I STAND ON THE RIDGE. I WATCH THE SUN RISE. White-faced an pitiless, it starts to grill the earth. Another dawn in the Waste. Another day in this nowhere. High summer. Heat an dust. Thirst an hunger an blame.
Me an Lugh an Tommo an Emmi. At each other. About who did what. Who said what. Whose fault it is that we’re stuck here. That we’re caught in this land of death an bones, when we should be livin it rich out west. Makin a new life fer ourselfs.
Over the mountains. Beside the Big Water. Where the air tastes like honey. Where Jack waits fer me.
Oh, Jack. Please. Wait.
I’m countin on you to wait.
We should of bin there long ago. Weeks ago. Emmi says the land’s keepin us here. That it’s trapped us. I wish she wouldn’t say stuff like that. You know it’s stupid but she says it an somehow it gits into yer head an then you cain’t stop thinkin about it.
The thing is, we made a bad start. We didn’t have no plan. We jest turned our heads west an went. It beggars belief that four people could be so foolish, but there you go. We warn’t thinkin clear, none of us. Too much had happened. We’d jest beat the Tonton in a hard fight. An only then by the skin of our teeth, an all thanks to Maev an the Hawks. If they hadn’t of showed up, we’d of bin finished.
Then Jack. Tellin me, farewell not goodbye, I’ll see you out west an—oh, by the way—yer in my blood, Saba.
So my head was full of him an all of the rest of it an . . . I had Lugh back. Since the day the Tonton snatched him from Silverlake, that’s all I’d bin set on. To find Lugh an git him back. An I was jest so glad. So glad an so thankful that him an me was together agin.
I don’t mean to say that it don’t matter that Ike got killed in the fight. A grievous sadness fills me when I think about him. My heart hurts. Not like Tommo’s does, not like that. He mourns Ike hard an deep. I guess no deaf boy’s ever gonna be a big talker, but he’s bin brought so low we hardly hear his strange, rough voice these days. Em’s took to speakin on his account. He don’t seem to mind.
But when we started off, the main thing was we was alive. Somehow . . . somehow we lived through it all. An I had my Lugh back. My twin, most dearly loved. An it was like we was giddy with relief an joy an . . . so much relief that we fergot about anythin else.
Like how we’d git where we wanted to go.
We ended up askin the first traveler we met. A salt johnny on camelback who’d jest bin harvestin at one of the great salt lakes on the Waste. Our tradebag was on the thin side an the best we could give him was a belt buckle an a pair of cord bootlaces. That bought us a half-campbell of salt an the advice to head straight across the Waste. He said it was the fastest, most direct way west. We figgered he knew what he was talkin about, so that’s what we did. We went straight.
A buckle an bootlaces don’t buy good advice.
He didn’t tell us what kinda place it is. Why it’s called the Waste. He didn’t tell us about the deathwater. The bad huntin. The Wrecker plague pits that stretch out fer leagues. The sinkholes that suddenly appear as you cross ’em. One moment yer goin along, the next moment the ground opens an yer down among the dead.
I was the first one to fall in. I bin up to my neck in dead men’s bones before. You’d think I’d be used to it. That I wouldn’t mind. But I do. I mind.
I’m sick to death of death.
Then it was Buck, Lugh’s horse. Lucky he didn’t break his leg or worse. Lucky Lugh was leadin him at the time, not ridin him. But he twisted his right leg. It happened a week ago an he still ain’t right. So we’re stuck here till he’s better. Stuck in the Waste.
Maybe the land is tryin to keep us here. Maybe Emmi’s right. It warn’t so long ago that I wouldn’t of paid no mind to what a nine year old little sister had to say. But Em’s got a way of seein things, a different way of lookin at the world. I don’t dismiss her so quick these days.
One thing’s true. One thing I know fer sure. This place ain’t right. There’s shadows where there shouldn’t oughta be none. I’ll see somethin, outta the corner of my eye, an I’ll think it’s Nero or maybe another bird but it never is. An I hear these . . . these noises. It’s like . . . I dunno, like somebody’s whisperin or somethin.
I don’t say nuthin to th’others. Not no more. I did at first. We’d all hunt around to see what it might be, but nobody ever found nuthin an then they started lookin at me funny, so now I jest keep my mouth shut.
I don’t sleep good. I ain’t slept good fer so long that I’m pretty much used to it, but it’s bin even worse ever since Epona died. Anyways, it means I can keep watch over ’em. Lugh an Emmi an Tommo. Make sure they don’t come to no harm. If I don’t sleep, nobody can come an take ’em.
Mainly, though, I keep watch over Lugh. He sleeps long an deep. But not easy. Never easy. Most nights he talks in his sleep. Nuthin I can make out, mumblin fer the most part, the odd word or two.
Sometimes he cries. Like a little child. That’s the worst. I cry with him. I cain’t help it. His tears is mine. They always have bin. Th’only time I ever remember him cryin before was when Ma died when we was eight. There was plenty of tears shed then. Me an Lugh an Pa must of cried enough tears to fill Silverlake three times over. But tears don’t bring back the dead. I learned that.
Fer now, I got work to do. Back at camp they’ll all be wakin with empty bellies an it’s my turn to hunt. Lizard, pouch rat, snake, I ain’t fussy. Anythin ’ud do, so long as it ain’t locusts. I brought back locusts my last three times an all becuz of—well, everybody’s cheesed off with crunchin bugs, that’s fer sure.
I frown. I cain’t think how I got here this mornin. How I got to this ridge so far from our campsite. I must of come on Hermes. There he is, right over there, rough chestnut coat an sturdy legs, rippin up withered clumps of bunchgrass. You’d think I could recall the ride, but I cain’t. Strange.
I lift the long-looker to my eyes. Scan the landscape. The Waste rolls out as far as I can see. To the horizon an beyond. Dry, yellow soil. The odd hill of gray rock, striped with red. Worn smooth by the wind.
This place ’ud make a devil weep, I says.
Suddenly I hear a rumble. I feel it the same time I hear it. A low, steady tremor unner my feet. There’s a flash of movement to the left. From the north. I train the looker that way.
Holy crap, I says.
It’s a line of twisters. They swirl across the plain, in a long row. Small ones, not more’n forty foot high. I ain’t never seen such a thing. They snatch the dust as they head this way.
An there’s a windspringer. He races along, in front of the line of twisters, as they chase behind. A two-year buck, judgin by his antlers. He goes flat out. If he don’t outrun ’em, he’ll be swept up.
Nero’s ridin the thermals overhead. I whistle. He swoops down an lands on my outstretched hand.
I point to the springer. See that? I says. That’s breakfast, lunch an supper fer the next week.
Nero squawks.
You know what to do, I says. Turn him this way. Bring him to me. Bring him here, Nero! I throw him into the air an he streaks away. Nero’s a good hunter. Thinks he’s a hawk, not a crow. He’ll turn the springer from the twisters’ path. He’ll drive him right into range of my crossbow.
I start to run.
My feet feel heavy. Like they don’t belong to the rest of me. They don’t wanna move. But I make ’em. I start to go faster. As I run, I slide my bow from my back. Grab a arrow from my quiver. I leap down the dry slope of the ridge. Right near the bottom there’s a flat bit of rock that juts out. I can git a clear shot from there an I’ll be far enough away to be safe from the twisters.
I reach the rock. Dust whirls about me. The wind shrieks. I take up position. I nock my arrow to the bowstring.
I gotta stay calm. If I stay calm, it’ll be okay. This time, it’ll be okay. I take a deep breath.
Nero screams with excitement. He’s drivin the springer hard. It swerves right, then left, but he dives at it, shriekin. It heads straight this way. There’s a white blaze on its breast. Over its heart. The perfect target.
This is gonna be the perfect kill.
I lift my bow. Take aim. Straight fer the heart.
My hands start to shake. There’s a flash of white light.
Epona runnin towards me. Throwin her arms wide.An I shoot her. Straight through the heart.
Cold sweat. On my forehead, in my eyes. I blink. Epona’s dead. I killed her.
Saabaa. Saaabaaa.
My name whispers around me. I turn, lookin. Nuthin there. Nobody.
Who is it? I says.
Saaabaaa.
It’s the wind. The twisters. That’s all. Calm down. Take aim. Shoot the springer. It’s only a couple hunnerd paces away now.
I grip my bow harder. The shakin gits worse. It’s jest like before. Jest like the last time. An the time before that. Any time I try to shoot.
Then.
I notice.
