Exousia - The Patron Saints of the Damned -Book II

Exousia watched the humans, their eyes reflecting the moonlight in the dark woods. They were gathered around the table, staring at the food upon it. The food on the trays was not fresh, but it did smell good enough to make their stomachs grumble. The humans looked at one another in tense and awkward silence, still unsure of what to do. There was still time to make their decision, but they needed to do it soon and take full advantage of the rest that they would inevitably choose.

Exousia knew that they would eat. Had they not already decided deep down that they were going to eat the food, they would have already left. As it was, they were just trying to determine who would be the sacrifice. That … and maybe they were trying to let enough time pass that they could tell themselves that the decision had been a difficult one.

It was then that Brennan returned to the group from further in the woods. He had been acting strangely—muttering to himself, darting his eyes back and forth, and straying from the group. Now, he looked settled, but he kept his eyes averted.

Sam looked at him and asked, “So … what do you think we should do, Brennan?”

Brennan seemed not to hear him. He sat in the dirt and stared at the table with his back turned to the rest of them. The way he didn’t respond, even a little, made it seem like he couldn’t even understand what was going on around him. Perhaps he’d finally succumbed and retreated into the safety of his own mind.

Billy spoke up instead. “Fuck it, fuck all of it.” There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there earlier, and his eyes seemed watery and inflamed. He glared at all of them for a moment before looking down at his uncovered feet. They looked to be in bad shape, and there was no sign of how he’d lost his shoes.

But nobody else was able to look away from the food.

Jodie stood to his feet and glared at all of them. “I swear to Christ, even Billy knows that this is a shit idea! The Woodcutter said that the things in the woods were trying to get us to turn on each other. Well, poisoning each other is a hell of a way to do that?” Even as he spoke the words, his voice sounded dry, and his anger lacked energy. It was as if even his own body had sided against him.

Everyone else looked down at their feet, visible unpersuaded.

“But we need the food … and especially the water,” Megan said. She hung her head, closed her eyes, and then wrinkled her forehead. “How long until the poison kills whoever gets it?”

Marshal shook his head; he didn’t know.

Megan turned her head, redirecting the question to Exousia.

“I’ve not known my enemy to use poison,” Exousia replied, trying to come up with some sort of response. This was uncharted territory, however, and it was so for a reason. She thought for a moment, trying to piece together what she believed Ammon might do. “I think … the answer would be found in whatever would drive one of you to corruption. If you were to be killed immediately, I think you would be too prepared and maybe share in the responsibility. If it happened later, after you had forgotten, you might turn on the person who poisoned your friend—betray him, leave him to die, murder him out of revenge, or even use it to your advantage.”

“What if we get to a hospital; will they be able to save us from the poison?” Marshal asked, his eyes momentarily becoming hopeful.

Exousia shook her head and said, “I don’t know.”

There was another silence.

Marshal walked over to where Brennan was sitting and shook his friend’s shoulder. “Please, man, tell us what you think. Jodie doesn’t think we should … and I don’t think the Woodcutter does either.” His voice cracked as he spoke.

“Don’t act helpless,” Brennan whispered, not moving his head or his body. His voice was soft but cold. “You’ve always acted like this, Marshal, like you don’t care about anything. You’ve always wanted to let the rest of us take the risks of making fools of ourselves so you wouldn’t have to. It’s why you didn’t do anything to help us with the prank, why you drive us everywhere but never have any input about where we go, why you have a picture of my sister and don’t ever make a move. For once in your life, act like you care about something enough to take a chance that you’ll mess up. That’s probably why the voices chose you to tell about the poison. Because they knew … knew that you would be the only one of us who just couldn’t do it. And while you stall, they get all the time they need to attack us. For once … you’re going to have to make a choice.”

Marshal listened wide-eyed. Finally, he looked at the others with a desperate expression.

Megan averted her gaze. Sam did likewise, grimacing like he didn’t know what to say. Billy and Jodie looked at him directly, having both made clear what they thought.

Derrick scowled and said, “Don’t look at me. I’m not giving you permission to kill one of us. If you really cared about what we thought, you’d kill your damn self and give the rest of us the chance to survive—just like Ted and David did. But the great Marshal would never do that. Not the coolest guy in school, with a family who actually gives a shit.”

Marshal dropped his head and stared vacantly into the ground.

Megan turned to face Exousia, clearly hoping she could do something, change anything. She couldn’t possibly understand why Exousia had to leave this decision up to them. Exousia did not break her gaze; but neither did she allow her eyes to hint at any false hope. She held this callous look until Megan’s eyes fell. Megan remained like that for several moment. Then, digging deep, she lifted her head again and said, “Show us what’s poisoned.”

