Fallow

adjective: not in use; inactive

noun: land that has undergone plowing and harrowing and has been left unseeded for one or

more growing seasons

The hint of color rising above the ocean marked the start of day nine.

Herald surveyed the horizon. The seagulls and waves ebbed through his consciousness, pacifying at least some of his unease.

He stole another breath on borrowed time. Then shivered the chilly mist out of his sweater as he climbed the spiral staircase to the lighthouse watch room. "Circle round, everyone. Captain wants to meet you...officially."

"What's the occasion?" Law slammed closed his copy of Jurisprudence for the Modern Man. "We've been hiding here for how long? Suddenly he cares a Fallow about more than his fine collection of wives?"

Law shouldn't have said that for more than one reason. Captain was their patron and was invested in the success of The Verity Chronicles more than just financially. And he wasn't able to hear what Law said—he was likely just leaving his island fortress—and neither could any of his wives—twelve to be exact—but two of Herald's female writers were Fallow.

"Captain's generosity is the reason we're safe. Let's not forget that."

Herald glanced at Parody, his political cartoonist, and Doxy, author of gritty true narratives about her Fallow way of life. They whispered among themselves, disdainfully amused, but didn't seem anymore put off by Law than usual.

Even with shaved heads and metal studs inserted into their lips—both mandatory—Herald had to admire society's shunned women. But he was among the few.

Mingling with the Fallow was allegedly the equivalent of social suicide, regardless of class, and any physical relations with them were illegal on top of that. Poor men typically had enough problems—in theory—and men like Captain would have no need to bother—also in theory. Assuming a man was able to purchase Marriage Bonds, he could keep in his possession—even after death—as many wives as he desired as long as the girls in question had reached the legal Bearing Age of twenty-one. These virgins—confirmed by Maineland-sanctioned surgeons—could then choose, marriage or Fallow, until their twenty-fifth year, when they would become Fallow by decree. If that were the case or if a woman of any age committed High Sin, married or not, then she'd lose her hair, her appearance, all food beyond what was necessary to survive, and even her capacity to procreate.

These were the rules. But they were often broken, especially by those who had the means to get away with anything shy of murder. And even then...

"Oh, Herald," Hearsay began, her tone deliberately condescending. "You should know by now...you can never trust a man who has more than ten wives."

As much as Herald hoped for the best, he knew she had a point.

Hearsay loved and was really quite good at spilling the aristocracy's secrets. Married to a man who took on sixteen more wives and counting, Hearsay had no qualms about sharing every intimate—and embarrassing—detail.

Herald would never want to be a woman faced with such deplorable options. But, admittedly, his fate could be worse than Fallow. That type of abuse and depravation wasn't even an option for a man. And for the crimes Herald had committed—unlawful publication and circulation...libel, treasonous expression, plus tax evasion and debt truancy...just to name a few—and due to his lowly standing in society, there would be only one apt punishment.

Death. By hanging.

He rubbed his neck while he performed a head count, aware that they were missing a few. "Where's Corollary and Blasphemy?"

"If my sources are correct..." And coming from Hearsay's mouth, Herald had no trouble believing that they were. "Corollary is working on his barnacle study, collecting crabs for supper while he's at it, and Blasphemy went to fetch a basket of apples from the orchard."

"And what about...?"

Before it came to him, Gospel, his notorious polygamy-chastiser walked in, his Au Courant Word of God in tow with its intentionally black-singed edges.

"Good," he said as the rest of the missing free-thinkers came in as well. "We're all here."

Herald's gaze then settled on Virtue. The young romance writer took a seat next to Parody and Doxy with an airy grace. Despite their class differences, the three of them had become close during their confinement together. If Virtue's "scandalous" stories were any indication—steamy affairs across class, marriage, and even gender barriers—she didn't uphold the Maineland's traditional values. But, even so, he wouldn't want the unthinkable to ever cross her mind.

At the sound of a knock, Herald rose to welcome Captain into the lighthouse. Even he would be among those sought out by Maineland Authorities during their village's annual ten-day Delinquency Purge. Luckily, after the tenth day, these elite agents from Fort Braintree, the capitol, would move on to another coastal village southeast of the Lifeline and the people of Portsmith would return to their normal, cautious routines.

There were two days left. And he was starting to believe they would make it. But, as much as he wanted The Purge to be over with, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving the island.

He could never go back to the way things were...

Herald smiled as best he could and welcomed Captain to sit wherever he liked.

And Herald wished he could mince his words.

"You must be Virtue." Captain draped an arm over her shoulders and placed a kiss on both of her lightly freckled cheekbones. "It's such a pleasure to finally meet you. I have to admit, I'm your most ardent admirer."

It was one of the most glaring falsehoods Herald had ever heard. And Herald had been fed lies his whole life.

While Virtue blushed, still unaccustomed to the male attention she was getting now that she was of Bearing Age, Captain flaunted his allure.

And Herald prided himself on his ability to find the right word for any situation. Though he tried on for size a number of more interesting ones, he couldn't come up with anything truer than the first word that came to mind...hate.

***

After Captain left—with Virtue dangling on the arm he offered—Herald climbed the spiral staircase to the lantern room. He glared through the glass, taking pauses only to blink.