My breath
tight chest
dry throat
cain’t breathe
need air
deep breaths
cain’t
breathe
cain’t
breathe
on my knees on the ground tight throat heart fast
too fast, too—
air
air
cain’t breathe cain’t see cain’t—
Nero.
Screamin.
Nero.
Warnin me.
Danger.
Danger.
Danger.
† † †
I lift my head. Everythin’s . . . blurred.
Then. I see. Somethin movin. Movin fast. I squint. Try to see what it is, what—
Wolfdogs, I says.
A pack of wolfdogs chase hard at the springer’s heels. Six of ’em. No. Eight. Where’d they come from?
The pack splits. Six wolfdogs stay on the springer’s tail. They chase it south, across the Waste. The line of twisters churn after ’em.
Two dogs peel off. Two dogs head towards me. Comin this way.
They smell me. They smell my weakness.
Deep inside, in my belly the red hot flickers. But it’s feeble. A weak spark when I need a blaze. A fierce fire to save me. The red hot always . . . saves me.
I haul myself up. Hard to breathe. Hands shakin, but I . . . can do it, I can—my bow drops from my hands. Hits the ground. The flicker’s gone. The red hot. Gone.
I’m helpless. Hopeless. Alone.
No. Not quite.
Nero screams with rage. He attacks the wolfdogs. Dives at their heads. But on they come. They’re forty foot away now. Thirty.
Move, Saba. Do somethin. Anythin! I scrabble fer rocks, pebbles, sticks.
Nero’s slowin ’em down. He darts, draws blood, retreats. Agin an agin an agin. They lunge at him. Strike with their claws. A flurry of fur an feathers an dust. Shrieks an snarls. They’ll hurt him. Kill him.
Nero! Nero! I scream. I got rocks in my hands. Throw ’em, throw ’em. No, no, I might hit Nero. Dust an chaos. I cain’t see clear.
My breath, my breath’s comin easier. Whatever took hold of me starts to let go. But I’m weak. Shaky.
Nero breaks free. I let fly with the rocks. But I miss. The wolfdogs pace towards me. Ten foot away. Eight. Six.
One dog in front of me. One on my left. Cold, flat heat in their yellow eyes.
Nero shrieks an shrieks. He dives. They cower.
I scream an scream. I fling pebbles an dirt. I throw, they flinch, but they ain’t put off. Suddenly I remember the knife in my boot. I reach fer it. My hands, my tremblin hands.
They inch towards me. Eyes fixed. Low in their throats, they hum my death.
Then behind me, from nowhere, a noise an a rush. Before I can move, somethin leaps past me.
A gray shape. Big. Shaggy. Another wolfdog. A new one.
This one, this new wolfdog, he flies at the dog on my left. Goes straight fer his throat an bowls him over. Rips his neck open. As blood spills, th’other wolfdog, the one in front of me, attacks the new one. Teeth flash. Dust flies.
I scramble outta the way.
The new wolfdog warn’t runnin with the others. He’s a loner. He’s got blue eyes. Light blue eyes.
That’s rare. I only seen one other before. An he’s in a bad way. Rib-thin, matted fur, an now a bleedin wound on his flank. But he’s fightin like a demon.
Think, Saba. I need Hermes. If there’s a moment . . . if I git a chance I’ll take it. I’ll take any chance to git away, but I need Hermes here.
No, no, wait, I cain’t, the dogs might go fer him. So confused. Cain’t think straight. Move, Saba. Jest move! I start to back away, up the ridge. I keep my eyes on the dogs, tearin at each other, fightin to the death.
Nero screams above.
A loose rock. My foot slips. I go over. I’m down.
An I’m slidin. Tumblin. Fallin.
Back down the slope.
Straight towards the wolfdogs.
† † †
I’m on my back. Lyin on hard, flat rock. Hot rock. The heat sizzles around me. Cooks me. My bones ache. Eyes heavy. Dry. I squint one open. Too bright. A dull pain throbs at the back of my head.
I groan.
Nero croaks. I can feel the weight of him on my stummick.
The smell of doggy, meaty breath, hot an close. A rough tongue licks my face. My eyes fly open. The blue-eyed wolfdog’s standin over me.
Ahhh! I scrabble away an leap to my feet. Nero screeches off in a flurry.
The dog’s backin away, whinin. He stops. He sits, about six foot away. His pink tongue lolls outta his mouth, long an drippin. I frown. Is that—is he . . . smilin at me? Fer the first time, I notice he’s got one droopy ear. The right one.
Blue eyes. One droopy ear. Jest like Tracker. Mercy’s wolfdog, Tracker. But . . . how can that be? Mercy’s place at Crosscreek must be weeks from here.
Tracker? I says.
He stands. Barks twice. Takes a couple of steps towards me. Nero caws from his perch on a nearby rock.
Tracker! I says. Ohmigawd, Tracker, it’s you! What’re you do—
A arrow comes whizzin through the air. I dive. Tracker darts away. It jest misses his left flank. I look behind to see who’s shot it.
It’s Lugh. Standin on the ridge above. He’s about to shoot agin.
No! I yell. Wait! Don’t shoot!
Too late. Then Lugh’s leapin down the slope, hollerin an wavin his arms. The arrow bounces offa the rock.
An I’m yellin, Lugh, stop! It’s okay! Don’t shoot!
An Nero’s flyin all over the place, screechin an squawkin.
An Tracker’s gone. I can see him high-tailin it across the Waste.
Damn, I says. Ow! A sharp twinge in the back of my head. It’s a fair-sized lump an hurts like stink when I give it a prod.
I freeze. There’s two wolfdogs not more’n ten foot away from me. What’s left of ’em, anyways. It’s the ones that attacked me. They lie in pools of their own blood. Both got their throats ripped out. Their teeth bared in a last snarl, their yellow eyes glarin rage at death. The air hums with a hungry buzz. Flies. Hunnerds of ’em. Thousands of ’em. The open wounds, the half-dried lakes of sticky blood heave with their shimmerin bodies.
Tracker did this. Tracker killed the wolfdogs. He saved my life.
Tracker. Here. I don’t unnerstand.
Saba! Lugh runs up, crossbow in hand. He’s breathin hard. Relief an worry an anger, all at the same time, chase over his face. Saba, are y’okay?
Yeah, I says. I’m fine, thanks.
But I’m thinkin. Tracker here. Alone in the Waste. So . . . does that mean Mercy’s somewhere near? No, she cain’t be, he’s in terrible shape, so thin an ragged. She’d never let him git like that. So what’s goin on? How’d he git here? An where’s Mercy? Tough, wise Mercy. What’s happened to her?
Whaddya mean, fine? Saba! Lugh grabs my arm an shakes it. Saba, what the hell happened here?
That was Tracker, I says. That wolfdog you jest shot at. It’s Tracker. Ohmigawd, Lugh, he saved my life.
Who? He looks blank.
Then I remember. Lugh warn’t at Mercy’s place at Crosscreek with me an Emmi. That was after he got took by the Tonton. So he don’t know Tracker.
Tracker, I says. He’s Mercy’s tame wolfdog. Y’know, Mercy. Ma’s friend . . . from Crosscreek.
He stares at me. Crosscreek? You ain’t talkin no sense.
Yes, I am, I says. That wolfdog had one droopy ear an blue eyes. Jest like Tracker. It was him, Lugh, it was Tracker, I’m sure of it.
Wolfdogs got yellow eyes, not blue, says Lugh. Yellow, like these here. An there ain’t no such thing as a tame wolfdog. They’re vicious bastards. Look at you, Saba, yer a mess.
He’s right. I got blood all over me. My boots, my tunic, my britches.
Tracker killed ’em, I says. They was comin fer me an then . . . he come flyin outta nowhere, Lugh, an he fought that one an rippped his throat an then he started in on that one an then I tripped an . . . I remember fallin, I must of hit my head. Must of knocked myself out. When I come to, jest now, Tracker was standin right beside me an—
The moment Lugh hears the words “hit my head”, he pulls me to him an starts pressin an pokin at my head an talkin over me. Fergawdsake, Saba, why didn’t you say?
Ow! I elbow him away. I’m okay, it’s jest a bump.
I’ll be the judge of that, he says. He starts checkin me out, holdin up his pointer finger an movin it back an forth. I follow it with my eyes.
It was Tracker, I says. I swear it was him, Lugh.
He takes me by the shoulders. Looks at me straight. Listen to me, he says. You hit yer head. You bin lyin in the sun fer who knows how long. You must of imagined it. Dreamed it.