-O-

At first, Brennan had felt like he was in a spinning room full of loud people. It made it difficult to think, except for the precise moments when his friend spoke. But then, everything became quiet, the distracting energy cleared, and it all seemed to fuel his ability to think. There was only action, cause and effect. Nothing stood in the way of him from saying what he needed to. He didn’t even feel remorse for what he’d said to Marshal. Not only was it exactly what needed to be said, it was what he had always thought. Maybe he never had before because he had feared to hurt Marshal’s feelings or being perceived as a jerk. But at that moment, courage and anger were his tools to use with precision. The new buzzing energy in his skull seemed in favor of his work, so it devoted its own power to make his thoughts sharp.

Marshal, on the other hand, was now in shambles–desperate for any sort of answer. He was the weakest and yet most essential bullet of that moment.

Brennan had an idea or something more like an impulse. On instinct, he reached out his energy towards his friend and whispered his name. Waves of emotion, thoughts, new feelings flooded his head with a violent suddenness that nearly managed to knock him over. All Brennan knew to do was to let the foreign torrent of emotions mix with his own.

When he did, it was as if his body were suddenly hit with rushing water. But instead of temperature, pressure, and depth, there was a feeling of overwhelming nothingness coming from Marshal. This heavy atmosphere made him feel like he was drowning. Then, the storm seceded, from the top of his head, down slowly past his toes. The sounds of wind and crashing waves were replaced by a soft, pained moan in the far distance. After another moment of frantic breathing, he realized that this moan was not something he heard with his ears but something inside his head.

It was Marshal’s voice … crying and whispering to itself Yet it was also Brennan’s for they were one. “I’m not a killer. I’m not a killer. I’m not a killer. I don’t want to do this. Please help me, anybody. I’m not a killer. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to die.”

Brennan began to cry. He felt the tears stream down his face … but not only upon his own face. Different trails of tears seemed to touch his skin at incompatible speeds and patterns. Sometimes one was on top of the other, but they didn’t join. It was then that he realized that one of the faces that he felt had to be Marshal’s. Like with the thoughts, they were experiencing these things as one. Even when they opened their eyes, their vision was joined.

Brennan could see through his friend’s eyes and noticed the small piece of bread that was poisoned. Yet he also saw from both their perspectives something heavy in Megan. Of course … she had decided to be the one to take the poison. Of course she had, this twisted life had turned her into a parent, willing to risk death for her kids. Brennan felt a wave of sadness genuinely his own. He whispered in his mind, “I’m sorry, Meg. I should have treated you better … and been a better brother.”

“I’m sorry, Meg. I should have been a better-” Marshal said, his breaths coming out more like hiccups. His tone conveyed the words in the exact way that Brennan had thought them. In fact, it seemed that he had very nearly said ‘brother’ as well. In response, he pinched his face in confusion and did not know how to continue.

Megan shook her head and said, “We need the food if we’re going to keep going, especially if we’re going to be attacked again by those-” She stopped and seemed to choke on the words. It was clear that she didn’t want to die … and she truly thought she might.

Brennan wouldn’t let his sister do this. The one thing he would not do was let any more harm come to his sister. He’d already failed to protect his best friend who was like his brother and would not repeat that mistake.

The Voice said, “If you want to save her, then think. Who of your friends is the greatest threat to survival for the rest? Whose emotions are chaotic that they cannot be predicted and used? If you weaken your friends’ ability to resist your influence, you can efficiently position them for everyone’s mutual best chance of survival.”

Brennan looked around at the rest of their friends.

The Woodcutter, he thought, was the greatest threat to them and the most influential. Just looking at her caused the focus and power within him became a scorching force of hatred, scrambled like static that made it hard to think. Things would be so much easier if she were dead.

“She cannot die, not yet,” the Voice said. “This is a Challenge; she will win if she dies before it is over.”

Well … if they were going to fight, Sam was the one who would least help them, Brennan thought. He was timid and physically weakest. He was even smaller than Megan, which meant that he would be as easy to carry out of the woods.

“I will help you,” the Voice whispered. “The poison is slow. Of your friends, only two of you are physically large enough for your bodies to disperse the poison long enough to make it to the end. The problem is that you are one of them. And if you are taken out …”

“Then I can’t use these powers to save the others,” Brennan said, his breathing becoming more frantic as he realized who had to take the poison.

The Voice continued, “Jodie will be able to fight the poison longest and has the highest likelihood to survive until he reaches a hospital.”

The thought made Brennan’s stomach turn and his teeth chatter. He closed his eyes and whispered so that Marshal would hear, “It has to be Jodie. He is powerful enough to cause problems and doesn’t think things through before he acts. He won’t even talk about getting the food. When we’re attacked again, he’ll go right back into his rage. And since he’s decided he’s on the Woodcutter’s side …”

Marshal shuddered, fighting the thought. His stomach became sour and he started to tremble. With every part of himself, he was rejecting the foreign thoughts.

