desired darkness.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDarkness,\u201d everyone repeated.\n<\/p>\n \nThey placed the first man on the wheel to Matthew\u2019s right. The man struggled and kicked as they tied his wrists and ankles in the spaces between the spokes. The small of his back rested on the wheel\u2019s central hub. I heard him grunt and breathe heavily but he didn\u2019t say anything. Matthew must have instructed him\u2014all of them\u2014to act like those first world-destroyers.\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew pushed back his hood and knelt next to the opening beneath the right-hand wheel. From its dark rectangle he brought out a mallet. Not a regular one\u2014I could tell by the way he balanced it. This one\u2019s head looked to be a good five pounds heavier than the ones we used to build furniture.\n<\/p>\n \nIn one smooth movement, he raised the mallet and held it, poised, at the top of its arc.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEvil men declared war on the world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIhs created the world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEvil men declared war on Ihs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIhs must be Collected!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe roar from the gathering made my ears ring and my heart beat faster. Would it still be like this when I\u2019d seen the ritual ten times? Twenty?\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew brought the mallet down onto the man\u2019s shin.\n<\/p>\n \nThe shriek pierced my head. The snap and crunch of bones jumbled in with it. Blood spurted up and out through the shredded material like water when a rock plunks in. Matthew smashed the mallet onto the man\u2019s other shin. Shards of bone erupted through the skin and the cloth.\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew moved to the man\u2019s arms.\n<\/p>\n \nA whole bunch of lamps went out.\n<\/p>\n \nAll three of us jumped. Patrick held up one hand and pointed down to Matthew with the other. Under cover of the repeated crack-shatter-scream, the Collectors had tied the old lady to the wheel on Matthew\u2019s left. Blood ran down Matthew\u2019s arm as he raised the mallet and held it at the top of the arc.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIhs must be Collected!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI closed my eyes. That made it worse\u2014the snap of bones and her high-pitched screeches stabbed deeper into my brain. When I opened them again, the first four Collectors were handing wide, shallow bowls around the circle to each other.\n<\/p>\n \nAnother smash. Another scream. The woman\u2019s voice broke before Matthew finished with her legs.\n<\/p>\n \nThis was what I\u2019d waited so long to be a part of? This was the greatest day of the year? I was a Collector now\u2014like Matthew, my hero, and Patrick, my favorite teacher\u2014like all of them.\n<\/p>\n \nThis was what Ihs turned us into. Ihs, the god of light\u2026 no. Ihs\u2019 true creations were darkness and blood and agony.\n<\/p>\n \nWe\u2019re all murderers. All of us. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nMy hands throbbed. One bloodless finger at a time, I relaxed my grip on the wall. My fingernails left gouges in the wood on the other side. No wonder my fingers hurt.\n<\/p>\n \nThe old woman looked a little like Priscilla, the Refuge cook when I was little. She used to make the best gingersnaps\u2026 Blood welled around a ruptured shard of her arm bone. The mal-let\u2019s next stroke drowned out her brittle sobs.\n<\/p>\n \nGet out. Get out of here. <\/em>I took one step backwards but stopped myself a sec-ond later.\n<\/p>\n \nThe Collectors were killing those people because they had the same mindset as the world-destroyers. Would they do the same to a Collector who disagreed with Ihs\u2019 commended slaugh-ter?\n<\/p>\n \nIt was possible. Anything was possible now that I knew everyone I\u2019d lived with all my life was crazier than a rabid dog. I had to blend in. I had to act like all the others. Our hoods forced us to look straight ahead, so I couldn\u2019t see how Clare was handling this. After this, I\u2019d sneak her into my room and we could work out ways to convince everyone we were just like eve-ry other Collector, at least until we could run away together. She had to be just as appalled as I was. Poor Clare.\n<\/p>\n \nThe Collectors below leaned forward as Matthew broke the old lady\u2019s last arm bone.\n<\/p>\n \nWere they disappointed when she didn\u2019t scream?\n<\/p>\n \nMore lamps went out. The nine still burning flickered and guttered, turning the central tableau into even worse nightmare fodder.\n<\/p>\n \nThe last man just lay there. His eyes were closed and his lips were moving.\n<\/p>\n \nI caught the stench of blood and gagged.\n<\/p>\n \nThink about something else. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nWas he being strong? For who? He sure didn\u2019t have any family or friends here.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIhs must be Collected!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nFour precise blows of that weighted mallet and the rest of the lamps went out.\n<\/p>\n \nThe mallet hit the floor. Maybe we\u2019d leave them to die in peace now.\n<\/p>\n \nI touched Clare\u2019s hand. It was like touching a statue. I leaned closer to her to whisper something calm and encouraging.\n<\/p>\n \nOne of the men screamed. A different scream.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLight,\u201d one hundred thirty-two Collectors whispered. The arena magnified it into a hu-man rainstorm of sound.\n<\/p>\n \nA lamp relit.\n<\/p>\n \nAnother of those different screams. Another gust of whispers. Another lamp.\n<\/p>\n \nThe third lamp gave enough light to show Matthew holding a knife like the ones we skinned cows with. A Collector set one of those bowls beneath the old lady\u2019s foot. Matthew slit her foot from heel to toe. Her hoarse scream wasn\u2019t much louder than the noise of her blood streaming into the bowl.\n<\/p>\n \nOver and over and over. Hands and feet slit on one wheel, then the next, then the last. A lamp coming to life at every slash. Plops and drizzles of blood filling twelve bowls under the wheels. The clamor of \u201cLight!\u201d whispers increasing to low voices, then to regular voices, then to that deafening shout.\n<\/p>\n \nPlunk. Plunk. Splash.<\/em> Every time the victims moved, blood dropped into the bowls beneath them. That blood reeked so strong I couldn\u2019t smell anything else up here. I swal-lowed bile. I had to look like everything was just fine.\n<\/p>\n \nThe old woman started to cough. Her face turned red, then purple, and blood bubbled from her mouth. Then she simply lay there, chest still, rubbery arms and legs sagging through the V-shaped gaps in the wheel. Her blood kept filling the bowls.\n<\/p>\n \nPlease, Ihs, let them all die that quick. <\/em>My eyes squeezed closed. No. This is what Ihs wants\u2014torture and screams and blood. He told Matthew. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nOne of the still-living men moaned.\n<\/p>\n \nAn hour ago, I thought I wasn\u2019t worthy to be a Collector.\n<\/p>\n \nWelcome to the family, Amos. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n \nIII<\/b><\/p>\n \n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIhs appeared unto Matthew,\u201d our leader said from his place in the midst of the carnage.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOnly you can Collect me from this darkness,\u201d the Collectors said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe obey you, Ihs, from this time forth and forevermore.\u201d Their voices echoed around the room.\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew moved a few paces forward to the exact center of the circle. \u201cHear the words of Matthew, first of Ihs\u2019 Collectors in the new world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe await the words of Ihs through Matthew.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI remained in the cave for two days, hearing fire consume the world and hearing Ihs, even Ihs who once created the world and everything inhabiting it, bewail the evil of man which created the darkness now devouring Ihs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2014evil\u2014bastards\u2014\u201d the man on Matthew\u2019s right choked out.\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew turned faster than I\u2019d ever seen him move. His left hand clawed into the man\u2019s mouth and his right brought the knife down. The man\u2019s tongue plopped onto the floor.\n<\/p>\n \nI bit the inside of my cheek so no sound would come out. Quiet. Blend in. Act like everyone else. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAt the end of the second day, when the air was fouled by smoke and strange white ash, Ihs entered my mind, filling it with his strength and his despair. And Ihs spoke to me, his serv-ant, charging me with the most important task ever given to man. When my followers reached me, they cried out at my visage, which had been transformed by communion with Ihs. They obeyed my instructions with fear and wonder, for the time to Collect Ihs grew short.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe twelve lamps went out again. Perfect darkness. I couldn\u2019t see a thing. The victim without a tongue choked on his own blood. The other sobbed and moaned, his voice floating and echoing.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPatrick?\u201d Clare whispered.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cRemember what Matthew said,\u201d Patrick whispered. \u201c\u2018Darkness tried to devour Ihs.\u2019 It\u2019s all part of how we Collect him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA rustle, then the voice of a female Collector sang in a clear, sweet soprano: \u201cTenebrae factae sunt\u2026\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat\u2019s Mary Ann,\u201d Clare whispered.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI know. Listen.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201c\u2026ut quid me dereliquisti\u2026\u201d<\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI remembered Mary Ann singing at Midsummer dances. Clare and I learned a new reel last year just so we could beg her to sing it. Her voice was made for the way this room magnified sound.\n<\/p>\n \nEveryone sang, \u201cEt inclinato capite, emisit spiritum.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nFootsteps. A gurgling shriek. Then a clearer one. Then just the plip-plip-plip<\/em> of dripping blood.\n<\/p>\n \nMatches scraped on the walls. For a brief moment the sharp odor of sulfur overpowered the blood. All the lamps blazed again.\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew, blood splattering his hair, face, hands, clothes, and feet, continued in that recit-ative voice: \u201cWhen the third world-destroyer breathed his last, Ihs\u2019 greatness shone out once again, shattering the darkness man had created.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI stared into the open eyes of the dead, one after the other. I\u2019m sorry,<\/em> I mouthed at each of them.\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew raised both arms. \u201cLet us proclaim the triumph of Ihs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIhs created light,\u201d they all responded. \u201cMan created darkness. We Collected Ihs. We Collect the world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe Collect the world,\u201d Patrick repeated with a catch in his voice.\n<\/p>\n \nI didn\u2019t bleed, I didn\u2019t scream, but something tore in my chest when I heard that.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick was the teacher who\u2019d shared our practical jokes and inspired us with Collector history. He treated us as equals, partners in the great pride and responsibility of being a Collector. Yet he\u2019d even led a midnight kitchen raid on Clare\u2019s birthday to get us all one more piece of cake.\n<\/p>\n \nI gripped the wall tighter. Simply by being himself, Patrick made us want to serve Ihs through Matthew\u2019s vision. Now he stood beside me weeping for joy at\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nI didn\u2019t mean to let them, didn\u2019t want to let them, but hot tears ran down my face and once they started, they wouldn\u2019t stop.\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew nodded at the front bench and twelve Collectors stood, holding gold trays cov-ered with gold cups a little bigger than a thimble. They split into three groups of four at each wheel. The four Collectors already at each wheel picked up the bowls, brought them to the nine, and poured the blood into the tiny cups. When all the cups on all the trays were filled, the twelve carried the trays around the benches.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019ll be right back,\u201d Patrick said.\n<\/p>\n \nI wiped my face with the inside of my hood as soon as he left. I didn\u2019t try to look at Clare or Joel. Clare had to be as wrecked as I was. If I saw her crying I knew I wouldn\u2019t be able to keep on pretending.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick returned and handed each of us a cup. \u201cWatch Matthew,\u201d he said.\n<\/p>\n \nI stared at the mouthful of liquid.\n<\/p>\n \nA moment later, Matthew raised his cup. \u201cBring the light within.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe banish our darkness,\u201d one hundred thirty-two hushed voices said, \u201cwith the light of Ihs\u2019 glory.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThey drank.\n<\/p>\n \nMy muscles locked.