No, I says, no, I never.
C’mon, Saba, think about it, he says. What’s the chances of Tracker showin up here, in the middle of nowhere? Crosscreek must be weeks away.
I know that, I says.
So, what’s the chances?
I dunno, I says. I . . . not good, I guess.
More like impossible, he says. An what about this?
Lugh holds up the loose end of a piece of nettlecord rope that’s tied around his right ankle. I look down. I got the same as him, essept around my left ankle. The tether’s bin cut through with a knife, close to my boot, clean an neat. I stare at the cut rope. I fergot all about him an me bein tied together. Lately, when I do sleep, I’ve took to sleepwalkin. Tyin us together was Lugh’s idea to stop me wanderin off an gittin into trouble. Fer my own good, he said. To keep me safe.
I woke up, he says, the rope was cut an you was gone.
Nero flaps down an lands on my head. I wince. Move him to my shoulder. I must of bin sleepwalkin agin, I says.
You tryin to tell me you moved so sneaky in yer sleep? he says. That you cut us apart without wakin me up?
What, you think I did it on purpose? I says.
You tell me, he says.
I–I don’t remember cuttin the rope, I says. I don’t remember how I got here.
Oh gawd, I dunno, maybe you was sleepwalkin. He shakes his head. Jeez, Saba.
Look, I says, all I can remember is, I was huntin an there was this windspringer, runnin in front of a storm—ohmigawd, Lugh, you never seen nuthin like this storm before. There was this . . . long line of twisters, little ones not more’n forty foot high, an they come rollin outta the east, jest sweepin right along there. It was amazin!
I wave my arm at the plain in front of us. Lugh an me look out over the bleak face of the Waste. The mid-mornin sky’s so clear you can see all the way to the horizon an into next week. No bushes ripped out. No churned up ground. Not a single sign that a storm might of passed.
There was a storm, I says, it happened, truly it did. Nero seen it!
I look to him, like he might suddenly start talkin an back me up. But he’s busy with crow concerns, tearin at the ripped flesh of one of the wolfies, gorgin hisself on fresh kill.
Well, anyways, I nearly had him, I says, this springer, but then this pack of wolfies come outta nowhere an two of ’em—these two here—they come at me an then Tracker shows up an they start to fight an . . . then I . . . I fell an hit my head an when I come to, you was here an . . . that’s it.
We stare at each other.
Lugh. Golden as the sun itself. His skin, his long hair that hangs in a plait to his waist. Eyes the blue of a summer sky. So different from me, with my dark hair an eyes. Ma used to say I was the night-time an Lugh was the day. Th’only thing the same is our birthmoon tattoo on our right cheekbones. Pa put ’em there hisself, to mark us out as special. Twins born at the midwinter moon. A rare thing.
Lugh huffs out his breath. Goes to where my bow an quiver lies on the ground, my knife too. While he picks ’em up, he whistles fer the horses an they start pickin their way down the ridge towards us. Hermes an Rip, Tommo’s horse that Lugh rode here on. He comes back. Hands my weapons over.
A full quiver, he says. That means you didn’t shoot even one arrow. Not at the windspringer, not at the wolfies. How come?
I go to speak. Stop myself. I nearly said. It nearly came out. About the shakes an the breathin an . . . the rest. But I cain’t say. I mustn’t. I cain’t burden Lugh with my troubles. His soul’s heavy enough. Whatever it is that ails me, it’ll pass.
Saba! Lugh says. How come you didn’t shoot?
You know what I think? he says. There warn’t no storm. There warn’t no windspringer an there warn’t no blue-eyed wolfdog that come outta nowhere to save yer life. You dreamed the whole thing. You was sleepwalkin.
No, I says. No.
You rode here in yer sleep, he says, an somehow you fell an knocked yerself out. While you was dreamin of blue-eyed wolfdogs an twister storms, these two wolfies an that one I chased off, they sniffed you out an got in a fight over the meat.
What meat? I says.
You, you idiot, he says. I came jest in time to save yer hide. If I hadn’t of, they’d of ripped you to shreds an vultures ’ud be pickin at yer bones right this second.
I glance at the sky. Sure enough, the big dead eaters is startin to circle above the wolfies. No, I says, no, it warn’t like that, Lugh, I swear it was Tracker who—
Shut up! Jest shut up! he explodes. Gawdammit, Saba, give it a rest an stop lyin to me!
His face is hot. Flushed dark red. The little muscle in his jaw—the one Emmi calls his mad muscle—is bunched tight an jumpin. It happens a lot these days. This quick snap of rage.
I ain’t lyin, I says.
Well, you ain’t tellin me the truth, he says.
What, like you tell me the truth? I says.
We stare at each other a long moment. There’s tired lines carved deep in his face. Dark smudges unner his eyes. Suddenly, his shoulders slump. His anger drains away. As quick as it comes, it’s gone.
What’m I gonna do with you? he says. He hooks a arm around my neck an pulls me to him. We lean our foreheads aginst each other. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I . . . I jest want things to be the way they was. I jest want you an me to be us agin.
Me too, I whisper.
You smell bad, he says.
I know, I says.
No, he says, I mean, you smell real bad. I cain’t stand it. He shoves me away. Go cut some big muscle meat offa one of them wolfies, he says. We’ll stew some tonight an wind dry the rest.
Hermes an Rip stand waitin, well away from the dead wolfdogs. While I stone off the vultures an git on with slicin one of the wolfies into chunks, Lugh goes an starts checkin the horses over, bridles, bits an reins, the cattail mats on their backs.
We jest need to git outta this place, I says. It’s doin all our heads in. Is Buck’s leg healed enough fer us to move on?
I ain’t riskin a good horse jest because you cain’t wait to see Jack, says Lugh.
I didn’t say that, I says.
You don’t hafta, he says. I know what you mean.
You do not, I says. Heat starts to crawl up my neck.
Oh really? Then how come yer turnin red? I swear, this . . . obsession you got with him . . . all of yuz. Lugh puts on a silly little voice. D’you remember the time Jack said this? Did I tell you about the time Jack did that? I’m sick of hearin his name.
Anybody’d think you was jealous, I says.
I jest don’t want you to git hurt, says Lugh. I keep tellin you, Saba, he ain’t gonna be there. He ain’t gonna show at the Big Water. Jack’s long gone. A guy like him . . . he gits a whiff of somethin new an he’s off. He’s only in it fer hisself, you can see it in his eyes. Once he’s got what he wants, he moves on.
Jack ain’t like that, I says. My cheeks feel flamin hot now.
What’s the matter? he says. Too close to the mark? What did Jack want from you? Did you give it to him?
Shut yer mouth, I says.
Lugh stops what he’s doin. Gives me a hard stare. Did you lie with him? he says. Is that how you paid him to help find me?
I gasp. Jump to my feet an face him square. You take that back!
I seen the way he looked at you, he says. The way you looked at him.
The way I look at people’s my own business, I says. You took aginst Jack the moment you met him, when all you should be is thankful.
An there it is! he says. The hourly reminder of my debt to Jack.
Well, maybe that’s because you don’t seem to appreciate that you wouldn’t be alive if it warn’t fer him, I says. None of us would. I don’t unnerstand you, Lugh. Why you ain’t grateful that—
Do NOT tell me I oughta be grateful! he yells. He storms over, grabbin my arms, shakin me hard. I am not grateful, d’you hear me? I do not! Wanna! Hafta be . . . grateful.
He ends on a whisper. He stares down at his hands holdin my arms. At his fingers diggin into me. Hangin on to me. Then, Why did you let ’em take me? Why didn’t you an Pa stop ’em?
His voice is so low I hafta lean close in to hear.
We tried to, I says. You know we did. They killed Pa.
He lifts his head. His eyes so bleak. So . . . old. My heart pinches.
You should of found me sooner, he says.
His voice sends a white slash of fear through me. It’s flat. Empty.
Please, Lugh, I whisper, why won’t you tell me what happened to you at Freedom Fields?
Nuthin happened, he says. He turns his eyes away. He lets go my arm. We better git back, he says. They’ll be wonderin where we are.
† † †
We ride back to camp without talkin. Apart.
My head’s tight. It throbs an pounds where the bump is. My eyes burn with uncried tears.
If tears could wash away the bleakness in my brother’s eyes, the white fear flatness of his voice, I’d weep till the end of time. But they cain’t. An I fear there won’t ever be enough tears. Not fer him. Not fer none of us.