Brennan paused for a moment and then took a more direct approach. “If you don’t, Megan will die. You will have killed her.”

This manipulation broke the mental block in Marshal’s head. His gaze returned to the table, and he slowly reached for a piece of bread. But his hand trembled and stopped. He couldn’t do it. “I’m not a killer,” he whispered under his breath, some part of him trying to force the foreign influence out of his head.

But then, Brennan saw something that made his own blood run cold.

The bottle.

“It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” Brennan whispered, a spike of genuine rage filling him as he watched the bottle crashing on his best friend’s skull. “Maybe this time you can keep from screwing everything up. Or you can just keep on as the worthless coward who killed his friend.”

Marshal was impacted by these words, enough so that his breath was taken away and his body became subject to even more terrible trembling. He reached out a shaking hand over the poisoned bread and picked up an apple. He then handed it to Megan with a look of significance.

Megan received it, tears lining her eyes, and took a bite.

Jodie reached out a hand to stop her but too late. He shook his head as if the entire scene disgusted him and said, “I know it doesn’t mean much … especially after this. But I promise, that no matter what happens, even if It seems like you’ve stopped breathing, I’ll get you out of here. I won’t leave you in these woods.”

The rest of them nodded and remained quiet for a couple minutes. Then they slowly shuffled to the table and began to eat.

But Brennan psychicaly reminded Marshal that his work wasn’t done. Marshal looked at Jodie and said, “I’ll help you carry her … if it comes to that. Anyways, you need to eat so that it wasn’t all for nothing.” He tossed the piece of poisoned bread to him and then quickly returned his attention to finding food for himself. He could barely see the table through the tears welling in his eyes.

It was done … and Brennan felt no better for it.

-O-

Megan sat at the table, surrounded by her brother’s friends as they ate in complete silence. She made no more noise and only occasionally nibbled at a piece of jerky. Despite her hunger, she had a hard time forcing any more food into her stomach. After eating the bite of apple, her belly felt warm and more nauseous than hungry. She wanted to vomit it out for some slim chance that it would save her. But the consequences of breaking the rules of whatever had poisoned the food scared her enough that she forced it down. Now, it was just a matter of forcing more of the food into her, just in case she had a chance to fight or run before the poison took effect.

After eating as much as she could, Megan stood and walked away from the others. She saw that Exousia was about twenty feet away, leaning on her staff and staring into the woods, as per her norm. It was difficult to look at her without feeling anger and believing that she could have done something to help them. But Megan also knew those emotions would not make Exousia see their lives as valuable, nor help her figure out how to get them all out of the woods more quickly.

So, Megan forced herself to calm down and then walked over. She thought about tapping her on the shoulder or clearing her throat to get her attention. But it occurred to Megan that Exousia probably already knew she was there. So she asked, “Do you want something to eat?” She offered Exousia what was left of a jerky strip, which was about half.

Exousia shook her head.

“I promise, it’s not poisoned,” Megan said. She pulled a piece off and swallowed it just to show. Then she realized that she had been the one poisoned and that the demonstration was meaningless. She blushed, and an itchy heat rose all over her body from her feeling stupid.

Exousia did not seem to notice, nor did she respond. She just stared out at the woods, watching and thinking about things that she would likely never share. She had referred to them as ‘humans’ before. And, at that moment, it seemed that she was accurate in her own distinction as something different.

“Well...” Megan said, releasing a heavy sigh. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Exousia shook her head, almost imperceptibly, as if to say that it made no difference to her what Megan did.

Megan knelt and then laid her head on a soft patch of grass. Normally, she’d avoid sitting on the grass directly, letting bugs climb in her clothes to bite and crawl around, especially at dark. But she was not under the illusion that there were bugs in this place. The only type of life here were those that wanted her to die. Strangely, this made the idea of worms eating her body almost pleasant. It would at least mean that she was out of the woods … part of life and not this stagnated hole in the earth. Megan sat there, thinking about this for only a moment before it became too depressing. So, she turned her head and said, “I know you don’t think that you’re one of us. But you’ve protected us … more than you’ve had to. Like with Sam … and fighting the wolves … and even saving me. So, I don’t think that you’re one of those monsters either.”

Silence was the only sort of reply Megan received for several awkward minutes.

But then Exousia surprised her by speaking. “I am one of them … but they’re not monsters. They’ve just been imprisoned for so long that they don’t know any other way to be free. They think that I don’t want them to escape and that the only way to liberation is through this perverse game.”

“That’s really why we’re being hunted?” Megan asked. Try she might, it was difficult for her to imagine what sort of force would wager the lives of people on whether teenagers could be turned into monsters. It seemed like the premise for a bad dystopian novel, like just an excuse to kill, or maybe like a front to justify some foreign war.