\n<\/p>\n \nDrink it. They\u2019ll know something\u2019s wrong if you don\u2019t. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI held my breath, touched the little golden rim to my lips, and swallowed.\n<\/p>\n \nIt was barely warm, but it seared a channel down my throat and chest and boiled in my gut. My hood fell backward when I tilted my head and I could see Patrick and Joel. They\u2019d up-ended their cups to catch the last drops on their tongues.\n<\/p>\n \nDo it.<\/em> I tipped my cup, one congealed drop hit my teeth, and I swallowed that too. Don\u2019t puke don\u2019t puke don\u2019t puke\u2026<\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick took our cups, tears on his cheeks, and went out. I glanced over at Clare.\n<\/p>\n \nThe world crumbled.\n<\/p>\n \nHer face was rapt. The tip of her tongue scooped up a bead of blood from her bottom lip. She closed her eyes when she tasted it and her breath and lips trembled.\n<\/p>\n \nI faced forward and kept my eyes on the victims on the wheels. I couldn\u2019t look at her an-ymore.\n<\/p>\n \nWas it over? Or\u2026what if we had special Collector stuff to do afterwards? More great se-crets I got to be part of at last?\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew stayed in the very center of the arena. Without the bowls to catch it, the drip-ping blood had spread over the space, soaking into his shoes. He raised his empty cup.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWe adore you, Ihs, and we bless you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nEveryone raised theirs. \u201cWe Collect you, Ihs, and you bless us.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGo now, and Collect the world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThanks be to Ihs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe traced a huge Sign of Ihs in the air at each of the four compass points, then walked up the aisle and through the far door. Row by row, the others followed him. In a few minutes the arena was empty.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick sat cross-legged on the floor. \u201cClare, Amos, Joel, sit down. I know you have ques-tions.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nNo one spoke. We didn\u2019t look at each other.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAmos?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI, um, need a minute.\u201d I had to think up something neutral.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cClare?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA tear slipped down her cheek. \u201cI have to paint it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhy?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBecause\u2026 the beauty\u2026\u201d She took a long breath. \u201cI know just the colors I need to cap-ture the moment of darkness to light.\u201d She turned shining eyes to Patrick. \u201cI never imagined it was anything so\u2026\u201d She made a helpless gesture with her hands. \u201cI can paint it even though I can\u2019t find the words.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI found a safe question. \u201cWhat was Mary Ann singing?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s an ancient song in a language no one knows how to speak anymore. The first Mat-thew translated the only copy to survive the fires from the war. It begins, \u2018Darkness covered the earth.\u2019\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPatrick\u2026\u201d Joel\u2019s robust voice was meek.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes, Joel?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m not worthy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick smiled. \u201cWhy?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m a loudmouth. I\u2019m full of myself. I want all the girls to notice me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnd?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI wasn\u2019t going to drink the blood.\u201d He raised his head. His freckles looked like Clare had dabbed them on with orange paint. \u201cBut I knew I had to. It spread through me like it glowed and\u2026 well, this sounds so\u2014arrogant. Ihs filled me with himself.\u201d He clenched the front of his robe. \u201cI don\u2019t deserve to wear this.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cJoel, I know exactly what you mean. I\u2019ve felt it too.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJoel\u2019s mouth opened. Patrick smiled.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cListen to me: None of us are as great as Matthew. None of us are truly worthy of Ihs. We all start out thinking we\u2019ll never be the right kind of Collector.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe looked at me. \u201cDo you have a real question? Not a superficial one?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nNow or never.<\/em> I looked directly into Patrick\u2019s eyes and lied. \u201cI keep trying to find the words, but it\u2019s all too big. Nothing comes out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA Homecoming to remember,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cSomething has finally rendered Amos speechless.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nEveryone laughed\u2014quietly. Clare kissed me on the cheek. I didn\u2019t flinch. Patrick patted me on the back and smiled.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019ll take awhile to sink in. That\u2019s why the rest of this day is set aside for chant and med-itation. Go to your rooms and write, or paint, or just think. There\u2019s bread and wine and fruit set out in the small dining room. I\u2019ll come get you for supper, and after that we light the bonfires.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShould we bring all our homework to start them?\u201d Joel said. His grin flashed out but his eyes were uncertain.\n<\/p>\n \nPatrick guffawed. \u201cI\u2019ll miss being trapped in the cellar with you three every day.\u201d He got to his feet, gesturing us up with him. \u201cYou didn\u2019t know this before, of course, but the bonfires are for the world-destroyers. We destroy them the way they tried to destroy Ihs and the world.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh,\u201d Clare breathed.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOff you go,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cCome to my room if you have more questions or especially if you need to talk.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI matched my stride to Joel\u2019s and Clare\u2019s until we separated on the fourth floor. I couldn\u2019t close my bedroom door fast enough. Should I block it with my bed? No. If someone knocked, how would I explain? I had to act the same as always. No one would notice if I was a little quiet for the rest of the week. Refuge was crowded, and I could take advantage of the mi-nor chaos when everyone packed and left. Deceiving Patrick and Joel would be hard, but Clare\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nMy gut clenched. I ran to the bathroom at the end of the hall and splattered the sink with bloody bile. Twice; three times. It clogged my nose. I fumbled my handkerchief out of my pock-et and blew. My stomach tried to retch at the smell, but there was nothing left to come up. I spat into the mess in the sink and worked the pump. It took way too long for the water to flow down from the cistern on the roof. I washed out the sink and my handkerchief and scrubbed my hands and face. I tried rinsing my mouth with water but the vile taste lingered. My toothbrush is in my room\u2026 ah, forget it.<\/em> I scooped out toothpaste with my fingertip and scoured my mouth till it hurt.\n<\/p>\n \nNo one waited in the hall. I was still safe. This time I latched my bedroom door. There was no chance I\u2019d eat anything till supper. No chance I\u2019d leave this sanctuary till we all had to go downstairs.\n<\/p>\n \nWhen I\u2019d have to see Patrick and lie some more. And Joel. And Clare.\n<\/p>\n \nClare, who was soaring with\u2014face it\u2014ecstasy. Who slurped that last drop like mulled wine on a cold winter night. Like she hadn\u2019t watched the\u2014family\u2014milk three screaming people like cows for that blood. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI dragged the Collector robe over my head and flung the thing in the corner. I huddled in my shirt and trousers on the floor for awhile, until the cold started to freeze my bones. So I climbed onto my bed, wrapped myself in the blanket, and leaned my head back against the stone wall, eyes closed. Trying to\u2026 something. Fall asleep. Forget. Come up with the proper facial ex-pression and attitude and a list of awestruck things to say. For the long evening when, in just a few hours, a hundred-plus Collectors welcomed me officially into the family as we roasted three broken bodies for dessert.\n<\/p>\n \nSmash. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nThe old lady screamed in my head.\n<\/p>\n \nCrack. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nNow one of the men.\n<\/p>\n \nI banged the back of my head against the wall again and again and again until the pain made my ears ring and masked the screams.\n<\/p>\n \n \nIV<\/b><\/p>\n \n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPsst!<\/em> Joel! In here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI opened the door to the small cellar room wider and pulled Joel in.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat are you doing down here?\u201d he said, shielding his lamp until the flame stopped flickering. \u201cVince and I have laundry this week.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDoes this look like the laundry room?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJoel set his lamp on a shelf. My own lamp was turned up full and the combined light illu-minated deep shelves on all four walls stacked with plates, glasses, mugs, cooking pots, and ket-tles. A round table in the middle of the room was covered with broken dishes and a sign: \u201cWill fix before Carnival\u2014Pearl.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, it looks like dish storage,\u201d Joel said. \u201cIt\u2019s freezing! I hate cellar jobs in February.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, yeah. Me, too. Listen. I need your help.\u201d I crouched behind the door and dragged out a clay pot. \u201cThis is for Clare\u2019s birthday.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re giving her a pot?\u201d He brought his lamp closer. \u201cA dirt-filled pot.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, I\u2019m giving her a black walnut sapling for the garden. So she can make paint with the nutshells and the bark.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSo what do you need me for?\u201d He sneezed. \u201cTalk fast. I want to get back upstairs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI can\u2019t hide this down here anymore. The tree\u2019ll need light. Help me carry it up to my room.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOne pot?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt weighs six tons with all the dirt. Come on. Clare\u2019s up in the attic with the historical paintings. Now\u2019s my chance.\u201d I blew out both lamps.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFine.\u201d Joel squatted on one side of the pot and heaved. \u201cMatthew\u2019s balls! What have you got in here, rocks?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDon\u2019t swear, you idiot. We may not be the only ones down here.\u201d I settled my hands under the base. \u201cOf course there\u2019re a few rocks in here. For drainage.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re kidding.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe sidestepped down the hall. The pot was way heavier than I expected. \u201cOof. No, I\u2019m not kidding. Don\u2019t you know anything about plants?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDon\u2019t need to. Here\u2019s the stairs. Ready? Up.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou make furniture. Trees are a plant.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA dead one. You grow \u2019em, I carve \u2019em.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFirst floor. Quiet. No one knows about this.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPuffing and sweating, we reached the fourth floor. I bumped my door open with one shoulder. \u201cUnder the window. Don\u2019t klunk it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe set the pot on the floor and collapsed onto the bed.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow can you make her a garden in the winter?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m not. This is just the first piece. So she\u2019ll look forward to the wedding.\u201d I waited a beat. \u201cHave I mentioned the bench I want to put beneath this tree?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJoel groaned. \u201cAt least I get two months\u2019 notice. You got a design?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah.\u201d I slid a piece of paper out of the chant book on my pillow. \u201cShe likes poppies.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJoel took it over to the narrow window and wiped the frost from the pane with his sleeve. \u201cYou want a bunch of poppies with\u2014what are these? Oh, apples. Here, what about this?\u201d He breathed on the window to fog it up again and finger-sketched an apple tree with poppies around the base.\n<\/p>\n \nI came next to him to study it. \u201cToo tall for the back of the bench.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDuh. I\u2019m not thinking.\u201d He wiped that off and fogged the glass again. \u201cForget realism. How\u2019s this?