Read Online Ashes of the Earth by Eliot Pattison - Free Book Online

for an explanation, the children were gone,
slipping over the crest of the knoll. Only little Dora was visible.
She hesitated, giving Hadrian a quick, self-conscious wave. Then
someone yanked her arm and she too disappeared from sight. He turned
back to the mourners. Kenton was nowhere to be seen. The man by the
tree had lit another cigarette. He wasn't watching the crowd. He was
watching the knoll. He was watching Hadrian.
    There
were few lives in the colony that had not been touched by Jonah, and
the eulogies were many. Last came Lucas Buchanan. Standing close to
him was the blond bodyguard Bjorn.
    "Friends,"
the governor began. "I owe more tears to this dead man than you
shall see me pay." Hadrian stared in surprise, heard the murmurs
in the crowd. Buchanan wasn't quoting the words, he was appropriating
them for his own. Did he truly not understand that one of the many
strange consequences of his censorship policies had been to turn his
populace into experts on Shakespearean dialogue?
    The
eulogy quickly moved into a litany of Jonah's many extraordinary
contributions. Designer of the dams and gear works for the water-powered mills that ground their grains, cut their planks, powered
their carpenter shops. Designer and chief engineer for the fleet of
steamboats. Original organizer of the children's orchestra. Longtime
director of the annual George Bernard Shaw festival. The sounds of
weeping grew ever more audible.
    It
was peculiar, thought Hadrian, how funerals for the older generation
were devoid of references to their lives or accomplishments from the
prior world. Author
of books on astrophysics, Hadrian
was tempted to shout out. Chancellor
of the region's university. Holder of patents used in outer space.
Father of three children. Husband to a renowned medical researcher. But Jonah had already
died that death, on endless nights long ago. His wife, his children,
his university, and the city that hosted it had been wiped out in one
blinding flash. Even the discipline of astrophysics had died, at
least for another century.
    He
closed his eyes, steadying himself, then gazed toward the sky. Once
Jonah and he might have gone birding on a day like this, Hadrian
helping take notes on the strange plumage variations starting to
appear. He glanced toward the haunted tree on the western ridge, then
paused. There was a large bird in the tree again. He squinted,
shielding his eyes. Not a bird, but a person in a cloak, watching the
funeral.
    Hadrian
looked in alarm at Buchanan, now reviewing the civic awards bestowed
on Jonah. The governor's back was to the dead tree. He droned on.
"Chairman of the Science Advisory Committee, Citizen of the
Year—" Buchanan's words choked in his throat. His mouth
hung open as he stared at the stone cottage nearest the cemetery. A
man in a black coat holding a long musical instrument resembling a
recorder sat on the chimney. The wind stopped. Not a word was spoken.
Only one bitter syllable broke the silence.
    "Slags!"
Kenton shouted.
    Then
from behind the chimney a hairless woman in a grey cloak emerged. The
recorder began to play a slow, graceful tune that Hadrian did not
recognize until the woman began singing in a powerful, lilting voice.
    "Amazing
Grace, how sweet the sound," she
intoned, "that
saved a wretch like me." Other
voices slowly joined in, from below, until, despite Buchanan's
furious attempts to quiet them, nearly the entire assembly was
singing. "J once
was lost but now I'm found, was blind but now I see..."
    Hadrian
was grinning until he saw Kenton race off with several officers. He
leapt up himself. "Nelly!" he shouted in warning to the
woman as Kenton disappeared into the cottage. But his cry was drowned
out. The citizens of Carthage kept singing even after the policemen
appeared on the roof. They stopped only as the police began to club
the intruders.
    Then
in the uneasy silence came a strange echo. Buchanan spun about and
cursed, bellowing for his police. But they took only a few