Chapter Twenty-Two

ON his way back to the pother tent, Raffa saw Kuma and the two raccoons up ahead of him on the path. He called to her.

“How did it go with them?” he asked, nodding at the raccoons.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” she said. “They think it’s a game. Twig trusts Roo completely—she doesn’t bat an eye. Bando was a little skittish at first, but he followed Twig’s lead.” She grinned. “You should see him. He closes his eyes really tight the whole time.”

Raffa squatted down and smiled at the twins. Twig began trying to untie one of his bootlaces while Bando pawed at the dirt beside the path. “Where’s Callian?”

No answer. He glanced up to see a worried expression on Kuma’s face.

“He left,” she said at last. “He’s on his way back to Gilden.”

“What? Why?”

“He said he has to help rescue his father. That he realized he never should have left him in the first place, except for having to deliver the message from Salima.”

“But that’s just reckless—he might end up getting caught himself!”

She flashed a scowl at him. “You weren’t there, Raffa. I didn’t even try to talk him out of it. The look in his eyes—there was no way I could have stopped him.”

He held his breath for a beat. “Okay. I didn’t mean— I’m not angry at you.” Pause. “I guess I’m not really angry at him, either. I—I just hope he’ll be all right.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Raffa found himself wishing silently, Find my mam and da, too, Callian. Get them all out of Gilden.

Then Bando chittered, and trundled over to him. “Errrmmmm,” the raccoon said happily. “Errrrmmmm.”

Something dangled from his mouth. Raffa bent down for a closer look.

It was a fat, juicy earthworm.

Bando mistook Raffa’s interest. He took the partly eaten worm out of his mouth and held it up. “Errrmmmm?” he asked politely.

Before Raffa could refuse his generous offer, Twig loped over. She swiped the worm out of Bando’s paw and swallowed it in one gulp.

It happened so quickly that Bando was completely flummoxed. He looked at his own paws, first one, then the other, squeaking in puzzlement. What had happened to his worm?

Raffa and Kuma both laughed. Bando continued to squeak until Raffa comforted him with a piece of dried apple from his rucksack.

As they reached the pother tent, Jimble and Garith joined them. Kuma decided to take the two raccoons to the stream to let them play and scrabble for crayfish.

“They worked hard—they deserve a little rest,” she said.

She picked up Twig, who chirped cheerfully.

“Let me hold her?” Raffa begged. “Just for a minute.”

Kuma handed over the raccoon, who was now quite an armful, not the little furball she had been when Raffa first met her. He rubbed behind her ears, then cradled her close to his face. She reached up with her humanlike hands and patted his chin and cheeks.

“Hey, Twiglet,” he murmured, thinking of her future mission. “Be—be careful, okay?”

“Bee-bee kay,” Twig said. “Bee-bee kay.”

“I like it,” Kuma said as Raffa handed Twig back to her. “Bee-bee kay, everyone.”

“Bee-bee kay-one!” Bando squeaked.

“Bee-bee kay-one!” Jimble repeated, and giggled.

Raffa had to roll his eyes. What he had just heard was a human who was imitating a raccoon who was imitating a human.

Jimble went with Kuma, delighted to have a chance to play with the raccoons. That left Raffa alone with Garith for the first time in what seemed like weeks. They straddled the log outside the pother tent, facing each other. Raffa was trying hard not to think about the upcoming meeting at the pavilion.

“Garith, have you gotten used to being deaf?”

Raffa was astonished by his own words. Where did that come from? “Sorry. Never mind—I don’t even know why I asked.”

“No, it’s okay,” Garith said. “Nobody seems to— I mean, everybody avoids the subject. I don’t ever get to talk about it.”

He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “It’s not like I think about it every single second,” he said. “Sometimes I forget about it. When it doesn’t matter. Like when I’m pothering. Maybe that’s why I like it so much these days.”

Raffa nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Garith said, “but there’s even times when I’m glad.”

“Really?” Raffa exclaimed, both startled and skeptical.

Garith grinned wickedly. “Think about it. If I weren’t deaf, I’d probably have killed Jimble by now.”

Raffa snorted. Garith jumped to his feet. He started bouncing around on his toes and doing a reasonable imitation of Jimble. “‘Garith, how much of this should I put in?’ ‘Garith, am I stirring this right?’ ‘Garith, I want to do it myself—will you watch me?’”

Now Raffa was laughing, and Garith joined in. When their laughter ebbed, Garith added, “He’s great, really. But I’m glad we’re too busy for him to experiment. Who knows what he’d get up to!”

Raffa stood, too, and faced his cousin. “Speaking of experimenting,” he said, “I put some of the cavern-plant powder aside. When all this is finished”—he gestured toward the camp—“I’m going to experiment. And try to make an antidote for you.”

Garith was silent for so long that Raffa wondered if he had understood. At last he spoke. “If it’s just because you feel bad about—about what happened to me—that’s not . . . enough of a reason.”

Another long silence. “I can’t be sitting around waiting and hoping, you know what I mean? I have to—to get on with things. With my life, the way it is. But if you want to experiment because what you find out might help other people, then that’s a good reason.”