\u201d This time, he drew oversized poppies alternating with apples small enough to match them.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCan you add leaves? Two on the apple stems and some of those thin poppy ones?\u201d I sketched one.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo problem. I\u2019ll keep this sketch to use on a cradle for your first baby.\u201d He elbowed me and grinned. \u201cWhere are you going to get this birthday tree?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFrom that stand where the river curves to the north. I\u2019m sneaking out around five a.m. tomorrow.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJoel stared. \u201cDo you have a fever? We\u2019re in the middle of a cold snap. The rocks on the riverbank\u2019ll be covered with ice.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIf I leave at five I can dig up the sapling and get back here by six. Just enough time to light the oven and make it to morning chant.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat\u2019s right; you\u2019re on breakfast this week. You better not fall and break your neck. Who\u2019ll fry the eggs?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019ve been out there twice this month. I know exactly which tree I want. All the rocks in that spot are flat, so the ice won\u2019t matter.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhy tomorrow?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIf the tree doesn\u2019t survive the transplant, I\u2019ll have time to dig up my second choice be-fore Thursday.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI hope I\u2019m not this besotted when I fall in love.\u201d Joel hiked his robe and pocketed the drawing in his trousers. \u201cOur lamps are still down cellar. You coming?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI have to borrow a shovel first. I\u2019ll get mine when I bring up tomorrow\u2019s eggs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI closed the door behind them as the clock by the front stairway struck five-thirty. Plenty of time to get a shovel and my lamp before evening chant.\n<\/p>\n \nHow easy all those lies came out of my mouth. What a piece of pond scum I\u2019d become.\n<\/p>\n \n \nThat night after evening chant, Gaspar the gardener tried to one-up Patrick with crazy harvest stories versus wild student stories. My sides ached from laughing, especially since a bunch of Patrick\u2019s stories involved us. When everyone else had gone to their rooms for the night, Clare finished setting the tables for breakfast and I set out pans in the kitchen for eggs and ba-con.\n<\/p>\n \nI snuck up behind her as she placed the last fork. \u201cGoodnight.\u201d I kissed her tiny earlobe. My lips didn\u2019t even shrink from the feel of her skin now. Amazing what three months of dedi-cated deception could do.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGoodnight, sweetie.\u201d She turned around and kissed me. \u201cMeet me in the attic after breakfast and I\u2019ll show you what I\u2019ve done with the first painting.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAs soon as I dry the dishes.\u201d I snuffed the wall lamp and we went upstairs together. My arm fit perfectly around her waist. Her golden hair shone in the lamplight. She\u2019d ripped my heart out and dangled it in front of me, and she had no clue what she\u2019d done. She blew me another kiss before she went around the corner to the women\u2019s side of the floor.\n<\/p>\n \nLight shone under several doors on the men\u2019s side. I latched my bedroom door and stuffed my robe under it as the hall clock struck eleven.\n<\/p>\n \nThe icy floor sent shudders through me when I sat in front of my dresser. The first Mat-thew should\u2019ve thought of his descendants when he built Refuge in the mountains. Winter start-ed too soon and lasted too long. Joel was right about this cold snap, too. In one way, I\u2019d picked the worst possible time for this. In another, I\u2019d picked the best time.\n<\/p>\n \nI looked behind me at the wadded-up wool robe. Matthew\u2019s balls, this floor wanted to freeze my skin right off.\n<\/p>\n \nNo. I\u2019d have to get used to doing without it. Tomorrow afternoon I\u2019d be dumping it in the river.\n<\/p>\n \nI pulled the bottom drawer silently off its runners. One by one, I picked up from the floor the small, flat bags of seeds I\u2019d collected over the last three months.\n<\/p>\n \nI slid the drawer back in place, Gaspar\u2019s dark blue sweater calling my name. It had been his way of saying \u2018thank you\u2019 last September when I\u2019d tilled half an acre for the watermelon and pumpkin planting in the spring. He was a great old guy. I was going to miss him.\n<\/p>\n \nDon\u2019t think. Don\u2019t care. You\u2019re already gone. They\u2019re in your past. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nA breeze slithered through the chipped corner of my window, making the frost sparkle in the flickering lamplight. Goosebumps swept over me. I pulled the blanket off the bed and lumped it beneath me. I couldn\u2019t escape if I was too cold to move.\n<\/p>\n \nMaybe I could wear the sweater. My room had to look like I\u2019d only gone out to get Clare\u2019s present, but it\u2019d be logical to put a warm sweater on under my robe. Besides, it\u2019d be easi-er to sew the seed bags to the inside of the sweater than into my shirt. I turned the sweater inside out, then took the needle and thread from their usual place in my underwear drawer. First, pep-permint. I tacked it to the left sleeve.\n<\/p>\n \nAn hour later I put the last stitch in the valerian bag on the shoulder seam. Its scent made me yawn till my jaws creaked.\n<\/p>\n \nWake up, pond scum. Valerian doesn\u2019t put people to sleep that fast. Problem was that I sewed like a slug. The hall clock rang midnight ages ago. If only I didn\u2019t need to tack both ends, but the bags scrunched up otherwise. Bad for the herbs. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI stuck the needle in the spooled thread and stretched until my back popped. The blanket wasn\u2019t keeping my butt warm anymore. I turned the sweater right side in and wormed my way inside it. It smelled like an accident in an herbalist\u2019s.\n<\/p>\n \nSleep Just a few hours. Have to wake up by four a.m. <\/em>I lowered the wick from a flame to a glow, hopped onto the bed and cocooned in the blanket.\n<\/p>\n \nBong. Bong. Bong. Bong. <\/em>I tipped over and jerked awake, gasping. That was the clock. Not that mallet hitting the old lady\u2019s bones. I should know the difference\u2014I\u2019d woken up hearing it in my head nearly every night since November 28th.\n<\/p>\n \nI turned up the wick to a regular flame and shrugged off the blanket. Ihs damn winter forever, the air should never be this cold. I shoved the pillow behind my back and wrapped my-self in my blanket and sheet.\n<\/p>\n \nFour-fifteen. Inventory time. Shovel and boots by the door, jerky and dried fruit on the dresser. If Patrick knew about all the bits and pieces of food I\u2019d stolen since December, I\u2019d nev-er be able to look him in the eyes again. Plus, all that thieving from Gaspar\u2019s stores, when I\u2019d been organizing and preserving\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nIt didn\u2019t matter. There\u2019d be no more coaxing reluctant pumpkins into hundred-pound vine-breakers with Gaspar, no more practical jokes with Patrick and Joel.\n<\/p>\n \nNo more Clare.\n<\/p>\n \nEvery lie I\u2019d told her for the past three months marched across my memory. Her garden. The play we were practicing for Carnival. Spice cake for her birthday. The third-floor room we\u2019d picked out for when we were married.\n<\/p>\n \nMy throat closed. No. No crying. Tears were for slicing onions or eating too much horse-radish and I was not giving in. I pounded the wall with my fists.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOw! Stupid.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAs I shook out the stinging, the jerky movements slid my chant book off the side of the mattress. I lunged and caught it before it hit the floor and woke Joel next door.\n<\/p>\n \nIts supple leather cover caressed my hands. The binding opened on its own at the chants after Homecoming.\n<\/p>\n \nClare had taken my book on New Year\u2019s and drawn one of the world-destroyers in in-credible detail at the bottom of this page. When she gave it back to me, her face had that same ecstasy on it like when she\u2019d slurped that last drop of blood. I\u2019d wanted to puke again.\n<\/p>\n \nFour-thirty. I stared at the dead man. I had to carve every detail into my memory. With only pen and ink, Clare had made me see the red of the blood dripping into the bowls. And his eyes\u2026she\u2019d drawn his head sagging back into the V-shaped gap between the wheel spokes\u2014or thrown back in agony. His mouth was open in a scream. His broken arm and leg bones pushed through his skin like icicles in reverse.\n<\/p>\n \nRemember them. Remember Homecoming. Every town I\u2019d ever visit, every Collector I might encounter.\n<\/p>\n \nI ran my fingertips over Clare\u2019s drawing. If there were any chance my\u2026family\u2026would treat an ex-Collector like a world-destroyer\u2026 Was it possible? I\u2019d turned my back on Mathew\u2019s vision. Did that make me of the same mind as them?\n<\/p>\n \nNever risk it. Never let down your guard. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nQuarter to five. Should I leave now? What about the slim chance Joel would be waiting downstairs for me at five? Joel was always up for breaking a minor rule.\n<\/p>\n \nBetter not take the chance. I squirmed out from the blanket. My toes curled from the cold when they touched the floor.\n<\/p>\n \nI flipped the sheet and blanket over the mattress and more or less straightened them, then set the chant book on the pillow. A cloud of scents crowded into my nose. Peppermint and basil. Oregano, meadowsweet, and feverfew. Ignore it. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nFood and pocketknife in my trouser pockets. One last check: Yes, the room looked just like it did every morning. I blew out the lamp. Then I pulled the robe away from the bottom of the door, shook it out, and slipped it on. A shudder wriggled up my spine at the touch of the cold wool, but the robe warmed me a moment later, even after hours on the floor. I lifted the latch and picked up the shoes and shovel.\n<\/p>\n \nDon\u2019t turn around. No regrets. No second thoughts. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI stepped into the hall and closed the door without a sound.\n<\/p>\n \nAll those skipped morning chants paid off: I navigated the lightless hall as easy as I did at noon. Thirty steps and I felt for the railing, took one step down\u2014and stopped.\n<\/p>\n \nClare. I was never going to see her again.\n<\/p>\n \nKeep walking. Downstairs and out the kitchen door. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI had no choice. Clare worshipped Ihs. The god who commanded the Collectors to cele-brate torture and murder. And I didn\u2019t. That meant Clare\u2019d be glad to see me stretched on one of the wheels. She\u2019d tremble as she drank my blood.\n<\/p>\n \nI continued down the stairs.\n<\/p>\n \n \n<\/p>\n \nHalfway to the trees, the wind changed direction and tried to blow me into the river. Clare could make a beautiful painting of the glittering snow and foaming river.\n<\/p>\n \nStop it stop it stop it.<\/em> I stuck my hands deeper into my sleeves and shivered. My hood blew off again. Bright idea, escaping in February. Yeah.\n<\/p>\n \nThe dark river smelled of mud and wet rocks. I squinted as the sky began to lighten and saw the first of the willows that screened the walnut trees ahead.\n<\/p>\n \nClare should still be asleep.\n<\/p>\n \nStop thinking about her. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nA gust of wind knocked me sideways and I slid halfway down the riverbank.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGreat.\u201d The mud tried to suck off my left boot. \u201cCome on!\u201d Sklorp.<\/em> The boot came loose and I slammed my tailbone on a tree root as I overbalanced. \u201cOw!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI clawed and stumbled back onto the grass. \u201cGet up, get up. Dawn\u2019s coming. There\u2019s the walnuts.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI slipped and weaved through the trees until I found the right sapling. At least the larger trees blocked some of this miserable wind. I found the flattest rock, grabbed an overhanging tree branch for stability, and jammed the shovel into the ground.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhoa!\u201d My muddy boot slipped and the branch cracked under my full weight. The world lurched, but I held on till up became up again. I checked the branch\u2019s damage. Couldn\u2019t have been better. I\u2019d rubbed some frost off the grass walking around, too, but nothing that didn\u2019t look normal. The first part of the stage was set.\n<\/p>\n \nThe shovel barely wiggled when I rocked it. Good. Stage setting part two: A stuck shovel and an icy rock. I dug the knife out of my pocket, unfolded it, and stared at the blade.\n<\/p>\n \nDo it. Show some guts. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI sucked in a breath and slashed my palm. \u201cShi\u2014\u201d Blood welled up, just like it had from their shattered arms and legs\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFocus, pond scum.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI smeared blood on the corner of the rock directly under the broken branch. Then I grasped a chunk of my hair and sliced it off.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAt least that didn\u2019t hurt.