Exousia replied, “In the end, those monsters would liberate humans from the shackles of their parasitic societies. You see humanity in the lense of mortality. You don’t see what comes after … the gilded cage humans are bound to even in the thereafter. Their lives are not the only ones at stake.”

“So … you think they’re right,” Megan said, looking her in the eyes. “Would you also let people die if you thought they could win their war? Would you let us die?”

“I would kill you myself,” Exousia replied–her tone carrying neither malice nor shame. But, oddly, enough, her eyes softened for the first since they’d met. “Even if there were just a small chance that our people could be freed this way. But there isn’t. He’s acting on desperation because he thinks something is going to happen … and soon.”

Megan thought for a moment before she asked, “And will it?”

Exousia let out a heavy sigh. “Part of me worries that maybe he really does know something that I don’t. But he can’t tell me … and so I have to protect my people in the best way I know how.”

Megan felt genuinely confused. “But they tried to kill you … and not one of them is here to defend you.”

Exousia’s face twitched, and she shook her head. “They would … at least one would.” She said it like this was enough.

Megan felt a new hollowness in her chest. Strange as it was, she believed the story. After all that had happened in the woods, believing her story was not as difficult as it once might have been. Something important was happening. And the Woodcutter seemed just as expendable as her, her brother, and their friends. But understanding did not make it easier for her to accept it. She turned her head away and rested it on her arm. For the first time since all of it began, she could cry in the dark where nobody could see. She wanted to sleep but feared that something would happen while she was out … or that she wouldn’t wake up at all. Hesitantly, Megan turned her head back around.

Exousia was still there. Her expression was vacant again … but she hadn’t moved.

Megan whispered, “Will you watch everyone while I sleep, and make sure nothing happens to them?” Her voice was hoarse, and her words came out like a croak that embarrassed her.

“Yes,” Exousia said, her voice still the same. Of course, watching them was her job. They weren’t poisoned. They were still part of the game.

Megan closed her eyes, and the sounds around her slowly began to die down as her consciousness faded. Still, the fear of being alone in the darkness was enough to keep her from reaching that state of real sleep. She opened her eyes and whispered, “Will you … stay here while I sleep?”

This time, the moment of silence was even longer than before.

Megan felt outright ashamed. She was supposed to be strong, the one who fought on behalf of her brother and their friends. She wasn’t supposed to ask anything of anyone, least of all the Woodcutter. She opened her mouth, about to take her words back. But her sentence was cut off by a reply.

“Yes.”

Megan blinked a few times, not sure that she had heard correctly. But it wasn’t the woods, and it wasn’t part of any dream. Exousia was the only one who could have said it, and … she sounded like she had no intention of moving. Megan took a breath and closed her eyes again. Soon she was asleep.

-O-

As his friends laid down to rest, Brennan felt the emotional energy around him diminish bit by bit. With each of them that transitioned from a waking state to a sleeping one, his thoughts became clearer. And that clarity gave him more room to think and decide how he was going to make sure that as many of his friends survived as possible. But to do that, he had to observe his enemy.

So, that was what he did. He watched as Exousia leaned on her staff while Megan spoke to her. Normally, they would have been too far away for Brennan to have heard them. But with the … change since eating the fruit, their words were clear. He also heard his sister make her request before she fell asleep. And Brennan was left to ponder what had just happened between them. He had never seen Megan like this. She had crushed on guys, of course, but that was different. She had something for the Woodcutter that she hadn’t had for anyone that she’d ever known.

Trust.

There was no delusion anymore that the Woodcutter was some sort of superhero that would rescue her. Yet, Megan seemed to trust her on some deep level. Like she knew that the Woodcutter would do exactly as she promised. Maybe she was the first person that Megan had met that didn’t either dismiss her or lean on her for strength. Brennan felt a bit sickened by this, but not for the reason he initially thought he did. It wasn’t because she was wrong in this, and it especially wasn’t that Megan seemed to also like women. It was because of how justified she was in these odd feelings. Brennan, his friends, his parents, and everyone else had always treated Megan like a resource. Now, she had someone who could relate to her in their own strange way. On a certain level, she’d found her equal in the serial killer.

And what about the Woodcutter? She stood there, awake, stoic, and psychically emitting white noise. But she’d lifted her emotionless façade for just a moment when she’d promised to keep watch as Megan slept. She’d momentarily radiated a small burst of what seemed like … fear. But why had that promise made her afraid? Did she think they wouldn’t survive the night? No, that didn’t line up with anything about her.

Then, the Woodcutter briefly glanced at Megan. Her forehead wrinkled as she brought her eyebrows together. Then, she shook her head and turned away.

This was confirmation enough for Brennan.

The Woodcutter felt something after all.