Raffa inhaled a quick breath. He’s talking about yearnings. An antidote that might help a lot of people: That was a truly worthwhile yearning.

He gave Garith a mock-scowl. “When did you get so clever?”

Garith shrugged. “Always been that way, dear cousin. You just never noticed before.”

They took turns jostling each other as they walked to the pavilion.

The tables had been moved out of the pavilion and replaced by benches, stumps, and logs for seating. Lanterns hung from the posts. Every available place was taken. More people stood around three sides of the pavilion. The rumble of talk was low but constant.

Quellin, Haddie, and Missum Abdul, three of the council members, stood along the fourth side, on a crude dais made of split logs. They were surrounded by the squad leaders. Raffa sat on a log near the front between Garith and Kuma, with Jimble next to Garith.

Haddie nodded at Kuma, who put her fingers to her lips, and a sharp whistle pierced the air. Most people stopped talking, but not everyone. Kuma whistled again, and this time silence filled the space all the way to its canvas roof.

The camp denizens numbered over a thousand, so the council had decided to use shouters for this gathering. For the Chancellor’s speech in Gilden, there had been dozens of shouters; here, there were only two. One of them was Kuma’s uncle Elson, with his beautiful basso voice; Fitzer was the other. They stood at the back of the pavilion, which put them right in the midst of the crowd.

Haddie stepped up onto a stump and greeted everyone. “Once upon a time,” she said, and held up her hand.

“ONCE UPON A TIME,” Elson and Fitzer yelled together.

Haddie opened both arms toward the gathering, inviting a response.

“Happily ever Afters,” everyone called.

Haddie frowned. She turned her head, put one hand to her ear, and made a beckoning gesture with the other. “ONCE UPON A TIME,” she repeated.

The crowd understood. “HAPPILY EVER AFTERS!” they bellowed.

She nodded, satisfied. “First, I want to thank everyone,” she said.

“. . . I want to thank everyone.” The shouters continued to echo her words.

“I know it hasn’t been easy, and the way we have all worked together is truly impressive. We are most of us Afters. But whether or not you have After blood, you are here with us because you believe in fairness and justice.”

After the shouters had repeated her words, applause rolled through the pavilion and spilled out its edges. Haddie waited for quiet again.

“Fairness and justice. So I would have you remember this: The guards against whom we fight are our neighbors. And will be our neighbors again. We seek a victory not against them but against those whose orders they follow. Fight for your families and friends, for yourselves, for Obsidia. Fight hard and well. But know that a quest for justice without wisdom and compassion can all too easily become cruelty.”

“. . . cruelty.”

“Your squad leaders have briefed you. You know that we cannot match the guards in either numbers or weaponry. Our advantages are surprise and agility, and we must work together. That is where we will find our strength. So I leave you with this.”

Looking to her left, she began to move her head slowly, slowly, so that her gaze swept over the entire crowd. No one spoke. The silence and stillness were majestic.

Haddie raised her hand as if to match palms with everyone there. “We are steady, together.”

Elson and Fitzer repeated her words. “We are steady, together.”

The crowd bestirred themselves. Raffa heard a few scattered calls: “Steady, together.”

Then Elson raised his voice. “STEADY!” he shouted.

Fitzer took his cue. “TOGETHER!”

Half the crowd took up Elson’s cry. “STEADY!”

“TOGETHER!” answered the other half.

“STEADY!”

“TOGETHER!”

The timbers of the pavilion trembled as a thousand people clapped and stamped their feet and roared.

Haddie waited, letting the noise of the crowd ebb. At last it was quiet again.

“Many of you know Raffa Santana,” she said. “He’s half-After, and he’s from a pother family. He has done fine work for us here, acting as camp pother, despite his young age. The squad leaders have already met him, and he would like to speak to you all now.”

Raffa rose and stepped onto the dais. He put his rucksack down next to the stump, which was only a little taller than knee height. So why did it look as steep as a mountain?

His legs felt so weak, he wondered if he would be able to get onto the stump without help. He managed it, just barely. He stared down at his feet to make sure they didn’t wander off the edge, then slowly raised his head.

Every single person in that enormous crowd was looking directly at him.

Raffa held his breath and tightened his stomach. Don’t throw up don’t throw up don’t throw up don’t throw up.

In his hand he was holding two of the knitted collars. He clutched them in a death grip.

The sooner he started talking, the sooner this would be over with. He knew what he wanted to say; he had rehearsed it in his head a hundred times.

“This afternoon,” he began—and stopped. What came out of his mouth was not words, but a ragged croak. He glanced around wildly, desperate for help—and there in the crowd, he saw his friends.

Jimble, gazing up at him eagerly, looking so much like Trixin.

Kuma, her face quiet and steady.

Garith, his eyes narrowed, concentrating on reading Raffa’s lips.

Suddenly Raffa noticed that his legs felt stronger: It was as if his friends were holding him upright, and even calming his roiled guts.

They were supporting him—and counting on him as well.