\u201d It clung to my bleeding hand, but I could still stick part of the clump to the smeared blood on the rock.\n<\/p>\n \nNow that the sun was nearly risen I could see the details I needed. A few hairs fell off the rock, but that just made it look more authentic. I hoped.\n<\/p>\n \nJust had to plant the last clue. I poked the knife tip through my sleeve and tore off a strip. The broken branch leaned over the rock, and I snagged the material on the same spot I\u2019d held onto earlier.\n<\/p>\n \nSunrise lit the river. A black-capped chickadee whistled its two notes behind me. I wrapped my handkerchief around my bleeding palm and inspected my work.\n<\/p>\n \nIf the newspaper ever wrote about Collectors, I bet this story would begin, \u2018Amos the Collector died unexpectedly on the morning of February twenty-third. All signs indicate that he slipped on an icy rock, cracked his skull, and fell into the river. A pumpkin patch is being named in his honor.\u2019\n<\/p>\n \nI tried to smile, but couldn\u2019t manage one. Guess I wouldn\u2019t get a moment of fame.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPoor old Gaspar.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nStop it. He\u2019s in the past. I\u2019m not one of them anymore. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI looked over my shoulder at the riverbank. \u201cThree feet here, nice and steep. Let\u2019s get it over with.\u201d Leading with my already-wet boot, I slid down the riverbank and splashed into the running water.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYow!\u201d I jerked my foot straight into the air. \u201cCold cold cold!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe sun was halfway over the horizon now. Go. Now. It must be nearly six. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nBoth my feet stood in water so cold I couldn\u2019t figure out why it wasn\u2019t ice. But I had to hide my footprints.\n<\/p>\n \nI lasted about fifty yards. By then the sun had fully risen and my fingers were turning blue. I didn\u2019t want to think about the color of my toes. The riverbank sloped at a gentler angle here, huge tree roots protruding like crooked ladders.\n<\/p>\n \nI needed a rock. There\u2014a cluster only few feet away. I splashed deeper and pried up one as big as my head. I heaved it onto the grass and used the roots to climb up after it.\n<\/p>\n \nWas it safe yet? I looked back toward my tableau, but the river had curved. Maybe a little farther. The rock stank of mud and fish and my arms ached before the sun hit the treetops. Sweat soaked my armpits and collar of my sweater when I let the rock whump<\/em> to the ground. Hopefully the herb bags had stayed dry.\n<\/p>\n \nNow for the last step. And the coldest. No hesitation. I made this decision back in November.<\/em> I pulled the robe over my head, and of course the wind picked up just then. I knelt on the grass and spread out the robe. I rolled the rock over it and wrapped the robe around it like a gift, double-knotting the sleeves.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOne\u2014two\u2014three\u2014 Argh!\u201d I chucked the bundle toward the middle of the river. It ac-tually went ker-plunk<\/em> but the water barely sprayed twelve inches. Huh. I thought it would\u2019ve sent up a fountain and maybe a fish or two.\n<\/p>\n \nThe robe-covered rock wasn\u2019t visible from here. I waited for the sun to shine on that sec-tion, and I still couldn\u2019t see it. I\u2019d thrown it four or five yards in, and figured the river\u2019s depth there at about five feet. The wet brown robe was just one more dark rock.\n<\/p>\n \nThe wind cut through my sweater like the blue wool didn\u2019t exist. My shoes were trying to transform themselves into leather icicles. I had to move or die for real. So I started walking.\n<\/p>\n \nThat made one hundred thirty-four Collectors in the world today.\n<\/p>\n \n \nVI<\/b><\/p>\n \n<\/p>\n \nWind. And now rain. Matthew\u2019s balls, had Ihs sent this weather to punish me?\n<\/p>\n \nStop.<\/em> Thinking like that would send me screaming into the woods forever.\n<\/p>\n \nI stayed within the trees, but leafless willows and birches were no shelter. I kept my hands tucked under my arms and walked faster. Was I still headed southwest? I needed to get to Fountain. Nice name. Biggish town, according to the maps. Should be people there who needed a gardener. Nobody\u2019d come looking for me. My setup had to work. Had to.\n<\/p>\n \nThe rain stopped by early afternoon. My entire body wanted mulled wine in the worst way. And a fire. Tuesday was baking day, too. My mouth watered just thinking about hot bread with butter. I pulled out the pouch of now-spongy dried apples. I\u2019d better eat them before they disintegrated. The first mouthful confirmed that they were no substitute for that hot, fresh bread.\n<\/p>\n \nMy faked tragedy should\u2019ve been discovered hours ago. Clare would miss me at break-fast and figure I was still messing around in the kitchen. She\u2019d go in and Rose would complain that I\u2019d slept in and left all the work for her. Clare would go up to my room, maybe check with Gaspar. When she couldn\u2019t find me, she\u2019d ask Joel. Joel\u2019d come clean about the birthday present. They\u2019d get medicines and bandages, and probably Patrick.\n<\/p>\n \nAnd find a clump of hair stuck with blood to that rock. A piece of ripped brown sleeve dangling from a broken branch. A long sliding track into the river. If I did it right, they could only come to one conclusion.\n<\/p>\n \nClare would blame herself. Joel might, a little bit. But Patrick would explain how it wasn\u2019t their fault. He was a good teacher. They\u2019d believe him.\n<\/p>\n \nMy throat ached. I wasn\u2019t getting sick, I knew. It was me, Amos the murderer, Amos the blood-drinker, trying not to cry. Just as though I deserved the feelings of a human being.\n<\/p>\n \nEveryone I loved was in the past. All that was over. I was a whole different person now.\n<\/p>\n \nClare\u2019d get over the lost garden. Maybe she\u2019d paint my \u2018death scene\u2019\u2014call it \u201cLost Love\u201d or something hokey.\n<\/p>\n \nI finished the disgusting apples and stuffed the empty pouch back in my pocket.\n<\/p>\n \nAn hour later, the wind changed and blew from the south, spraying river water over me. If I stopped walking, my hair would probably turn into long brown icicles. My legs ached. My feet chafed against the drying shoe leather. I had blisters growing on at least four toes.\n<\/p>\n \nThe next time I looked at the sky, only a sliver of sun poked over the hills. I needed a place to sleep. No point in climbing a tree\u2014without leaves they were just fat sticks.\n<\/p>\n \nI sneezed. No one was there to say, \u201cHealth be yours.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nIt hit me: I\u2019d never been really alone before. Even in the middle of winter there were at least twenty Collectors in the Refuge, not counting the babies in the nursery.\n<\/p>\n \nWell, so what? Sixteen-year-old men didn\u2019t get scared.\n<\/p>\n \nAn owl screeched on the other side of the river.\n<\/p>\n \n \nHours later, stomping through some desiccated reeds, I caught myself drooling over the fish as they skimmed just below the surface of the river. Some planner I was. Why didn\u2019t I bring a fishing pole? Even string would\u2019ve worked. I could\u2019ve cut a branch with the knife.\n<\/p>\n \nI wanted fried fish and hot bread and a piece of Rose\u2019s pumpkin pie for dessert. I wanted to have a stupid jigsaw puzzle race with Joel. I\u2019d been leading eight puzzles to seven as of Sun-day.\n<\/p>\n \nI wanted Clare.\n<\/p>\n \nThere. I admitted it. So what if she obsessed about world-destroyers? No\u2014I would not think of them like that. They\u2019d been regular people who had families and jobs and kids and lives of their own. So what if she\u2019d already started a wall-size painting of them?\n<\/p>\n \nI snorted a noseful of snot into the reeds. I\u2019d lied about that, too.\n<\/p>\n \nShe\u2019d put her arms around me as she described all the details. \u201cI tried carving real wood, but it\u2019s too rough for a good likeness. See the perspective? It took me forever to get it just right, the circular wheels and the circular benches. Here\u2014touch the red paint.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s thick.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cExtra wax. I wanted textured blood. I got broken cups from storage, too. They\u2019ll go on the bottom, just like in the arena. All the important parts get emphasized, see? In summer, when Homecoming is still a long way off, we can look at this and remember.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re amazing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSilly. What do you think of the painting?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2026brings everything back. I keep expecting the blood to drip on the floor.\u201d <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n \nShe\u2019d been so happy. It almost made the lie worth it.\n<\/p>\n \nMy stomach grumbled as another fish shimmered in the moonlight and plipped back into the river. No\u2026 I didn\u2019t want Clare. Not when I thought logically. She was a Collector. She fol-lowed Matthew and Ihs. I must always remember her face when she drank those innocent vic-tims\u2019 blood.\n<\/p>\n \nThe wind picked up. By now, my teeth chattered even when I kept them clenched. Clouds obscured the moon just in time for me to trip over a tree root.\n<\/p>\n \nA dog barked.\n<\/p>\n \nThat meant people.\n<\/p>\n \nI stumbled over another root as I ran toward the sound.\n<\/p>\n \nThe clouds blew away and the moon showed me a sprawling barn. The dog barked again and settled down next to the barn door, nose between paws.\n<\/p>\n \nThis had to be the beginnings of Fountain. Had to be.\n<\/p>\n \nA wicked stitch cramped my side and I slowed to a walk. I needed warmth. Not this barn\u2014not guarded by that dog. Another barn, maybe. Somewhere closer to town.\n<\/p>\n \nI passed vineyards. An apple orchard. The tannery. What a stench. I covered my mouth with the peppermint-bag sleeve.\n<\/p>\n \nHouses at last. The same square street pattern as Colorado Springs. I looked northwest and spotted their Refuge. So much smaller. Only two stories. Of course\u2026 everyone came to Colorado Springs for Homecoming, so our Refuge had to be huge.\n<\/p>\n \nNo. Not ours. Theirs. I was not a Collector.\n<\/p>\n \nI hurried through empty streets toward the town square, the wind pushing me from be-hind. My teeth rattled like a bowlful of dried peas. I passed the inn, the bookseller, the chandler. The blacksmith should be right around here\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nHah. Knew it. Next to the miller. I tried the door handle, but it wouldn\u2019t budge. I crouched to look under the door and heat from the banked fire reached out and teased me.\n<\/p>\n \nStill crouching, I circled around back and found the next best thing to an unlocked door: a window. When I stretched to see over the sill, I saw heaven. A stack of leather aprons and gloves illuminated by the still-glowing embers of a huge stone firepit.\n<\/p>\n \nIf I still had a god to pray to, my \u201cPlease\u2026\u201d would\u2019ve been directed to Ihs. Instead, I aimed the plea at the lock on the inside, and pulled. The window moved.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes! Firepit, here I come.\u201d Holding it up with one hand, I got a knee onto the ledge, then two knees, and landed on the floor near the aprons with just a light thump. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nHeat at last. I closed the window first. My hands shook like Gaspar\u2019s when I held them to the embers. So tired. So warm. I unfolded one of the aprons and was just about to curl under it when I remembered the last piece of my plan. I was way past second thoughts by now. I took out my knife and sawed off my hair. A few minutes later long brown handfuls covered my knees and the floor around me. I shivered again as the air tickled my naked neck. That was that. I scooped it all up and dropped it into the firepit. It puffed into nothing.\n<\/p>\n \nI piled gloves into a pillow, then held three leather aprons over the firepit. One covered enough of the stone floor for me to curl up on. With two over me, they made the best bed I\u2019d ever known. I would\u2019ve chanted thanks to Ihs, if Ihs cared about anything other than torture and slaughter and blood. Instead, I burrowed into my leather cocoon and closed my eyes.\n<\/p>\n \n \nScreams.\n<\/p>\n \nI sat up, disoriented. The blood\u2014\n<\/p>\n \nAnother scream. I pushed off my blanket. Wait. My blanket wasn\u2019t leather.\n<\/p>\n \nThe world settled. After three months of planning, I\u2019d escaped from the Collector Ref-uge. This room was the Fountain blacksmith\u2019s workshop, and someone had screamed.\n<\/p>\n \nRunning footsteps. A bobbing light. A man rushed through the door and stopped in front of me.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat? Who? How did you\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCan I help?\u201d The leather aprons dropped to the floor as I stood.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMy wife\u2014the baby\u2019s early. Get the doctor!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhere is he?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShe. It\u2019s, it\u2019s\u2014\u201d Another scream from inside the house. The man\u2019s eyes weren\u2019t focused and his light hair stood out every which way. \u201cOne street east, turn left, she\u2019s on the corner. Tell me who you are later. Take the lantern.