The revolving lamp must have passed over his shadow a hundred-thousand times before Captain and Virtue were visible on the rocks again, the "tour of the island" finally over.

While Virtue entered the lighthouse, Captain strutted on to greener pastures, a smug grin plastered on his freshly shaven face. His skin was even moisturized to a nauseating gleam, Herald noticed, when Captain passed through a ray of sunshine, a shade of gold that was practically his birthright.

It was after dark by the time Herald began his heavy plod down the stairs.

"Virtue," he managed to say through clenched teeth. "Can I have a word with you...upstairs?"

Painfully aware glances shot around the room. No one had ever asked him, but they all knew. How could they not? It was no coincidence that after nightfall, Virtue's blanket found its way next to his. What was once lust and infatuation for as long as he had known her, became a deep, debilitating, obsessive love the moment she shivered and slipped beneath his arm for the first time. For a number of nights now, he kept her warm, held her close, whispered to her his deepest, darkest secrets. They kissed each other for hours on end, and explored each other around long-johns, skirt layers, stockings, sweaters...every inch of skin they could get away with, legally, and in the close company of others.

His desire to have her completely was a constant dull ache...everywhere. But he would never do that to her...doom her to a Fallow life. He'd marry her first—make her his only wife in a heartbeat—if he could wipe his record clean somehow, absolutely necessary in order for him to even qualify for a Marriage Bond, and also assuming he could afford one. In no way were any of these things likely to occur in the next four years, however.

"I'm sorry." Virtue reached for him, but he slipped away. He leaned on the handrail by the glass, captured by the turbulent sea once more. "I know how that must have looked."

"And? So?"

The revolving lamp crossed over his back about ten more times before she answered. "He made me an offer of marriage."

"And what did you say?"

He whirled around, furious, and catching the startled shudder in her eyes, he realized he shouldn't have shouted at her. It wasn't her fault she was enchanting in innumerable ways and would have no trouble finding a husband. But she was the seventh and final child of a struggling English professor, one of Herald's old colleagues, a man Herald respected. Herald was also aware of his financial difficulties. A professor's lot in life was no extravagant one to begin with, and Virtue's father had faced charges and steep fines for letting his literary "discussions" get too far out of hand on more than one occasion. So the pressure Virtue had on her to marry well had to be overwhelming.

"I said I was exploring other options, but that I would keep him in mind."

It was as if all hope had been kicked out of him.

She must have read that in his expression and quickly added, "To be polite. And out of appreciation for all he's done for us."

Then, hesitantly, she approached him. Herald was too upset to do more than stand there. So she slipped her hands around his waist and pressed her ear to his chest. After that, he could no longer resist. He had to hold her in return. Only then could he begin breathing again.

"Please forgive me."

He placed a kiss on top of her head. "There's nothing to forgive."

"I'll wait for you. I promise."

He laughed despite the tears he had in his eyes. "I don't understand. Why would you pick me?"

She let out a sweet sigh which he could feel against his whole body. "Hold to the truth within yourself as to the only truth."

It was something Gautama Buddha said in the Dark Times. When he made the discovery in the Library of the Ancients, he began using it as the Chronicles tagline.

"Because I love you and could never love another."

He returned those precious words. But they came out slowly, only because he was distracted by a piercing spot of light on the horizon.

When Herald eased himself out of Virtue's embrace, she followed him across the room, taking his arms in her hands as she peered over his shoulder. "Is there a way they could have found us?"

Herald didn't know how to answer that. He trusted the writers he was with—they had all committed crimes—and they all used pennames at his request. He didn't even know their actual names, not even Virtue's. And the departure place for their island retreat was printed at the back of the last Verity edition completely in code. No one besides Herald even knew the destination...except Captain.

He had the transportation. He had the communication.

But why would he go through the trouble of bringing everyone here, providing food and shelter only to turn them in on the evening before it all ended?

"I'm not certain. To be safe, why don't you go warn the others."

After a frantic kiss on her perfect lips, they intended to part ways. But Herald couldn't let her go. Not yet. So he pulled her back in and gave her a kiss to remember, one that made clear to her...till death do us part.

***

Herald peeled the bandage off the left side of his head. It wasn't wise, but he was too curious to leave it there.

His eye was fused and swollen closed. Would he ever be able to use it again?

Not that it mattered. There wasn't much to see behind bars.

How exactly did he get here?

Last he knew, they had broken into Captain's boathouse only to find the boats chained to the dock. Corollary was trying to use a lever to free one. Herald was squatting beside him when...he looked up...and took a hit to the head.

He didn't see the Authorities coming and didn't remember leaving the island.

Inspecting the bandage, he could at least come up with a story. The course gray material was from Virtue's skirt. Maybe she stopped the bleeding and held his head in her lap.

Did she stroke his hair behind his ear, cry heartfelt tears, and assure him everything would be all right?

Well...it was a nice thought.

He'd likely never know for sure. When he came to, Virtue was gone. Instead, he was the presence of the Authorities and just long enough to receive his death sentence.

