Free Tree of Truth (Book of Pilgrimage 1) by James Huss Page B

the Light again—I’m dying. It’s not right to tell you I love you. It’s not right to let you get your hopes up. You should marry Sylvia. She will make a good wife.”
    “You don’t know that. You don’t know how long you will live. It’s the Early Onset—nobody knows what it will do.”
    “Move on with your life, Marlowe.”
    “What if there were a Cure? What if we could find it?”
    “There is no Cure.”
    “You don’t know that. There are scientists in the city. They study these things. I read it in Benjonsen’s Book.”
    “We read a lot of stories in books, Marlowe. How many of them are true?”
    “Let’s find out. Let’s go to the city together. We can leave in the morning.”
    “Go home, Marlowe. I’ll see you tomorrow. At school.” She closed the window slowly. I stood in disbelief at all that had transpired. Before I turned to go, the window opened again. “I love you, Marlowe. I do. But you have your own life to live.” Then she closed the window on my aching face. I wanted the house to fall on me. But it didn’t. So I sulked my way home.
    I said nothing at dinner. I ate very little. I avoided my brother. I went to bed, but did not sleep. It was a long and miserable night.

Chapter XI
     
    I tapped lightly on Shelley’s window before the sun had even hinted its uprising. I paced in the cool morning air and stared at the twinkling stars above. There were no lights in the village between dusk and dawn, not like the luminous cities of the ancient times. I had seen pictures—brilliant displays of all shapes and colors. That must have been a sight. All I had ever seen in my short life were those same stars that stared at me night after night—I knew them by heart.
    The window slid slowly open. The moonlight enhanced the blush of her cheek and the slant of her delicate jaw—she was beautiful, even with her mussed hair and groggy expression. “Marlowe? What are you doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?” She rubbed either side of her face up and down with both hands, on the final stroke gliding them up across her forehead and brushing her hair back with her fingers.
    “I’m leaving for the city. I packed food and supplies for both of us. I’ve been up all night.” I had a pack on my back and one in my hand. I raised the one in my hand for her to see. “We can visit the doctors there. We can ask about the medicine.”
    “What medicine? There is no medicine.” She leaned against the window sill and stared blankly into the starlit sky.
    “We don’t know that. The Pilgrim Benjonsen, he thought there was something there. There must be—there are scientists in the city. They’ve been researching the Disease for years. I read so many stories about it in the Library.” I leaned in close and clasped her arm gently. The warm and tender skin on the back of her arm made the hair on mine stand at attention. “I have it all planned out. We’ll use Benjonsen’s map. We can get there in three days, and I have plenty of food and supplies. I even brought money to buy more food and supplies when we get there.” I dropped my bag to one shoulder and drew a small pouch from it, holding it high and shaking the currency inside. The coins rattled with muffled clanks against the soft lining of the pouch. “It’s my life’s savings.”
    She stared at me with her chestnut-brown eyes. A subtle squint and a slight furrow of her brow betrayed frustration and bewilderment. “What if we go all that way and find nothing? What if there is no medicine? What then?” I could sense the desperation in her soft, sleepy voice. What had I to offer but a fanciful dream of life beyond these fleeting teenage years, a dream based on legend and fantasy gleaned from the scribblings of the walking dead?
    “Then we’ve had the adventure of our lives. We’ve slept under the stars, we’ve been to the big city, we’ve seen strange things we never thought we would, and we’ve experienced life outside this dismal