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI ran the two blocks in less than a minute, pounding on the door before my feet came to a full stop. \u201cWake up! Wake up!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe door opened and a disheveled redhead frowned at me. \u201cI\u2019m up.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBlacksmith\u2019s wife,\u201d I said, panting. \u201cBaby\u2019s early. She\u2019s screaming.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWait there.\u201d The redhead ran into another room and returned a minute later, dressed and carrying a wide satchel. \u201cOkay.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe ran back together. \u201cIt\u2019s her first,\u201d she said. \u201cCarlo\u2019s a nervous wreck. Know anything about painkillers?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGood. Be my assistant.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe blacksmith hovered by the kitchen door, hair even wilder and fear on his face.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCarlo, she\u2019s going to be fine. Get me cool water, a glass, and a towel.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI followed her into the bedroom. The blacksmith\u2019s wife hunched over her huge belly, legs dangling off the bed, moaning.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLet\u2019s have a look, Cissy.\u201d The doctor eased her down on the bed and folded up her nightgown. \u201cWater\u2019s broken. I\u2019ll check for the head.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nMy eyes snapped straight up to the ceiling as the doctor\u2019s hand went someplace incredi-bly private.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI can feel it. This shouldn\u2019t take too long.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOwwww\u2014it hurts, Emma!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOf course it does. You\u2019re barely five feet tall and Carlo is a moose.\u201d She turned to me. \u201cGo find Carlo and that water, please.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJust then the blacksmith came to the door.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGood. Hand them over. Now stoke the fire and bring me a big bowl of hot water and lots more towels. Don\u2019t worry. Out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI smothered a smile as she took the items from Carlo. He looked like a six-foot-tall lost puppy.\n<\/p>\n \nCissy yelled. The doctor snapped her fingers at me. \u201cI need feverfew, chamomile, and the tiniest pinch of poppy. What\u2019s your name?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI hesitated an instant. \u201cNicholas. I\u2019ve got it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nJars lined the bottom of her bag, labeled and in their own compartments. I mixed the herbs in a swallow of water, just like Gaspar\u2019d taught me. If only Carlo\u2019s wife wouldn\u2019t yell like that. It sounded like\u2014 I shook it off.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHere.\u201d I handed the cup to the doctor.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPerfect. Drink this, Cissy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes! Open your mouth.\u201d Emma forced the concoction down her throat.\n<\/p>\n \nCissy coughed and bent over from another contraction.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNicholas! Come here and hold her knees apart.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI turned into a statue.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCome on!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2014uh\u2014I\u2019ve never\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nEmma focused on me. \u201cOh, for crying out loud. Why aren\u2019t you a girl? Never mind. Get Carlo.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m right here.\u201d Carlo set the hot water and towels on the dresser.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cStop looking like that. You\u2019re not the one having this baby. Get over here and hold her knees apart. I can see the head now. Nicholas!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI jumped.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGet behind her and hold up her shoulders. Move.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI scrambled onto the bed and pushed against Cissy\u2019s back, wishing I could shut my ears as well as my eyes. She kept yelling in between Emma saying, \u201cPush!\u201d and Carlo saying, \u201cIt\u2019s okay, honey,\u201d over and over till Emma told him to shut up.\n<\/p>\n \nAnd then it was over. Cissy let out the biggest yell yet, Emma said, \u201cHere\u2019s the shoul-ders, one more push,\u201d and then, \u201cIt\u2019s a boy.\u201d I heard a sklorp<\/em> and a different kind of yell. Tiny, but loud. I opened my eyes as Emma snipped this long, bloody, purplish rope thing from the baby\u2019s belly button and tied the end in a knot.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHere he is.\u201d Emma wrapped a towel around the squalling red guy and put him in Cissy\u2019s arms. Carlo was crying a little and Cissy was laughing and crying and cooing all at the same time.\n<\/p>\n \nIt was scary and gross\u2026but kind of cool.\n<\/p>\n \nClare would\u2019ve looked beautiful holding our baby\u2026\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNicholas, I need the hot water and towels,\u201d Emma said.\n<\/p>\n \nOh. Right. That was my name now. I stuffed a pillow behind Cissy\u2019s shoulders and held the bowl for Emma. One look\u2014what was she pulling out from between Cissy\u2019s legs?\u2014and I stared at the ceiling again.\n<\/p>\n \nEmma chuckled. \u201cMen. No guts.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThat\u2019s what she thought. Wonder what she\u2019d say if I told her about Homecoming? But I didn\u2019t mind. It took me one step closer to being a regular person.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAll right, you men. Go heat us some wine, please, while I clean the baby and get Cissy settled.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nCarlo closed the bedroom door and led me into the kitchen.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPot\u2019s hanging on the wall behind you,\u201d he said. \u201cBring it into the shop. I\u2019ll get the wine.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe shop was even warmer with the refreshed fire. I\u2019d never take a warm room for grant-ed again. Carlo filled it halfway with red wine and I balanced the pot on an iron tripod over the fire.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCongratulations,\u201d I said.\n<\/p>\n \nCarlo grinned. \u201cThanks. Thanks for getting Emma and everything.\u201d He stirred the wine. \u201cYou want to tell me why you were sleeping in here?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nNow for it. I had to pull this off. \u201cI don\u2019t have any place to live.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow come?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m from Colorado Springs.\u201d No problem with that. It was the biggest town on the Smoky River. \u201cMy grandma raised me, but she died last month. The innkeeper bought the house. He let me stay for awhile, but he started fixing it up to rent and I had to leave.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCouldn\u2019t you find a job? You know herbs, right?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThe doctor has two apprentices, and the innkeeper\u2019s kids work his gardens.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBad time of year to look for herb work there, middle of February and all.\u201d He carried the steaming wine into the kitchen.\n<\/p>\n \nI followed, wondering if he believed any part of my story.\n<\/p>\n \nCarlo poured the wine into mugs. \u201cWell?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI owed the grocer and the chandler money, so I sold Grandma\u2019s stuff and most of mine to pay them. Then I hit the road. Figured I\u2019d see the world, you know?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou walked from Colorado Springs to here in nothing but pants and a sweater?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nEmma bustled in. \u201cMom and baby are sleeping nicely.\u201d She set her bag on the table and tsked<\/em> at me. \u201cTeenagers. No sense. You could use some feverfew and white willow yourself. You look like you\u2019ve been wrung out and left in the cold to dry.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI shrugged. \u201cKind of. The weather got nasty yesterday.\u201d I gave her a shorter version of my new life story.\n<\/p>\n \nShe stirred the powdered herbs into my wine. \u201cSounds like you need a job.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell, yeah.\u201d I drank. Wine had never tasted better, even with the slight bitterness of the white willow.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI could use you,\u201d Carlo said. \u201cThe baby wasn\u2019t due for a month. Hadn\u2019t found an ap-prentice yet.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI sipped the wine. Why not? No Collector would ever do this kind of work. They always hired town blacksmiths.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t know much about it.\u201d Better be honest about that.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s not hard. Chop wood, work the bellows, pour hot metal into molds. I can teach you the more complicated work later.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCan I borrow him sometimes?\u201d Emma said. \u201cMy daughter is still a little young to sort and grind.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSure. There you go, kid. Two jobs at once. You can live here. Carpenter can build a cou-ple short walls in a corner of the shop, make you a bedroom.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nEmma stood. \u201cThank you for the wine, Carlo. Send Nicholas over with my fee tomor-row.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat about Cissy?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAll she needs is a few days in bed. I left feverfew, chamomile, and meadowsweet, and white willow, of course. Make tea for her with them, Nicholas. Three times a day. They\u2019re nasty together, but they\u2019ll get her back to normal faster. Good night.\u201d She opened the kitchen door. \u201cGood morning, I mean. Sun\u2019s just rising.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI can make breakfast,\u201d I said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThanks, Nick.\u201d Carlo put his cup in the sink. \u201c\u2018Nick\u2019 okay, or do people call you Nicho-las?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cEither one.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNick, then. Bacon and eggs in the cellar. Through that door. I\u2019ll light the stove.\u201d He reached for the matches and paused. \u201cAlmost forgot. Two dollars a week. Three when you mas-ter everything.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSure.\u201d I took the lantern and a basket downstairs. I had no idea if that was a fair wage. Like it mattered.\n<\/p>\n \nI cut a hunk of bacon with the knife next to the slab and set half a dozen eggs on top. Carlo\u2019s footsteps thumped above me and disappeared. He must\u2019ve gone into the shop.\n<\/p>\n \nI stared at the eggs without seeing them. Amos the Collector was officially dead. Nick the blacksmith\u2019s apprentice was going upstairs to fry eggs and bacon. And grind herbs for the doctor. Gaspar would approve.\n<\/p>\n \nNo.<\/em> I clenched my fists. I don\u2019t know anyone named Gaspar. I\u2019m a reg-ular person who knows nothing special about Collectors at all. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nThis was going to be a problem. I\u2019d have to keep my mouth shut and pick up on how reg-ular people talked about Collectors. And how regular people lived and worked and had fun.\n<\/p>\n \nNot that I planned on having fun. Cutting my hair and changing my name was a good start, but I had to watch every word, every thought, until I was Nicholas outside and in.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNicholas.\u201d I tested the name. \u201cNick.\u201d I kind of preferred Nicholas, but the short version was a better disguise. Way different than Amos.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFire\u2019s ready, Nick,\u201d Carlo said at the top of the stairs.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBe right there.\u201d I picked up the basket and the lantern. \u201cDo you like them fried or scrambled?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \nVII<\/b><\/p>\n \n<\/p>\n \nTen Years Later<\/b>\n<\/p>\n \nThe screaming in my head started right on schedule.\n<\/p>\n \nI looked up from the clay dam I\u2019d just pasted over the hole in the miller\u2019s teakettle. Of course. The carved wooden calendar on the sideboard confirmed my fears: November 25.\n<\/p>\n \nNo matter how hard I worked at pretending this was any other date, my mind just laughed at me. The earlybirds showed up at Refuge in Colorado Springs today. The most eager. The ones who had farthest to travel and didn\u2019t want to risk hitting bad weather.\n<\/p>\n \nI\u2019d hear the screams for the next three days, even though Homecoming wasn\u2019t till the twenty-eighth.\n<\/p>\n \nI should be visiting Carlo. Pumping the bellows for old times\u2019 sake so the din of hammer on anvil covered the screams.\n<\/p>\n \nThe miller\u2019s daughter pumped water into the kitchen sink to wash the breakfast dishes. Her younger brother brought in a hammer and several pieces of wood and sat next to me in front of the hearth.