All the while I was lookin fer him, all them months, I kept tellin myself the same thing. Over an over. Once I find him, once me an Lugh’s back together agin, we’re gonna be the same as we was before. The way we’ve always bin.
Now I know that was jest the story I told myself. To keep goin. To spur me on to find him. To keep me fightin. To keep me alive.
It’s a good story. I wish it was true. But it ain’t. Because this is the truth.
What happens to you changes you. Fer good or ill, yer changed ferever. There ain’t no goin back. No matter how many tears you cry. It sounds simple, but it ain’t.
It’s a truth that Hopetown nailed through my heart. The first time they put me in the Cage to fight.
My whole life, Lugh’s bin my better self. The light to my dark. We shared a heartbeat in the womb. The blood an breath of our mother. We’re two halfs of one whole.
Now he cain’t help me. I cain’t help him. An we sure as hell cain’t help ourselfs. No, fer the first time ever, Lugh ain’t the one I need.
I need Jack.
Jack.
My longin fer him aches in my bones. His silver eyes, his crooked smile, the smell of his warm skin, sage an sun. But mostly I long fer, mostly I ache fer, his stillness. The stillness at the heart of him. Like calm water.
Lugh’s wrong about him. Couldn’t be more wrong. If Jack says he’ll meet me at the Big Water, he will. He keeps his promises. All I need is to see him agin. To be with him, to talk with him. We’ll talk about it, we’ll talk about everythin, an he’ll listen an he’ll help me figger out how to fix things, how to make it all better. How to make me an Lugh better.
He’ll banish the shadows. He’ll silence the whispers. An the wounds of my soul will heal.
I jest need Jack.
He’ll make everythin all right.
† † †
We’re nearly back at camp. Suddenly, somethin catches Lugh’s eye. He squints east, into the distance. I do too. There’s a trail of dust slowly snakin this way.
Throw me the looker, he says. The first words since we left the ridge. He lifts it to his eyes. Another wagon train, he says. How many’s that since we bin stopped here?
Four—no, five, I says.
A lotta people on the move these days, even in this hellhole. He watches fer a bit. Same as always, he says. Sick lookin. Old. Useless.
Let’s talk to these ones, Lugh, I says. Maybe they could help us. We could travel with ’em.
I bin takin care of this family since I was eight, he says. I think I know what’s best. You sayin I don’t?
No, I says, no, I didn’t mean to—
We don’t need nobody’s help, he says. Well, they better not come lookin fer water. We ain’t got none to spare.
I’ll watch till they pass, I says.
He nods. Tosses me the looker. Sing out if they head this way, he says.
Hey, Lugh?
Yeah?
You an me, we’re . . . okay, ain’t we?
His smile don’t reach his eyes. Of course we are, he says. He clicks at Rip an they disappear around the hill.
Our camp’s set up in the lee of the best windbreak fer leagues around—a great carhill, made back in Wrecker times. We had one near us at Silverlake. Pa figgered that carhills must of bin some kinda tech worship thing the Wreckers did. The land took hold of this one a long time ago. Covered it with earth an grass all over, hid it away from view. But on the windward side, you can see bits of crushed, rusted car. A nose here, a tail end there. Around th’other side, there’s a grove of spindly scrub pine an a waterhole an that’s where we are. So close to the carhill, you’d esspeck the water to be rustwater, but this one ain’t. Still, it’s only a puddle, jest enough fer us an the horses.
I git down from Hermes an scramble up the hill. I fix the looker on the dust trail. It ain’t long before the travelers come into plain view. There’s three wagons in this train. First comes a old woman on boarback, wild haired an bent. Next, a man an woman in a mule cart. She fans flies away from the limp child in her lap. Bringin up the rear, a girl about my age pedals a three-tire trolley.
I wait. They pass, too far away to see me an I’m well hid besides. Still, the driver of the mule cart lifts his head. Turns it this way. Maybe the sun caught on the glass of my looker. A brief glance, then he sets his face forwards once agin.
He’s bitter-faced, sick yellow skin. With the look of a man who’s left any hope by the side of the road a long way back. A sorry crew, altogether. They look like they’re carryin sickness. Maybe the blood lung, maybe worse. Fer definite we don’t want ’em stoppin to ask fer no water.
Old folk. Weak men an women. Sickly young. Jest like th’other wagon trains we seen crossin the Waste. Not one person lookin fit enough to travel good roads, let alone this one. Lugh’s right. People’s on the move west.
I wonder why.
Not jest wagons, lone travelers too. We found the leftover bits of one fella. Well, Nero did. Dead eaters had bin at him, jackals an vultures, so you couldn’t tell much. Jest his hair color an boot size. The boots was good an they fit Tommo. You never feel right, takin from the dead. But he wouldn’t be doin no more walkin an Tommo would. We piled rocks over what was left of him an Lugh said a few respeckful words.
I watch till it’s clear this train ain’t gonna stop. Then I head around the hill to camp.
† † †
There’s one good thing in all this. It turns out that Tommo’s a genius cook. Ike learned him in the kitchen of The One-Eyed Man, where they had to feed travelers day after day.
He roasts an bastes. He stirs an tastes. He mashes an crushes an boils. Then he’ll sprinkle a pinch from his herb bag an whatever limped into the pot comes high-steppin into our mouths. We bin stuck with crickets an small lizard fer some time, which don’t even start to kill our hunger. Tommo does champion with the wolfdog an, fer once, our tight bellies ease. Strange to say, but I ain’t much bothered by bein hungry. I know I am, my stummick tells me so, I jest don’t seem to care. I give half my portion to Tommo.
The day slouches towards night. The pines around us settle in. Their parched needles sigh in the warm breeze. Their tired sweetness gentles the air. After Tommo’s finished cookin, we keep the small bitterbrush fire goin, not fer warmth so much as comfort.
I sit unner a tree, apart from everybody. It took three pans of precious water to boil wash the wolfdog blood from my clothes. I huddle in my skivvies, wrapped in a blanket while they drip dry on a branch.
My bones ache with weariness. I long fer sleep. But it won’t come. I won’t let it. I don’t dare.
I can feel the shadows gatherin.
Earlier, Lugh an Tommo made a rack from deadwood an hung thin slices of wolfie meat to air dry. Now they lift an twist in the breeze—rustlin, whisperin wind chimes.
Once we’ve scoured our eatin tins clean with pine needles, we settle down to eventide tasks. Everybody but me, that is. Tommo starts to fashion two new cleft poles fer his sleep skellie. His old ones snapped in the middle of last night an the whole shebang collapsed on top of him. Lugh’s mendin his boot sole with a chunk of goodyear.
Emmi’s playin dice with Nero. It’s his favorite game, but ever since Jack learned him to cheat Em’s th’only one’ll give him a game. She’s on a mission to mend his wicked ways. Tonight, she’s kept aside a fried locust fer a reward.
No, she says. Cheatin crows do not git bugs. Well, if you want one, play proper. Now, watch me. You see? Okay, now you go. No . . . no, Nero! Oh, I give up.
She leaves him to gobble the bug an comes to crouch beside me. That bird of yers is a lost cause, she says. Jack’s a bad inflamence. When I see him, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Fancy teachin innocent crows to cheat.
He tried to pick my pocket th’other day, I says. You can lay that at Jack’s door too.
Jack’s a rascal, all right, she says. He must be at the Big Water by now. Probly bin there ages. He must think we ain’t comin. D’you think he’ll . . . he will wait fer us, won’t he?
I keep tellin you, Saba, Jack ain’t gonna show at the Big Water. He’s long gone. A guy like him’s only in it fer hisself. Once he’s got what he wants, he moves on.
I shut my ears to Lugh’s voice in my head.
He’ll be there, I says. You know Jack keeps his word.
Yeah, she says. You miss him, I can tell.
Without thinkin, my hand goes to the heartstone around my neck. But of course, it ain’t there. Not really, I says.
Yer such a bad liar, she says. Anyways, I seen you an him love kissin that time. You had yer hands on his—
Shut up, Em!
Well, I miss him, she says. I miss him heaps. I wish he was here right this very second. Jack always makes things okay. Even when they’re real bad.
Yeah, I says.
Her eyes flick to Lugh. I bet he’d know what to do about Lugh, she says. Seems like he’s mad all the time these days. I dunno why. If I ask him what’s the matter, it jest makes him worse. I want th’old Lugh back. I miss him most of all.
She’s quiet fer a moment, rollin the dice around in her fingers. He told me an Tommo how he found you, she says, with the dead wolfdogs an all. He said you thought you seen Tracker.
