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CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Bailey
“I can’t imagine what you think of all this,” Bailey sighed. She lay back on the soft grass, staring up at the stars overhead. The night was cool, and a soft breeze blew through the field, rustling the leaves on the trees around them. King lay beside her, his arm around her shoulder, holding her close. It was so tempting to lean in to the feeling of security he was offering. Unfortunately she knew better.
“Trust me, I’m in no position to judge. The only thing I worry about is how this is affecting you. The weight of the world is on your shoulders.”
“Just the weight of Cinderhill,” she corrected, looking up at him with a half-smile. “Do you think I should have stayed away? Left this place in the dust and never looked back?” Bailey shuddered at the thought, a sense of despair washing over her.
“Returning to your roots is human nature. Your mother is here. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t homesick right now. I left in such a hurry. Abandoned my entire life. I know that pull to go back.”
“But it’s dangerous there for you?”
“I’m not worried about my safety. Going back would open a whole slew of problems for people I’m trying to protect. You came back to keep everyone safe. It’s different.”
“Either way, it hasn’t worked out very well, has it?”
“You said people helped you get out last time. Maybe they could help in some way again. Or the police, wouldn’t they be interested in capturing these men for their past crimes?”
“The statute of limitation has expired on anything they did. And the people who helped me the first time didn’t want me coming back here. I burned that bridge. These men haven’t done anything legally wrong recently to get them arrested, and by the time they do, it’ll be too late for anyone around here to report it. They’ll close ranks around this place. Shut down any communication with the outside world. Close their hands around our throats and do what they’ve been waiting for this whole time.”
“There are ten of them?” King asked. “And are they armed?”
“There are more now,” Bailey reported somberly. “They’ve been recruiting. Cinderhill might not seem like much, but between our use of the river, our solar power, and our houses, this place is an off-grid mecca. It’s a coveted location with just the right balance of comfort and privacy. That’s why they are so fixated on it and well—”
“What?” King asked, squeezing her a little tighter to prompt anything she might want to say.
“My father deemed this place a holy land. There were ceremonies. Sacrifices. Really barbaric stuff. Those men believe, unequivocally, that my father is the chosen one and this land is sacred. My father has been communicating with them all along. He’s kept them at bay to make sure the police don’t come back and take more extreme actions. I give him credit for that, he can be a patient man when he needs to be. He knows damn well if they’d returned too soon the police might have come and rounded them up. And he was right; for a while the cops and other services often checked in on Cinderhill. Then it became less frequent. Now it’s been ages since they’ve come around. And apparently my father’s latest prophecy is that the time is almost right. My mother’s illness is some kind of proof that Cinderhill is failing. That it needs to be made right again. For him it’s not sickness killing my mother, it’s a failure of faith.”
“So you have no way to convince them otherwise?”
“I’m afraid the difficult life they’ve endured in the time they’ve been banished from here has made them more desperate. They’re wearing thin and have been waiting for this moment. We’re on their holy land and living against all their laws and rules. They see this as a holy war. I’ll be the only thing keeping them from Cinderhill.”
“Not the only thing,” he assured her. “I’m here.”
“Two people are not enough.”
“How can you be so sure the people who helped you last time wouldn’t do it again? Do you keep in touch with any of them?”
“Have you ever failed someone?” Bailey asked, squirming and looking away. “I had every chance in the world to start over and be safe and I marched myself right back in here. There are so many people who need help and they’re more worthy of it than I am. I had my chance and I wasted it. Trust me, that door is closed.”
“What if it isn’t?” King’s expression was peculiar and it sent a shiver up her spine. Everything felt so out of control and she couldn’t understand what he was getting at.
“It is.” Her voice was firm and her back rigid. “Just drop it. That’s not an option. I need to try to come up with a deal that will work. If I can get them the supplies they want and help them build something—
“You can’t try to negotiate with them. It’s about action.”
“When I was young Mrs. Tully used to tell stories to me by the fire. There was one that always stood out to me.”
King was not hearing a decent solution. “Bailey—”
“In this fable, there is a small village located near a bridge. The bridge is guarded by a troll, who demands a toll from anyone who wants to cross it. The toll is usually a portion of the traveler's supplies or goods, such as food, clothing, or tools.
“At first, the people of the village resent having to pay the troll. They feel that it's unfair and that the troll is taking advantage of them. However, they soon realize that the toll is actually protecting them. The troll prevents dangerous animals and robbers from crossing the bridge and entering the village.
“Over time, the villagers come to accept the toll as a necessary cost of living in safety. They begin to see the troll as a guardian rather than a burden. They even start to bring gifts to the troll, such as food and clothing, as a way of showing their appreciation.
“In the end, the troll and the village form a symbiotic relationship. The troll protects the village, and the villagers provide for the troll. Both sides benefit from the arrangement, and peace is maintained.