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s my own beehive,\u201d he said through the gap where his baby teeth used to be. \u201cMom says if I take care of them all by myself, then I can keep the money next summer when I sell the honey!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI pasted a smile on my face and slipped into the character I\u2019d been perfecting for ten years. \u201cA delightful enterprise, Ronald.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHuh?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI gave Ronald a real smile. \u201cA good plan.\u201d I softened more clay for the outside of the mend.\n<\/p>\n \nThe clock bonged eight.\n<\/p>\n \nRonald set two boards at right angles on the hearth and banged in a nail.\n<\/p>\n \nI flinched.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOw!\u201d Ronald sucked his thumb. He tapped the nail with the hammer to straighten it, and whacked it again.\n<\/p>\n \nMy hand jerked.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHey, you messed up.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI see. Now, alas, I\u2019ve given myself more work.\u201d I scraped off the gouged dam.\n<\/p>\n \nPlease stop screaming in my head, you three whose blood I had to drink. Please. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nRonald hammered away.\n<\/p>\n \nSweat beaded on my forehead and trickled down my face. I needed more than the clink of dishes against the counter to drown out the screams of people ten years dead. I concentrated on shaping the new dam.\n<\/p>\n \nRonald set down the hammer. \u201cGotta get more nails.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI hadn\u2019t realized I was holding my breath until the door closed. My hands shook when I lifted my melting pot from the fire. I tilted the cover and poured a thin stream of tin into the pre-pared hole. I set the pot on the hearthstones and smoothed the edges of the mend. Then I had to wait for it to set.\n<\/p>\n \nThere they were again\u2014if they\u2019d ever stopped. Whack.<\/em> A shriek\u2014that was the old woman. I remembered how the blood welled up around the shattered bones\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nRonald piled nails next to the hearth and settled on the floor.\n<\/p>\n \nI checked the patch. Warm and dull. It hissed only a moment when I poured water on it from the bowl at my feet.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCool!\u201d Ronald said.\n<\/p>\n \nI stood and stretched, my back popping. A few more minutes, and I\u2019d escape the ham-mer.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnnette,\u201d I said to the miller\u2019s daughter, \u201cwould you tell your mother her kettle is mended?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nRonald started hammering again.\n<\/p>\n \nI carried the kettle to the trash can beneath the sink, scraping the dam away with as much noise as possible.\n<\/p>\n \nThe miller\u2019s wife clattered down the stairs and deposited a sewing basket on the table. \u201cNicholas, you\u2019re a lifesaver.\u201d She plucked the kettle from my hands and inspected the patch. Shoving her arms under my nose, she pumped water into it and held it over her head.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMarvelous! You know I simply won\u2019t use that tinker from Falls City. Not after he ruined my grandmother\u2019s best roasting pan.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe set the kettle upside down on the drain board and handed me fifty cents.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIda, that\u2019s too much.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDon\u2019t be silly. It\u2019s November twenty-fifth already. I know your winter schedule. You\u2019ll buy supplies here because you\u2019re walking all the way home to Fountain. Why you don\u2019t just stay in Colorado Springs, I\u2019ll never know. It\u2019s only twenty miles from here. The inn stays open even if everyone else closes till December first. I\u2019m sure you\u2019d get bargain rates. Wouldn\u2019t that be better than walking those ten extra miles to Fountain?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cJust knowing all the Collectors are gathered in their Refuge is, shall we say, a daunting prospect. Not one conducive to a good night\u2019s sleep.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t know how people live in Colorado Springs,\u201d she chattered on \u201cI\u2019ve seen the two Collectors from our Refuge once or twice and I can barely remember to curtsey, they\u2019re so awe-inspiring.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIndeed.\u201d I had to redirect this conversation.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cRonald!\u201d Ida spoke over her shoulder. \u201cDon\u2019t stick your tongue out at your sister.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut, Mom, she stuck hers out first!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnnette, you\u2019re supposed to set an example. And nice young men don\u2019t want a wife with poor manners.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes, Mom.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSomeone knocked at the shop door. My luck was in. Ida would transfer her chatter to the customer and I\u2019d escape.\n<\/p>\n \nIda came back into the kitchen just as I screwed the lid onto the jar of damming clay.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThis is such an honor, ma\u2019am, please overlook the clutter on the hearth, my son was building a beehive, if I\u2019d had any idea you\u2019d come to our little house everything would be per-fect to receive you\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPlease, Missus Miller, don\u2019t worry about that at all.\u201d A deep, sweet voice.\n<\/p>\n \nI stayed on my knees tying up my pack. Who would Ida fawn over like that? Their best customer? Her husband\u2019s mother?\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re so gracious, ma\u2019am, and here\u2019s Nicholas, ma\u2019am, I was sure he hadn\u2019t left yet.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m glad.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI looked up.\n<\/p>\n \nA Collector.\n<\/p>\n \nI could handle it. I just had to remember my identity. Nicholas the tinker who talked the fanciest patter outside of slapstick comedy.\n<\/p>\n \nI stood and bowed. \u201cGood morning, Collector. How may I serve you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cGood morning.\u201d She slipped back her hood. \u201cI\u2019m sure you\u2019ll forgive my informality. Sometimes people find it easier to talk to me when they can see my face.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHer blonde hair shone in the lamplight.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI, uh\u2014certainly, ma\u2019am.\u201d I swallowed the panic trying to choke me. I am Nicholas the tinker. No one else. I\u2019d never seen this Collector\u2014any Collector\u2014up close before. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m headed to Colorado Springs, of course, but just last week I dropped my favorite mixing pot and put a hole in it.\u201d She pulled a miniature cauldron from her bag and smiled. \u201cIt\u2019s ten years old, but I understand you\u2019re the best tinker on the Smoky River. Can you fix it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019ll exert myself to the utmost, ma\u2019am.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re very kind.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI unpacked my stand and set it and the melting pot over the still-roaring fire. When I de-posited the mending compound into the pot, I sat on the hearth again and scooped out a glob of clay, pressing a wide button on the pot\u2019s inside.\n<\/p>\n \nI needed to say something. Everyone knew how I piled on the words. But should I make conversation with a Collector? All of us regular people only bowed and allowed them to pass. If my luck was in, she\u2019d sit and watch in aloof silence. She\u2019d probably never seen this process be-fore. I turned over the pot and began a dam on the bottom\n<\/p>\n \nIda moved a chair behind the Collector and practically dragged Ronald and Annette out into the hall. Her whispered instructions to them on how to act and what to say resonated through the kitchen.\n<\/p>\n \nThe Collector sat. \u201cThe blacksmith in Cheyenne Wells told us that a tinker spent all night one April seventeenth mending his cast-iron Carnival display in time for us to admire it the next afternoon. I believe the tinker\u2019s name was Nicholas. He praised you lavishly.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI rubbed the tip of my nose. \u201cI am honored by your notice.\u201d I checked the metal. Ready. I poured the mix into the hole, set the melting pot back on the hearth, and scraped the mend\u2019s edges with my knife.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat\u2019s all there is to it?\u201d she said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt appears deceptively simple, ma\u2019am. Like a magician\u2019s trick. Poof! Your pot is whole again. Yet if I neglected to heat the metal properly, or a gap appeared around my inside dam, your hole would have merely gained a new outline. And like magic, my trousers would acquire a circular metallic ornament.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe laughed. \u201cYou would make a charming teacher.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI touched the mend. If a magician appeared at my elbow at that instant, my only request would be, \u2018Please poof<\/em> this cool so I can escape.\u2019\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDo you travel all year \u2019round, Nicholas?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, ma\u2019am. I have a small home in Fountain, where I learned the blacksmith trade. On cold winter days, I plead with the Fountain blacksmith to let me pump his bellows once more. Warm feet are ample payment for the loan of my muscles.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI dribbled water on the mend. Not a sizzle. \u201cI shall be only a minute longer.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSomehow I restrained myself and didn\u2019t leap to the trash can. My hand trembled only the tiniest bit when I scraped the pot clean. What should I say next? My supply of empty conversa-tion was dwindling. It\u2019d never failed me before. But I hadn\u2019t exchanged two words with a Col-lector since the day before Amos\u2019 untimely demise ten years ago.\n<\/p>\n \nAfter I dried the cauldron on a towel, I rubbed the mend with my sleeve until it gleamed. With my \u2018tinker extraordinaire\u2019 smile, I placed the pot in her outstretched hands.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMay it last twenty years, ma\u2019am, and always be perfect for your needs.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA great obligation for a simple paint holder.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou are an artist, ma\u2019am?\u201d Shut up. Stop talking and she\u2019ll leave. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nShe nodded. \u201cI decorate the schools and illustrate the history books.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m certain I have admired your work, then.\u201d Stop talking now, idiot. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nShe laughed again. \u201cNicholas, I haven\u2019t been this charmed in years. You could twist any woman around your fingers if you chose.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI rubbed the tip of my nose with one hand and closed my clay jar. When I looked at her again, a puzzled frown creased her face. It vanished the next moment and she stood, tucking the little cauldron away.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cPlease allow me to pay you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI held up both hands. \u201cIndeed, no, ma\u2019am. I couldn\u2019t possibly consider it. I thank you for your generous acceptance of my work.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe nodded. \u201cAs you wish.\u201d With a graceful movement, she pulled up her hood and be-came an anonymous Collector again. \u201cTravel safely home.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAnd you, ma\u2019am.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe left while I bowed, and I heard Ida scurry to open the shop door for her.\n<\/p>\n \nI dragged on my coat, thunked the clay jar into my pack and strapped the tripod and the still-warm melting pot across my back. Ida\u2019s babble on top of the screams in my head were a heartbeat away from shattering my charm. I could never afford to be anyone other than Nicholas the showman.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh, Nicholas!\u201d Ida fluttered in and sat at the kitchen table. \u201cWho would have thought? Not in a million years, not by the remotest chance. A Collector in my house! She was so polite. She smiled at the children. Who\u2019s ever seen a Collector smile? She took off her hood! Like we were her equals! And her hair! What a marvelous gold\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI closed my ears. My eyes still saw that Collector\u2019s hair glowing against a new brown robe. It had looked like sunshine in the lamplight in our cellar classroom.\n<\/p>\n \n \n<\/p>\n \nThe screams hounded me across the street to the inn, up the stairs, and into my room. My cauldron and stand bounced hard against my back with every step, but I never slackened my pace. What if I started screaming in the street along with the victims in my head? There would be no explanation for that.\n<\/p>\n \nI slammed and locked my door. Explanation. I almost laughed.