Guess I made a mistake, I says. Lugh figgers I was sleepwalkin. Tracker’d never go nowhere without Mercy.
She hesitates, lookin at me sidewise, then says, I’m worried about you, Saba.
Don’t be.
Well, I am. You ain’t sick, are you? You’d tell me if you was sick.
No, I says. But I ain’t.
Jest becuz I’m nine, don’t mean I’m a stupid little kid. You should know that by now. She leans in close. Don’t tell Lugh, she whispers, but I bin askin the stars how to help you.
Don’t git started with all that, Emmi. You know what Lugh thinks about star readin.
Jest then, he calls out, Hey, Em, I nearly fergot! Come meet Fred!
What? Her face lights with surprised delight. She leaps up an scoots over to the boys. I breathe with relief. A dog with a bone ain’t got nuthin on my sister.
Em’s got this peg doll, Fern, that Pa made when she was two. She’s bin buggin Lugh to death an back to whittle a husband fer Fern. The moment she had the idea, she started callin the damn thing Fred.
You made him in secret, I never knew! She takes Fred from Lugh. Gasps an laughs at the same time. No! she cries. Lugh, you made his nose huge! Yer a bad tease . . . Oh, you gotta fix it, Fern wants a handsome husband.
Lugh shakes his head, sayin, Oh no, Fern told me herself, whittle me a distinguished husband, if you please, Lugh. Make sure you give him a fine, big nose.
She did not!
Look what I made! Tommo digs in his pocket an hands her a lump of wood.
Oh! Emmi looks puzzled at it fer a moment, then beams at him. That’s good, Tommo. You made a pig! She squishes her nose flat an snorfles like a piggy. She’s always actin out so’s Tommo knows what she means. She don’t need to. He lip-reads easy, so long as you don’t talk too fast.
He frowns. No, he says. Their baby.
A wolfdog howl splits the night. Not far away. We tense. Another dog answers. Then another.
Tommo looks a question at Lugh. Wolfdogs, he tells him.
Emmi shivers, her eyes big. They sound near, she says.
Naw, says Lugh, they’re a long ways off. But he pulls his bow an quiver a little closer. He shoves more wood on the fire to build up the blaze. Don’t worry, Em, yer big bad brother’ll keep them big bad wolfies away.
Emmi snugs into his side. He puts his arm around her. Hey, Lugh, she says, what do the stars say about the Big Water?
A mistake. She knows it the moment the words leave her mouth.
Lugh’s face darkens. How many times do I gotta tell you, Em? Star readin’s a crock. Madmen an simpletons, that’s who believes in it. His voice is harsh, lashes at her.
Emmi says, But Pa always—
That’s enough! says Lugh.
Tommo breaks the tension. Tell a story, Lugh, he says. Say what it’s like at the Big Water.
He moves around to sit at Lugh’s feet. Leans in so’s he can watch his lips. So’s he don’t miss a single word. Tommo cain’t git enough of Lugh’s yarns about what it’s like out west. In fact, he cain’t git enough of Lugh full stop.
Tommo took Ike’s death hard. He’s still mournin an no wonder. Ike took him in, starved an half wild, after he found him hidin in the stables of The One-Eyed Man. He kept him, taught him an called him son fer goin on three year. Tommo won’t never ferget him.
But the last little while, I noticed how close he watches Lugh. He’s started to copy Lugh’s ways. His walk, how he holds his reins an wears his hat. He used to do the same with Ike.
Ike’s take on it went like this. Tommo’s own pa went off huntin one day an never come back. He told his boy—a young deaf boy, can you believe anybody’d do such a thing? Ike said, shakin his head—he told him not to leave their camp, not to budge from that spot, he’d be back soon. That was the last Tommo ever seen of him. Missin, presumed dead. Killed by the beast he was huntin or injured an couldn’t find his way back.
Tommo never got over it, accordin to Ike. He said he’d always be lookin fer his dead pa. I never gave much credence to Ike’s notion, but now, seein how Tommo is with Lugh, I wonder if he might not of bin onto somethin.
Our pa was with us. Till the Tonton killed him that day. But he might as well not of bin, fer all the good it did us. Lugh was me an Em’s brother, ma an pa all rolled up in one.
Lugh spins his yarn into the night. The Big Water’s like somethin from a dream, he says. Think of the best dream you ever had in yer life an it’s a thousand times better’n that. A million times more wonderful. It’s a land so rich an green an beautiful that when you see it fer the first time, you’ll wish you could die right there an then.
Lugh always starts his Big Water tales the same way, with the same words. I yawn. I close my eyes an settle back to listen. This is the Lugh we know. Tellin stories. Makin us smile. Holdin us together.
Say about the rabbits, says Em. They’re Tommo’s favorite bit.
Agin? All right, says Lugh. Well, there’s rabbits everywhere at the Big Water. As far as the eye can see, nuthin but rabbits. You cain’t move fer trippin over ’em. An you ain’t never seen ones like these fellas. They’re big. Fat an juicy an lazy from doin nuthin but nibble on sweet, green grass all day long. An they’re so tame an so dumb that when you wanna eat, all you do is set yer pot to boilin, yell out ‘Supper time!’ an them rabbits march right up to the pot, hop in an pull the lid over. An they whistle while they do it.
Rabbits don’t whistle! says Emmi.
Well, you say that, says Lugh, but I heard it from a man, an he heard it from another man who seen it fer hisself an. . .
† † †
A flash of light. Epona stands alone. Darkness all around her.
There’s only the sound of my heart. Beat, beat, beat.
She looks over her shoulder. Like there’s somethin behind her. She turns back. Sees me. Nods. I look down at my hands. I’m holdin a bow. I ain’t seen it before, but I know that it’s mine. Pale wood, silvery white.
I bring it up. Fit a arrow to the string. I nock. I aim. She starts to run towards me. Throws her arms wide open.
I shoot.
There’s a flash of light.
An I’m standin over the body. Lookin down on it.
But it ain’t Epona.
It’s DeMalo.
He opens his eyes.
He smiles.
† † †
I jolt awake, sit up, my heart poundin.
He’s here. DeMalo’s here. I look around, frantic. Lugh an Tommo an Emmi. They lie in their sleep skellies. Fast to sleep each one. Nero on his branch. The horses slumberin.
Okay. He ain’t here. Calm down. It was jest a dream. I clutch my blanket to my chest.
DeMalo. Since I seen him last—at Pine Top Hill—I managed to keep him outta my mind. But he’s found his way to my dreams. His powerful body. His long dark hair. Broad cheekbones. Heavy-lidded eyes. Deep brown, almost black, glitterin in the torchlight of the cellblock at Hopetown.
Lookin deep inside me. Findin my darkest thoughts, my worst fears. Like he knew me. The strangest thing was this . . . pull that I felt towards him. It was real. Physical. Despite he’s th’only person I ever met who gave off warm an cold at the same time. An I still don’t unnerstand why he spared my life. Twice, he did it. I’m glad fer it, I’m grateful, but he’s Tonton. My enemy. It didn’t make sense then an it still don’t.
An his last words to me. As he cut the ropes that bound my hands, right there in front of Vicar Pinch. Until next time. Like he knew we’d meet agin.
Until next time.
No. Don’t think about it. I take a couple of deep breaths.
I’m still huddled aginst the same tree. I must of dozed off listenin to Lugh talk about the Big Water. It’s the flat gray time. Night’s on the wane. Maybe two hours till dawn. It ain’t cooled down much overnight. The air feels thick an dull.
Sabaaaa. Saabaaaa.
It’s Epona’s voice.
Epona. Dead by my hand.
Saba.
There she is agin. No, please, I’m . . . so tired . . . I’m still dreamin. That’s it, I’m dreamin or . . . maybe it was the wolfdogs that I heard, howlin agin in the distance.
Then.
A movement in the trees. Straight ahead, on th’other side of the clearin. My heart pitches. Starts to race. I hug the blanket around me.
Epona? I whisper. Epona, is that you?
Even as I speak, even as I ask, I know the answer to be yes.
The merciful thing to do. The right thing. The only thing. That’s what they said. That’s what they told me. Before I did it an afterwards too. Jack an Ike an Ash. If I hadn’t of killed her, one of them would of had to. Jack said he would. He wanted to spare me. But I knew it had to be me. She was only there becuz of me. Helpin me find my brother.
Kill Epona. Kill my friend. One shot from my bow, quick an clean. Or leave her to Vicar Pinch an the Tonton. Men without mercy.