Before The Purge ended, Herald and the other Verity writers would all be punished in one way or another, though the sentences would likely vary in severity. Wealth or a clean record might spare a few lives. Those who were already Fallow would no doubt be tortured or publically ridiculed. It was "immoral" to kill a woman. Or so they said. But what they'd do to them instead was, simply, barbaric.

Herald, however, owed Portsmith more money than he could ever possibly pay. Plus, The Verity Chronicles was his concept. Therefore, he was constantly evading the Authorities, and his good name—his real name—wouldn't do a thing to save him. His wealthy father had disowned him after he graduated from Portsmith University, merely for differences in opinion. Since Herald had five upstanding older brothers and four younger ones eager to take his place, no one would ever miss him.

Soon, Herald sat down against the wall and zoned out to the voice of Law, behind bars across from him and one cell over. He was reciting doctrines, stopping only to spew gravelly insults at the guards, never a syllable lacking its poignant animosity. Suddenly, though, his voice was firm but kind. "Don't let them break you. Fight on, fight hard, do you hear me...?"

Herald found his feet. Through the bars, he saw Virtue nodding in front of Law. The sight of her beautiful braid of blonde hair brought tears to Herald's eyes.

When Law saw him, he squeezed Virtue's hand. Then he bowed his head respectfully and let her go to Herald.

Their reunion would have been passionate, but because of the bars, their kiss wasn't deep enough. Their grasp for each other failed to be complete or fully satisfying.

"You're not..."

He didn't even want to say the word...Fallow.

She shook her head. "I can't stay long," she said, glancing left. "I had to beg on my knees. One guard finally took pity on me and..." She took a nervous gulp. "It was Captain. His request for my hand was a demand, and I didn't realize it."

She looked up at him with such a depth of remorse.

"It's not your fault. You were as honest as you could be under the circumstances. If there's anyone to blame, it's me. I thought he was a man of honor. I trusted him with your lives."

"I tried, Herald. But I couldn't save you or Law. Or Blasphemy, who's undergoing the Fallow procedure as we speak. I even sought Captain's help. I agreed to marry him in exchange for two pardons."

Herald dropped his head and nodded.

"But he was so cold. 'You had your chance,' he said and claimed my request was out of his power anyway. But in my heart, I knew he was lying."

He took a moment to stroke her cheek...and her tears away. "Does the marriage offer still stand?"

"Yes," Virtue sputtered, surprised. "The judge agreed to a deal for me. It's the only way I can avoid..."

"Then take it! I want to die knowing you're well cared for."

Their sad eyes wandered over each other. And when their bodies drifted closer together, their mutual affection vanquished all else.

And well before they were ready to say goodbye, a guard arrived and peeled Virtue away from Herald's grip.

She squirmed and made a scene. But she was no match for brute strength. "Never will a day go by that..." were the last words he could make out.

That I don't think of you? That I don't miss you? Or love you?

"That I'm not with you," he shouted in return. "My love is...eternal," he finished softly, collapsing to his knees. "If there really is a God...and that He is merciful."

His despair overtook any dignity he had left. And that's when Law reappeared. His mild smirk suggested he had been listening to the entire ordeal. "Do you honestly believe she'd give that cad's hypocrisy a moment of consideration?"

"Well," Herald bawled out, his head pressed against a frigid bar of iron. "A man can hope..."

***

Herald rolled the bloody scrap of Virtue's skirt around in his fist on his march to the gallows.

Stepping onto the platform, he shut his eyes. He left the horrific scene—ten doomed men and people shoving for space to see them die—to be with Virtue.

He pictured her in the apple orchard with a basket over her arm. She wore a long skirt and shawl, and cradled the swell of an unborn child with her free hand. Not his, of course, but at least half hers.

But it was a fool's delusion. If she married Captain, she be trapped on that godforsaken island, haunted by the memories, and unappreciated after his interest wandered to the next girl he'd coerce to say, "I do."

The pull against his bound arms urged his eyes to seek, not for the dream but the reality.

"How much blood will it take...?" Herald's fitful thoughts sharpened at the sound of Law's voice. "Is this enough? For you to see that without truth there will never be justice!"

Somehow the words guided his focus to Virtue's wide eyes, more striking than her shaved head or swollen lips, now studded with freshly placed metal.

Still...so beautiful...

Herald then spotted fresh bloodstains below the waistband of her gray leggings. He squeezed the scrap of wool in his hand until he could feel his own blood dripping from his knuckles.

"Fie! Fie I say! You can kill me! You can kill my brothers, maim my sisters. But the blood will be on your hands! Do nothing, then die, someday, a coward."

A coward was something Virtue would never be...

Herald held her gaze, knowing it would be the last time. There was warmth and love there, still, but also a fire he had never seen there before.

Beside her, she had Parody, Doxy, and Blasphemy.

Below their slender collarbones, they had matching tattoos.

The truth within, the words said.

Even as his noose was placed on his shoulders, Herald couldn't hold back the twitch of a smile.

When the sack went over his head, all fear had lifted. Virtue would never be alone. The Fallow foursome would continue to fight injustice, together, and with a new fervor...because they had nothing left to lose.

Herald's life may have come to an end—click—but the truth would never die.