\n<\/p>\n \nNo, really, nothing\u2019s wrong. They\u2019ve come back, that\u2019s all. They return every year to re-mind me that I\u2019m a murderer. Can\u2019t you hear them screaming? Oh, and ten years of deception just collapsed into rubble. Unless she didn\u2019t recognize me. After all, I\u2019m dead. Drowned when I was barely sixteen years old. Terrible tragedy. Left her behind\u2014the girl I was going to marry. But she wasn\u2019t lonely; we had a big family. You\u2019ve met some of them. We have our own cozy little place in Colorado Springs. The Refuge, you know. Where we kill people and drink their blood.\n<\/p>\n \nThis time I did laugh. My voice frightened me. I stuffed the pillow over my face till I stopped.\n<\/p>\n \nFrom the time I\u2019d seen her in Colorado Springs when I was nineteen, I\u2019d dodged her. I\u2019d been selling herbs for a year and a half then, and I was already building a reputation as a tinker. Carlo\u2019s brother married a chandler there, and had a grand idea for candle displays. He\u2019d bought old, broken iron sconces and needed them repaired. Carlo badgered me till I went. And I couldn\u2019t avoid Colorado Springs forever.\n<\/p>\n \nI looked different enough from the scared rabbit who ran through the woods that Febru-ary day. I\u2019d kept my hair short. My face had a few scars from flying sparks. My huge arm and chest muscles changed the way I carried myself. Besides, Amos was dead. Nicholas Tinker charmed tired wives with smooth banter and easy smiles as I repaired their teakettles and ex-tolled the virtues of my spices.\n<\/p>\n \nCarlo\u2019s brother and I shared a beer after I\u2019d repaired all the sconces.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDid I just see a Collector walk by the window? Coming to see you?\u201d I said.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMe? No! Why would a Collector single me out?\u201d He swigged beer. \u201cCan\u2019t even imagine talking to one.\u201d He leaned forward and breathed hops and barley in my face. \u201cThey give me the creeps. Always under those hoods. Having them walk through the streets to see Carnival decora-tions once a year is enough.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSo you don\u2019t know why this one is around town?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh, her. Yeah\u2014my kids told me. She\u2019s painting the school\u2014the main hall\u2019s going to show the five holidays. She\u2019s already done New Year and Carnival and Midsummer. Guess she\u2019s really good. Kid told me that she painted a garden with poppies and apple trees, and the apples look like you could actually eat them.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA scared rabbit named Nicholas scuttled out of town that night. The Collector who paint-ed apples good enough to eat might not be Clare. Right.\n<\/p>\n \nTwelve months later, I passed her on the street in Jefferson City. What other Collector would stand in the midst of eighth-graders and use the way the street faded into the distance to explain perspective?\n<\/p>\n \nA two-year gap followed. I honed my new self to perfection. Weeks passed without the name \u2018Amos\u2019 coming to mind. Emma\u2019s oldest daughter invited me over for supper ten Wednes-days in a row. When I caught Emma beaming at us as we discussed herbs, I put the pieces to-gether and spent the next six months on the road.\n<\/p>\n \nAnother year and the Cheyenne Wells blacksmith conned all the merchants into making a combined Carnival display. A great idea until the arms fell off his life-size Collector sculptures the night before Carnival. I woke up when the blacksmith flipped my mattress onto the floor. I agreed to mend them out of respect for a fellow craftsman. When he told the tenth admiring Col-lector how the greatest tinker on the Smoky River saved his display, I packed up and didn\u2019t stop walking until sunset. Better a night with squirrels than attracting Collector attention.\n<\/p>\n \nI dropped the pillow onto the flat inn mattress and opened my knapsack. My bill waited on the narrow dresser. If I left the money on it now I\u2019d forfeit lunch and dinner today. A fair trade if it put ten extra miles between me and\u2026her.\n<\/p>\n \nCan\u2019t even say her name, coward? <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nNo. Because Nick Tinker wouldn\u2019t know a Collector\u2019s name.\n<\/p>\n \nSpare trousers, shirt, and socks pushed the supplies into odd places in the pack, but so what? Out. Fast. That was what mattered.\n<\/p>\n \nSomeone knocked at the door.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIf that idiot innkeeper screwed up my bill again\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI yanked open the door. \u201cGeorge, you\u2019re the worst\u2014\u201d The rest of the sentence strangled itself in my throat.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou cut your hair,\u201d the Collector at my threshold said.\n<\/p>\n \nTen years of self-discipline saved me. \u201cHow may I serve you, Collector?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe slapped my face. I held my ground.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDamn you, Amos, why did you do it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI\u2019d never seen her angry before. If Amos the Collector still existed, he would\u2019ve kissed her because she was as beautiful as he remembered.\n<\/p>\n \nNick Tinker, however, said, \u201cForgive me for contradicting you, Collector, but I fear you have mistaken me for someone else.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe blinked, but the past ten years as a Collector hadn\u2019t been wasted on her. She pushed past me into the room and closed the door on us.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI will not let the gossips in this inn witness a Collector arguing with a mere tinker. Amos, you liar. You weasel. You coward.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMa\u2019am, I assure you\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou always could talk your way around anyone. Your voice is deeper or I\u2019d\u2019ve recog-nized you sooner.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI opened my mouth, but she barreled on.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThis tinker business was a good choice. Collectors don\u2019t have forges. We\u2019re too careful to maintain our flawless appearance. The last Collector with any kind of facial scar died six years ago. You remember Gaspar, don\u2019t you? He wept for days after you disappeared.\u201d She sneered. \u201cIhs in Heaven, we all believed it. Did you think about Gaspar when you created your little show? Did you think about anyone but yourself? Or were you too obsessed with escaping from marriage to me?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nDon\u2019t break. Don\u2019t break.<\/em> My hands didn\u2019t know what to do with them-selves. I smoothed my hair, then rubbed the tip of my nose.\n<\/p>\n \nShe pounced. \u201cThere! That\u2019s how I knew it was you. You always rubbed your nose like that when you were embarrassed or thinking hard. What are you thinking about now? How to get a Collector out of your room without making her angry? Too late.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nTears sparkled in her eyes, making them bluer. Her earlobes still turned that same rose-pink when she got all emotional. Damn me for a world-destroyer, I wanted to grab her and hold her and tell her I never meant to hurt her\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nI shoved it all away. \u201cMa\u2019am, truly, I don\u2019t understand what you\u2019re talking about. The gracious compliment you gave to my work earlier this morning were the only words ever spoken to me by a Collector.\u201d I opened the door and held it for her. \u201cWith the greatest respect for you, ma\u2019am, us plain folks don\u2019t quite know what to say to a Collector. If you\u2019d be so kind, I\u2019m feel-ing like a pig on ice right about now.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe opened her mouth but I didn\u2019t give her a chance.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIf it\u2019s not too presumptuous of me, I wish you a very good day, ma\u2019am.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe stared at me, her lips still parted. I transferred my gaze to the wooden floor. Like every other inhabitant in every other town for the past one hundred eighty years obeying the un-written rule: Don\u2019t look a Collector in the eyes. You\u2019re not their equal.\n<\/p>\n \nThe noise of the daily market penetrated the closed window.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cApples! Tart apples!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBacon\u2014Ham\u2014Bacon\u2014Ham!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFlour! Finest ground flour!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI held my position, the image\u2014I hoped\u2014of deferential respect. Time stretched like taffy. Finally, without another word, she stalked out of the room. I closed the door, latched it, leaned against it. A wonderful piece of construction, this door. It understood me. It was my friend.\n<\/p>\n \nClare walked past my window, marketplace shoppers parting before her. Not a wisp of that golden hair escaped her hood, but I saw it without my eyes: rich and glowing, waving like poppies in the summer wind.\n<\/p>\n \nI banged the back of my head against the welcoming door panels four, five, six times un-til my skull rebelled. \u201cNick Tinker, you\u2019re an idiot.\u201d Of course my voice had a catch in it. Idiots couldn\u2019t root out memories of the murderer they once wanted to marry. Idiots still kept a secret place inside their heads for said murderer with all the memories of blood-guzzling and torture-ecstasy scrubbed away. With the only intact moments left ones of laughing, kissing, and planning for our future.\n<\/p>\n \nThis same Collector who\u2019d just given me a tongue-lashing and to whom I\u2019d lied so well that I\u2019d convinced her winter was summer. Nick Tinker\u2019s reputation was well earned. Three cheers for me.\n<\/p>\n \n \nVIII<\/b><\/p>\n \n<\/p>\n \nTwo days later I worked the bellows for Carlo\u2019s ten-year-old son while he shaped the be-ginnings of a mirror frame for Cissy, his mother. Emma the doctor, her daughter and son, and Cissy laughed and banged pots in the kitchen. Carlo wrangled his second son in a corner.\n<\/p>\n \nHeaven.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHe\u2019s going to walk before New Year,\u201d I yelled over the furnace and hammering din.\n<\/p>\n \nCarlo tossed his six-month-old son in the air and caught him, both of them laughing. \u201cI know. Early in everything. Just like his brother.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nEmma appeared in the doorway. \u201cSupper in ten minutes. Whoever\u2019s late has to change the baby\u2019s diaper.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe made exaggerated faces of horror. I set down the bellows. Carlo\u2019s older son said\u2014if I read his lips correctly\u2014\u201cMatthew\u2019s balls\u201d and dumped the frame back into the furnace. Carlo slung the baby over his shoulder and cuffed his other son on the back of the head as we met by the doorway.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWatch your mouth.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCome on, dad, it\u2019s us and Nick.\u201d He rubbed his head.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, but it\u2019s never too soon to learn caution.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nCissy made my traditional homecoming supper of deer sausage, sweet potatoes, and apple pie. I told stories of my year on the road\u2014omitting my unusual encounter with a certain Collec-tor. Emma bragged on her kids. Carlo bragged on his. They\u2019d named the baby Nick.\n<\/p>\n \nWe stayed up much too late drinking and swapping stories. I walked the Emma clan home, if four people leaning on each other and laughing all the way could be called \u2018walking them home\u2019. The full moon lit the empty streets so even drunk I could find my way home from Emma\u2019s.\n<\/p>\n \nI stumbled into my herb garden, not yet plowed over for winter. Clouds of oregano and mint enveloped me. Right. This was home. I\u2019d better get myself into bed. A houseful of dried herbs and seeds ready for packaging awaited. Lots of work\u2026 hope I had enough paper for seed packets\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nI groped for the latch\u2026 drunker than I thought\u2026 I closed the door on the cold night. Dropped my coat\u2026 noise hurt my head\u2026 \u2019least I had plenty white willow\u2026\n<\/p>\n \nI fumbled with a match for the lamp.\n<\/p>\n \nLight and pain stabbed through my head. My fingers couldn\u2019t hold the match. My legs couldn\u2019t hold me up.\n<\/p>\n \n \nIX<\/b><\/p>\n \n<\/p>\n \nI ran my hands over the floor. Stone. The floors in my small house were all wooden. So why was I lying on stone? I opened my eyes.\n<\/p>\n \nA small, dingy room: stone walls and floor; wood ceiling. One narrow door with an iron grating near the top. What light there was came through the grate from a lamp hung outside on the opposite wall.\n<\/p>\n \nA dozen knives impaled my head when I turned it. I pushed my hands into my matted hair until I found the lump. The big lump.\n<\/p>\n \nOkay. Reason this out through the knives and hammers.<\/em> We\u2019d all been drink-ing after supper. I walked Emma\u2019s family home, then headed to my place. I think I tromped through the peppermint. And had trouble with my front door latch. Whew. This headache wasn\u2019t all due to being whacked on the head.