But how do I know I killed her? What if she didn’t die outright? What if she was still alive when she fell? What if the Tonton handed her over to them slave workers, crazy from too much chaal? They would of tore her apart. Jest like all the girls I beat in Hopetown. The ones who fell to the gauntlet.
Sabaaaa.
My hands shakin, I reach fer my bow an quiver. I git to my feet. Nero’s roostin on a branch above me. He wakes right away. Stretches out his wings an legs.
Another movement. There’s somethin there, slippin between the trees, but I cain’t quite . . . it seems to change, to shift like . . . smoke or fog. Darker gray than the pre-dawn light, hazy around the edges. I cross the clearin an peer through the gloom.
Saba.
On a sigh, on a murmur, her voice drifts around me. Liftin my hair, brushin my cheek. It draws me on, into the trees, step by step by step.
Nero flits ahead. A black shape, coastin from branch to branch. A shadow chasin a shadow. He seems to see her. This . . . shade of my friend. We trail her now, twistin an weavin through the trees in a game of follow-the-ghost.
Then we’re outta the woods. In the open agin. An she’s gone. Epona’s gone. But she was here. She was. Here.
Epona, I says. Come back. Please.
The buttes an hills of the Waste wait, crouched dark aginst the skyline. The fadin stars watch. An listen.
Nuthin.
Nuthin.
I hug my arms around me, shiverin. I better git back to camp before I’m missed.
I turn.
An she’s here. Right in front of me. Tracker too. He stands by her side.
It’s Epona. But not like she was. In life, she gleamed an shone. Her nut-brown skin, her eyes, her hair. So strong an alive you’d swear the earth itself had birthed her.
She’s a child of the air now. Fog an mist. She drifts. She gathers. She fades.
Epona, I says.
Sabaaaa, the air whispers.
Tell me what you want, I says.
Suddenly I feel it. The weight of my bow. I’m holdin it in my hand.
A bow helps feed you. Helps you defend yerself an yer people. A bow means you got a better chance of stayin alive. But it takes life. Not jest animals. People.
Friends.
Like Epona.
I’m holdin the bow that killed her.
I don’t stop to think. With one swift move, I break it over my knee.
It falls to the ground, shattered. The shaft’s splintered the whole way along. It cain’t be mended.
No more killin. Not by me.
I look up.
Epona’s gone.
Tracker’s gone.
An Emmi’s there.
† † †
She’s standin at the edge of the trees. She comes to me.
Did you see her? I says. It was Epona, she was here. Tracker too, did you see him?
Emmi picks up the pieces of my bow an hides ’em in a split in a nearby rock. Nero perches on top, leanin over to look at what she’s doin. Then she takes my hand. Hers is small an warm. Mine’s cold.
C’mon, Saba, she says. You need some sleep.
They was right here, I says. You must of seen ’em.
They’re gone now, she says.
She starts leadin me back to camp. I look over my shoulder. I don’t wanna miss ’em if they come back.
Somewhere out in the nowhere land, a wolfdog howls. Distant an mournful. I stop.
Did you hear that? I says. It’s Tracker.
C’mon, says Em.
Our campsite’s quiet. Lugh an Tommo’s still fast to sleep. Nero settles back to his roost. I lie on the ground an wrap myself in my blanket. Em brings her bedroll an lays down beside me.
I won’t tell Lugh, she says. I won’t say nuthin. You gotta be okay, Saba. We all need you.
She looks at me. I look at her. At her eyes, jest like Lugh’s. Eyes so blue you could sail away on ’em, that’s what Ma used to say.
You look different, I says.
I’m taller, she says. I’m growin. That’s what kids do. I’m almost ten.
Oh.
Hey, Saba?
Did you really see Epona? she says.
Yeah, I says.
I wish I could see Pa. I miss him. D’you miss him?
Such a simple question. So like Em. An I’m ambushed by sudden grief. I cain’t answer right away.
When I was yer age, I whisper, he was different. You never knew him like that. He was . . . I dunno. He was my pa, that’s all. That’s who I miss.
It’s okay to be sad, she says.
I scrub away the stupid tears.
I wish I could meet Ma, she says. Jest once. D’you think she’d come if I asked her to?
I don’t think it works that way, I says.
She’s silent fer a moment. Then she says, You ain’t gonna die, are you, Saba?
One day, I says. But not today. Go to sleep.
G’night. She snugs down into her bedroll.
I roll onto my back an stare at the sky. I think about Pa an watch the last of the stars fade as dawn creeps in.
Read me the stars, Pa. Tell me what they say.
When Pa was a boy, he met with a traveler. A man who knew many things. He learned Pa how to read the stars. From when we was little, Pa would tell us how our destiny, the story of our lives, is in the night sky. He never would say what he seen there. But it laid heavy on him, you could tell. From the way he looked at Lugh sometimes. The way he looked at me.
Lugh come to disbelieve star readin an all that. I guess he’s right. But still, Pa knew somethin. He did. I was there. I heard him say it.
Pa! I yell. They got Lugh! I grab his arm, give him a hard shake. This is real! You gotta fight!
Then it’s like he comes to life. He pulls hisself up tall, his eyes spark an the Pa I remember’s back. He hauls me to him, holds me so tight I cain’t hardly breathe.
My time’s nearly up, he says quickly.
No, Pa!
Listen. I dunno what happens after this. I could only see glimpses. But they’re gonna need you, Saba. Lugh an Emmi. An there’ll be others too. Many others. Don’t give in to fear. Be strong, like I know you are. An never give up, d’you unnerstand, never. No matter what happens.
I won’t, I says. I ain’t no quitter, Pa.
That’s my girl.
Then they killed him. The Tonton. They killed my pa an took my Lugh an left the shadows behind.
† † †
The moment Lugh’s awake, he jumps up, checks out Buck’s leg an tells us we’re on the move agin. Jest like that.
As we break camp an start to pack the horses, nobody says a word. The air’s tight. Ready to snap. Lugh’s dancin mad about somethin. Tommo keeps his head down, outta the line of fire. Emmi looks at me, wide-eyed. What’s the matter with Lugh?
So, Saba, he says, where’s yer bow? His voice is fake casual. So that’s it. He knows. Over Hermes’ back, I look at Em. The tiniest shake of her head. She ain’t told. I wonder what he knows. I decide to tell as little as I can git away with.
It’s broke, I says.
Is that right, he says.
I busy myself adjustin Hermes’ bit. I must of bin sleepwalkin agin, I says. Must of fell an broke it.
Emmi? he says. You got anythin to say about this?
She goes bright red. No, she says.
Well, try this, he says. Saba broke her bow on purpose. An you hid the pieces in a rock. An then both of yuz decided to keep it from me. How about that?
All right, I says, you followed us an you seen what happened. Jest leave it, okay?
No, I won’t leave it, he says. You broke yer gawdamn bow, Saba. Was you sleepwalkin? An don’t lie to me.
I was sleepwalkin, I lie.
Yer lyin, he says. I always know when yer lyin. Why’d you do it? Why would you do that?
Don’t jest stand there, he yells, tell me, gawdammit! Why’d you break yer gawdamn bow?
The horses shy an whinny. Lugh looks at me, his face tight with worry an . . . somethin else. Fear. I cain’t burden him no more. An if I tell him about Epona, he’ll think I’m crazy. I ain’t. I ain’t crazy. She was there.
I was sleepwalkin, I says.
I’m jest tryin to keep us all together, he says, to give us a better life than Pa did an all you seem to care about is yerself or . . . I dunno, I got no idea what yer thinkin. I feel like I don’t know you no more. He shakes his head. Fine. Whatever. What the hell, it ain’t like you use the damn thing. It ain’t like me an Tommo don’t do all the huntin anyways.
We mount up. Nero sails down an lands on my shoulder.
Yer gittin more like Pa every day, says Lugh.
How d’you mean? I says.
You figger it out.
He heels Buck an pushes past. Tommo’s right behind him. Em looks at me a moment, her face like a worried old woman, then she hurries after ’em.
I sit there on Hermes. The pines murmur to each other.
More like Pa every day. I favor him in looks—black hair, brown eyes—but that ain’t what Lugh meant. No. What he means is I’m goin crazy. Jest like Pa. Our hopeless, helpless father, his reason snatched by death. The death of Ma, who breathed her last as Emmi breathed her first. Pa was left a broke soul with a broke mind. He got worse an worse as time went on.