\n<\/p>\n \nI got to my hands and knees and waited for the room to settle. Next I eased onto my heels. The floor tried to flip me sideways. All of last night\u2019s food and wine threatened to revolt, but deep breaths and closed eyes stopped that. My feet were freezing. I cracked open one eye. What happened to my shoes?\n<\/p>\n \nThe silence penetrated my throbbing head. No noise. Not a bird. Not a market vendor. That is, if I were near the main square. I slowly moved my gaze up to the ceiling. No sound of rain or wind.\n<\/p>\n \nI tried to stand. Big mistake.\n<\/p>\n \n \nSharp-edged fragments of stone floor grinding into my cheek woke me up. The hammer-and-anvil had muffled themselves in a mound of wool. I could think straight again.\n<\/p>\n \nSomeone\u2014many someones?\u2014had knocked me out and kidnapped me. Kidnapping was ancient history. We learned the term in history classes and never used it again. What in the name of Matthew\u2014\n<\/p>\n \nKidnapping. Click.<\/em> Stone room. Click. <\/em>Silence. Click.<\/em> Matthew. Click. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI scrambled to my feet\u2014dizzy no longer\u2014and grabbed the iron grate. I shook it, tried to twist it, shook it again. As firm as anything I\u2019d ever soldered. The hinges\u2014solid, too. No rust. I walked the perimeter of the room. Two feet to the left of the door, four feet on the left-hand wall, six feet on the back wall, four to the right, and another two to meet up with the door. Solid stone blocks from floor to ceiling.\n<\/p>\n \nNo wonder the few jails scattered along the Smoky River boasted a one-hundred percent retention rate. Collectors excelled in building and Collectors taught the Great War survivors eve-rything to rebuild the world. People would never know the real reason for the impenetrable pris-ons: Test cases for the ones that hold the world-destroyers for Homecoming.\n<\/p>\n \nNo. No. No. Not this tinker. I was no world-destroyer. Matthew wasn\u2019t coming near me with that mallet. I flattened myself on the floor and slithered into the corners. No cracks in the cement. No puffs of air. I felt in my pockets. No tools of any kind. Right\u2014I wouldn\u2019t have tak-en tools to Carlo\u2019s. Maybe I could work one of the hinge pins free.\n<\/p>\n \nI shoved to a dark corner of my mind the question of how I could be so calm and me-thodical in this room on this day. Right now, one hundred thirty-something Collectors waited in the arena, lusting for the screams, the breaking bones, the blood. My blood.\n<\/p>\n \nNo. Stop it. Now. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI threw every other thought behind me and stared at the hinges. Yes. <\/em>They were the same pattern as every hinge I\u2019d made in the past ten years. I ripped open my shirt with enough force to pop two buttons. Excellent. I fitted one into the lowest screw and turned it to the left.\n<\/p>\n \nThe button snapped in two. Damn. <\/em>I squinted in the fitful lamplight. Rust. I took the broken edge and scraped.\n<\/p>\n \nWork harder, Nick. You don\u2019t know what time it is. You don\u2019t know what day it is. Yes you do. You know it\u2019s the twenty-eighth. <\/em>The half-button broke into fragments. Damn, damn, damn!<\/em> I scrabbled for the other half. I would\u2019ve given anything to see out-side. What if it was near sunrise?\n<\/p>\n \nNo. Don\u2019t think that. Concentrate on this screw. Then the next. Then the two on the upper hinge. You\u2019re in Refuge. You still know your way around. Get this door open and you can escape. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nBits of clean metal showed through the rust. I grabbed the still-whole button and posi-tioned it into the slot. Easy\u2026 Smooth pressure; smooth motion\u2026 <\/em>The screw turned. I hadn\u2019t realized I was holding my breath. Another turn. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I brushed it away, blinking at the sting of rust. Turn it faster, Nick. Three more screws after this one. Don\u2019t think about the time. Scrape. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nThe first screw clinked <\/em>onto the floor. I switched the whole button for the sharp edge of the broken one.\n<\/p>\n \nFootsteps echoed down the hall. No. It\u2019s too soon. All those screws are still in the hinges. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nI sank the edge of the whole button into the still-rusty screw and wrenched at it. The footsteps battered my ears, louder, nearer. The button snapped.\n<\/p>\n \nA key turned in the lock. I spun around and slammed my back against the door. They pushed against me. I planted my knees and pushed back.\n<\/p>\n \nI won the next push-counter push. The third was too much for me. The door swung in-ward, flinging me onto the floor. I rolled over and jumped to my feet.\n<\/p>\n \nFour of them, hands tucked in their brown wool sleeves, followed by two more. I braced against the opposite wall, fists and feet ready. A fleeting memory of chanting to Ihs for strength and protection welled up. I almost laughed.\n<\/p>\n \nThe fifth Collector gestured and the first four stepped to the side. The sixth re-locked the door. The fifth removed his hood.\n<\/p>\n \nI dropped my fists. \u201cJoel?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHis freckles had faded into his gaunt face. His always-smiling lips were compressed into a severe line. I looked for and failed to find the old mischief in his hard eyes.\n<\/p>\n \nClare pushed back her hood. \u201cHe is the ninth Matthew.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou were right,\u201d Joel\/Matthew said to her. \u201cWe surprised him and the truth came out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nClare stepped up to me and slapped my face once more, demolishing the past ten years for good.\n<\/p>\n \nJoel\/Matthew said, \u201cAmos, you have committed a sin that only one other Collector at-tempted. You allied yourself with the world-destroyers.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI did not\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBy rejecting Refuge and all it continues to achieve, you rejected Ihs and his commands. You are one with Ihs\u2019 enemies.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nEven his voice had changed. It sounded as hard as his eyes. \u201cJoel\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMatthew,\u201d Clare said, her voice as hard as Joel\u2019s\/Matthew\u2019s.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMatthew, then. What changed you? We were friends.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI was the most unworthy, but when the eighth Matthew had his dying vision, he said Ihs called me to be the leading instrument of Redemption.\u201d For a moment, the teenage Joel peeked out. \u201cIt was amazing. I spent months meditating and learning the duties, and at the next Home-coming, before the ceremony in the arena, I laid myself on a wheel and Patrick touched the mal-let to my arms and legs, without breaking them. Then Clare sliced my wrist and held a cup of my own blood to my lips and I drank.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHis eyes focused inward. \u201cRemember how Ihs fills us at Homecoming? This was differ-ent, frightening, awe-inspiring. The blood flowed through my body and I seemed to float off the wheel. Ihs became me for that one moment.\u201d He turned that distant gaze on me again. \u201cYou de-filed the Collectors. You corrupted the Redemption of Ihs. You violated our pact with him.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nAll this was way too much like a snake mesmerizing a bird. I wrenched my gaze over to Clare.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThere isn\u2019t enough light in here to do justice to the color of your hair against the robe, Collector. When I let myself remember you, that was the image I chose.\u201d I clamped down on my mouth before I said something even more stupid.\n<\/p>\n \nClare stepped toward me, hesitated, swallowed hard; then, with a glance at Jo-el\/Matthew, pulled me toward her and kissed me.\n<\/p>\n \nHer lips burned, or I was as cold inside as out. Her lips moved against mine, tasting them, the way they used to when we were young and in love and planning our future together.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cTell me what I did,\u201d she whispered, \u201cthat was so terrible you\u2019ve been hiding from me for ten years.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI pulled her hands away from my face before my control shattered.\n<\/p>\n \nNick Tinker\u2014not Amos the Collector who died ten years ago\u2014even sketched a bow. \u201cMay every question be so easy to answer. I ran because my family tortured and murdered three innocent people in the name of Ihs. The woman I loved and my best friend were part of that fam-ily.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat are you talking about? The commands of Ihs are the height of all that is good.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nIf any god but Ihs existed, surely that god would rescue me from this.\n<\/p>\n \nNo god appeared.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo,\u201d I said to her, to all of them. \u201cYour Refuge isn\u2019t a shelter, it\u2019s a cave you\u2019ve sealed yourselves into, wallowing in Ihs\u2019 evil. I couldn\u2019t fight that evil. I was young and desperate and scared out of my mind. So I chose ignominious retreat.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe stared at me. \u201cBut you loved me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe laugh that came out of my mouth tasted as bitter as it sounded. Clare flinched like I\u2019d struck her instead of the other way around. Matthew put a hand on her shoulder. She backed into his arm. He gestured with his other hand.\n<\/p>\n \nNo! <\/em>\n<\/p>\n \nThe other four Collectors converged on me. I kicked and punched and head-butted them. They grunted and hissed, but I couldn\u2019t fight off all four at once. I shoved two of them apart and sprinted for the door.\n<\/p>\n \nI might have made it if Clare hadn\u2019t tripped me.\n<\/p>\n \nMatthew planted his foot between my shoulders. I inhaled a lungful of dust. Eight hands dragged me upright. I was coughing too hard to say anything. Couldn\u2019t get enough breath to fight back. Matthew turned his back on me. With Clare beside him, he led the way back to the arena.\n<\/p>\n \nThe remaining four tore off my clothes and forced thin, ragged penitents\u2019 clothes on me. They hoisted me to their shoulders. I swallowed a last mouthful of dust and tried to wrench my-self free. Ahead of me, I heard the machinery grind the wheels to the surface of the center circle. Just like they did ten years ago. The wheels clunked<\/em> into place, one after the other.\n<\/p>\n \nWe reached the light. Dozens of hooded faces turned toward us.\n<\/p>\n \nI yanked against my family\u2019s grip. Hopeless. Futile. Ten years trying to escape Ihs, ten years uprooting every part of me that participated in joyous slaughter. All of it wasted.\n<\/p>\n \nMy brothers slammed me onto a wheel and tied me down. I didn\u2019t curse. I remembered what happened to those who spoke the truth to Matthew. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for the mallet.\n<\/p>\n \nCoward that I was, I looked away so I wouldn\u2019t see that mallet shatter my bones. So I wouldn\u2019t see my blood spurt up and drain away into those bowls for Clare to drink.\n<\/p>\n \nMovement in the balcony caught my eye. Two eager faces peered over the half-wall. Pat-rick should tell them the proper way to wear the hood. Everything was to be concealed.\n<\/p>\n \nThe third Collector up in the balcony pushed back his hood with jerky movements. Pat-rick\u2019s face, eyes wide, mouth open, stared down at me.\n<\/p>\n \nI turned my head away from him and looked straight up. I would not show any weak-ness.\n<\/p>\n \nThe painted stars on the ceiling formed more than just the constellations. Above the Col-lecting wheels, they created a picture of Ihs.\n<\/p>\n \nSmiling.\n<\/p>\n Baker of brownies and tormenter of characters, Alice Loweecey celebrates the day she jumped the wall with as much enthusiasm as her birthday. She grew up watching Hammer horror films and Scooby-Doo mysteries, which explains a whole lot. When she’s not creating trouble for her sleuth Giulia Driscoll or inspiring nightmares as her alter-ego Kate Morgan, she can be found growing vegetables in her garden and water lilies in her koi pond.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I Will I turn into someone different when I put on the hooded robe of a Collector? I shivered under my blanket, tired of staying awake, tired of my mind running in endless circles like a water wheel, tired of being cold. The hall clock bonged six times. Finally. I dropped the blanket. My fingertips …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107484,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20085],"tags":[20086],"class_list":["post-138239","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-39-spring-2021","tag-the-colored-lens-39-spring-2021","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138239","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107484"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=138239"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138239\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":138240,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138239\/revisions\/138240"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=138239"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=138239"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=138239"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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