I ain’t like Pa. Nuthin like Pa.
Please.
Don’t let me be like Pa.
† † †
Somethin’s followin me. Somethin or . . . somebody. It’s bin there most of the day. It’s mid-afternoon now.
I could turn around an look. If I did that once, I did it a hunnerd times already. The feelin that somethin’s there . . . it’s kept me checkin back over my shoulder, agin an agin. Every time I don’t see a thing but where we jest come from.
Still. There’s this heaviness in the air behind me. Like somethin’s settled there. Like somethin’s takin up space.
I feel it on the back of my neck. My skin prickles with it. I know it’s there. I jest cain’t see it.
Not yet, anyways.
† † †
Now I hear hoofs. The dry thud of hoofs on hard ground. There’s a horse behind me. Not in a hurry. Keepin pace. Keepin me company.
A shiver ripples through me. My hands feel so cold. Even though today’s the kinda day when the world shimmers white with heat. I huddle inside my sheema.
I gotta take a look.
I hold my breath. I look over my right shoulder.
A little ways behind me, a shape lies jagged along the ground. It’s black. Like it’s bin cut out of the night sky. It’s a horse. An a rider.
My heart starts bangin aginst my ribs. I stare. This ain’t the time of day fer shadows. I look away quick. A heavy, sick feelin grips my stummick. Hermes snorts an tosses his head. He’s nervous. That ain’t like him. I press with my heels an he picks up speed. The hoofbeats behind us quicken. I glance back.
The black shape’s keepin pace.
I know the line of that neck. That head. Many times before, when she still drew breath, we’d be ridin an I’d look over my shoulder, jest like now. She’d smile or say somethin to cheer me up.
Epona.
I bring Hermes to a halt. The shadow rider stops too. I stare down at my hands. They tremble on the reins.
Epona, I says. Whaddya want from me?
Silence. Nero flies above. He caw caw caws. Does he see her too?
Breakin my bow warn’t enough. I gotta pay proper fer what I did. She’ll pace me. Stalk me. Haunt my nights an dog my days till I lay myself down, bare my throat an beg her to finish me off. She must be paid in kind fer her lost life.
Why should I be alive when yer dead? I says. That’s it, aint it? I know I got no right to be.
The jangle of her horse’s bridle. Hermes sidesteps, his eyes rollin as he tosses his head. I grip the reins harder.
Tell me what to do, I says. Please, Epona. Say somethin.
My whole body’s shakin. I’m cold to the bone. Slow, oh so slowly, I turn to look behind me.
She’s gone.
† † †
Epona’s bin ridin with me fer the past two days. An now it ain’t jest her. There’s more of ’em.
One by one, they appeared. But these ones ain’t on horseback, like Epona. They’re on foot. They hide, jest at the edge of my sight. Or I catch a glimpse of somethin—a flash of light, a rush of dark—as they dart behind a rock or a tree. I hear the sound of runnin feet. Laughter. It’s like they’re playin a game.
I cain’t never git a proper look. They move so quick.
I know who they are. It’s Helen. Helen an the rest of ’em from Hopetown. Every girl I ever fought in the Cage. Every girl I beat. An I beat them all.
They call me the Angel of Death. That’s cuz I ain’t never lost a fight.
If you lost three times, you ran the gauntlet. Nobody survived the gauntlet. The frantic hands of the crowd, tearin at you, pullin you down. I used to turn my back so’s I couldn’t see. But I could hear. I heard everythin. It all went in. Every touch an smell an taste an sound. Every girl I fought is part of me now. I’m the terror in her eyes, her hunger to live, the scent of death-so-near on her skin.
An here they are. It’s a relief to see them. At last, I know who the shades are. Who’s bin whisperin on the wind ever since we come to the Waste. They’re waitin fer their moment to git me. To take me. I’m so tired. I cain’t hold ’em off much longer.
They’re bold. Emmi could be ridin beside me, or Lugh or Tommo, an they’ll still git up to their tricks. Earlier today, one of ’em even dashed right in front of Hermes. If I hadn’t of hauled on his reins, he would of trampled her.
I try not to sleep at night. If I don’t sleep, nobody can come an take me. Take me away from Lugh an Emmi an Tommo. Or take them away from me. We’ll all be safe as long as I stay awake.
But sometimes, sheer exhaustion snatches me. Not fer long, but when it does, I dream of Jack. Fevered, shallow dreams or . . . or maybe they’re visions, I dunno. They’re always the same. He’s trapped in the darkness. No, that ain’t right—he’s trapped by the darkness. Down the corridors I run, up the stairs. I open the door. An I search fer him. I search an I call his name, but I never find him.
I can never find my way to Jack.
Dark dreams by night. Dark shadows by day.
The days an nights melt, one into th’other, till it’s hard to tell sleepin from wakin. If the sun didn’t rise an set, I might not know at all.
† † †
I’m runnin. I gotta find Jack. I know he’s here.
Down a long, dark corridor. Torches throw ragged shadows across the stone walls. The only sound is me. My footsteps. My breathin. I got the heartstone in my hand. It’s warm. That means Jack’s close by.
Saba.
The voice brushes past me on a gust of cold air. The wall torches flicker. I stop. I’m at the bottom of a stone staircase. It’s steep, winds sharply upwards.
Saba. Saba.
The voice runs along the walls an up my spine. It settles in the dark places, deep inside of me. Like it belongs there. Jack’s voice. Or . . . no, I cain’t be certain. All I know is, I heard it before. But I cain’t remember where or when.
I clutch the heartstone even tighter.
Jack! I grab a wall torch, shine it up the staircase. Is that you? Stay there, I’m comin!
Hurry, hurry, hurry. The voice sighs down my neck, prickles my arms. I start to climb the stairs. When I git to the top, there’s a wooden door. Old, scarred.
I hold up the heartstone. It’s burnin hot now. He’s on th’other side. The sound of a heartbeat. In my head, all around me, everywhere. So loud.
Jack, I says. Are you there?
I turn the handle. I open the door.
It’s ripped from my hand. I cry out. Brace myself. The wind tears the door from its hinges an it flies off into the darkness.
It’s a doorway to nowhere.
I’m at the top of a tower. Jagged mountains rise around me. A great chasm yawns below. All is emptiness, vastness, blackness.
I cling to the door frame. The wind sucks at me, plucks at me, shriekin its rage.
Jack! I scream. Jack!
Then I’m fallin. Fallin. Fallin.
† † †
Lugh pushed us on today. We traveled long an hard. It was dark by the time we set up camp behind the rusted hulk of a great boat, stranded in ancient times when the waters it sailed on dried to dust. It’s the best shelter fer miles around, but still the sharpwinds find us. They come whinin, stingin our faces with their fiery bite. Clouds scud across the sky. Break over the face of the moon. There ain’t no stars tonight. A wolfdog howls not far away.
I’m crouched on the edge of the campsite. I keep my back to the rest of ’em. If they see, they’ll come sniffin around, askin questions. They watch me all the time. I cain’t do nuthin without somebody pokin their nose in.
I gotta git it off. This blood on my hands. Soap leaf in boilin water, horsetail . . . it ain’t none of it worked. The blood’s dried so dark it’s almost black. Unner my nails too. I noticed it today, while I was talkin to Epona. They must of got stained when I butchered the wolfdogs. Gotta git ’em clean before Lugh sees. He’s ever so particular. He always said Pa might not care but that didn’t mean us kids couldn’t be decent.
I’m diggin unner my nails with a stick. C’mon, I mutter, c’mon, shift, you bastard. But it won’t. I grab a rough stone an start scrubbin at my arms, the palms of my hand. Dammit, why won’t it come out? I grit my teeth an scrub harder. I glance over my shoulder. Check to make sure nobody ain’t noticed.
They’re all starin at me. Tommo, Lugh an Emmi. Sittin there by the fire with their eatin tins.
What? I says.
Tommo’s called you three times, says Lugh.
I go to join ’em. They’re almost finished. Tommo serves prairie dog stew into my eatin tin. Hey, I says, don’t this look good, Tommo. I’m that hungry I could eat my boots.
It’s a lie. I ain’t hungry. I ain’t never hungry these days. I tip most of it to Nero on the sly.
As I go to take my food, Tommo says, Saba! Yer hands!
I shove ’em behind my back. I’ve gone hot. My face, my neck, my chest. Tommo knows. He seen the stains, he knows what it is. Now they’ll all know.
Emmi an Lugh’s both jumped up at Tommo’s words. Lugh reaches behind me. Grabs my hands an turns ’em over. They all exclaim.
Ohmigawd, Saba! says Lugh. You got blood all over ’em. What’ve you done?
I tried to clean ’em, I says. I bin scrubbin an scrubbin, but they . . . they won’t come out, the bloodstains won’t come out. I’m sorry, Lugh.
You poor fool, he says. There ain’t no bloodstains. You scrubbed ’em raw.
I stare down at the palms of my hands. He’s right. I scraped the skin off. Scraped ’em to a bloody mess. There ain’t no dark bloodstains. None at all, not unner my nails, nowhere.
They was there, I says. I swear they was.
Okay, says Lugh. That’s it, that’s enough. Emmi, git the medicine bag. Tommo, bring some hot water. C’mere, Saba, c’mon. He makes me sit on the ground. He drapes a blanket around my shoulders.
Emmi bustles back with our little skinbag of remedies. Herbs an leafs, tinctures an ointments. Tommo brings a basin of water. Emmi kneels beside me an commences to clean my hands with a soft cloth. I’ll try not to hurt you, she says.
Lugh an Tommo crouch in close. Watch me close.
Such serious faces, I says. Am I in trouble?
What’s goin on, Saba? says Lugh. An I don’t want no snow job. The truth this time.
We wanna help you, says Tommo.
I don’t need no help, I says.
You jest tried to scrub away bloodstains that ain’t there, says Lugh.
You sleepwalk, says Tommo.
Yer seein things. Emmi don’t look at me as she speaks. Her gentle fingers spread sagewort salve on my raw hands, tie strips of cloth around. Like today, she says, when you jumped all of a sudden. You seen somethin. Somethin or somebody. They ran in front of the horses, didn’t they? I couldn’t see nuthin cuz there warn’t nuthin there to see. But you do. You see things all the time.
What is it you see? says Lugh. Who do you see?
My chest’s startin to feel tight. Like there’s a band around it. Nobody, I says. Nuthin. I dunno what yer on about.
We all seen you, he says. You talk to the air, like somebody’s there, beside you. Who is it?
Nobody, I says. Leave me alone.
It’s yer dead friend, ain’t it? he says. Epona. You see the dead, Saba. You talk to the dead.
I snatch my hands from Emmi. Glare at her. I knew I couldn’t trust you! I says.
I warn’t gonna say nuthin, she says, truly I warn’t, but . . . yer gittin worser an worser all the time. I’m worried about you, Saba. We all are. You need help.
You think I’m crazy, I says. Nobody says naught. Nobody lets their eyes meet mine. Then,
Yeah, says Lugh. We do.
Suddenly, rage takes me. It’s nowhere. Then it’s everywhere. The red hot. It floods me, blinds me, chokes me. I leap at Lugh. I knock him backwards. We roll on the ground. I punch, I kick, I claw.
From a long ways off, I can hear Emmi screamin. Tommo shoutin. Hands pullin at me. Screamin. Yellin. Lugh kicks an struggles beneath me. I’m sittin on his chest.
Emmi’s sobbin. Stop it, Saba! Stop it! You’ll kill him!
The red hot starts to fade. I come to. My hands is tight around Lugh’s throat. My thumbs pressin on his windpipe. He’s got his hands on mine, tryin to pull ’em away. His eyes wide with panic an fear.
Lugh’s afeared of me.
I let go. He gasps. Drags desperate air into his lungs.
My shakin hand reaches out. I touch his throat. The marks of my fingers pressed deep into his flesh. The necklace I made him fer our eighteen year birthday. I touch the little ring of shiny green glass. The memory of our lost selfs. Jest barely do I touch it. In case it disappears.
I climb off. I kneel in the dirt at his side.
I almost killed him. I tried to kill Lugh.
Emmi’s weepin. Lugh’s chest heaves, his eyes dark with shock. I’ve blooded his nose.
The red hot’s gone. Jest as quick as it come, it went. I’m limp. Exhausted. Numb. I turn my head so’s I don’t hafta look at him.
He gits slowly to his feet. He reaches down a hand to help me up. We stand there. He swipes his nose with his sleeve.
Tears start to roll down my cheeks. He wipes ’em away, but they keep on comin. Silent. Never endin. They splash in the dust at my feet. But I ain’t cryin.
You jest gotta hang on a bit longer, he says. Jest a few more weeks an we’ll be at the Big Water an . . . when we git there, when we . . . git out west, it’s all gonna be okay. We got such a good life waitin fer us there.
The words halt from him. On a hoarse whisper. Like a story bein told fer the very last time. With nobody there to hear it.
Did I say how the, uh . . . I tell you, Saba, the land out there’s so rich . . . all you gotta do is shove a stick in the ground, an the next day there’s a full-grown nut tree, right where that stick went in. Wouldn’t that be a . . . a wondrous sight? If you seen that, you’d think it was a dream, wouldn’t you? I’d sure like to see that. Emmi an Tommo too, we’d . . . we’d all like to see that. An we will. We will.
I watch his lips move. I hear his words. His voice sounds muffled, like he’s unner water. He puts his arms around me. He hangs onto me. His whole body’s shakin.
Whatever’s broke, he says, I can fix it. I’ll fix it all. I promise.
† † †
The land’s bare of tree. White of rock. No clouds. No shade. No shelter. The sun grills. The earth bakes. Sullen dust dogs our heels.
We plod along, Hermes an me. We lag well behind the rest. I stare at my hands on the reins. Inside my head, I’m more’n halfways to somewhere else. Somewhere blank an white an endless. My brain’s flat. I don’t care if we ride the Waste ferever.
Somethin dashes in front of us. Cuts across Hermes. He rears an squeals, his forelegs beatin high in the air. I grab the reins to stop from fallin. Sounds crash at me. Slam me. Shock me to life.
It’s a blue-eyed wolfdog. With one droopy ear. It’s him. It’s Tracker. He’s here.
He darts at Hermes. In an out. In an out. Hermes shies an dances an squeals. I grip hard with my knees. Hang on the reins. I’m only jest managin to keep my seat.
Up ahead, I can hear Lugh yellin, Wolfdog! The three of ’em wheel around an start gallopin back towards us. Emmi’s screamin, Tracker! It’s Tracker!
He makes one last dash. Hermes bolts. Then we’re racin, flat out, headed due north. I lay low aginst his neck an hang on tight. Tracker chases behind us, a lean gray streak.
He’s real. No figment. No dream. The rest of ’em shouted, Emmi called his name, so he ain’t jest in my mind.
I glance back over my shoulder. He’s still there.
He turned us. No. He turned me. He turned me from the westward trail. On purpose. Like he wants me to go this way. An now he’s stickin to my tail, makin sure I stay on course till I git there.
Wherever there is.
We stand on top of a bluff, lookin out over a wide, flat valley. Dry but fer the ribbon of water that loops its way through the middle. Like a thin, silver-skinned snake, it glints in the late afternoon sun. The last, sleepy memory of a once-mighty river.
There’s one straight stretch of the river. On the near-side, two rows of ragtag tents, tepees an flotsam skellies straggle along the bank. They’re shaded by some good-sized cottonwood trees. What look to be funeral pyres—three, side by side—burn an smoke some distance from the camp.
Forty shelters at least, Lugh says. He lowers the long-looker. Men an women, kids an dogs. No tellin how many. Horses, camels, carts.
What do we do? says Tommo.
Go down, of course, says Emmi. Why d’you think Tracker brought us here?
Tracker’s sittin off to one side. His head moves to whoever’s talkin, like he knows what’s bein said. Now he stands. Barks three times. He goes to the edge of the bluff, whinin, then back to us. Barks agin.
You see? says Emmi. He wants us to go.
I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, Lugh says to me. It’s jest . . . him bein so far from home didn’t seem possible.
I thought I imagined him, I says.
Mercy must be down there, says Emmi. In the camp. I’ll jest bet she is!
Nero swoops an soars overhead. He caws at us to git movin.
Scout it first, says Tommo. Make sure it’s safe. I’ll go.
No, I’ll do it, says Lugh. You all wait here.
Sometimes you boys is dumb as stumps, says Emmi. Tracker brought us here to git help fer Saba. He wouldn’t of done that if it warn’t safe.
Don’t gimme that mystical boloney, says Lugh. I swear, Em, you got so much air between yer ears, you wouldn’t know common sense if it walked up an slapped you in the face. Tommo’s right, we need to check it out.
Is that what you got? says Em. Common sense?
You bet, he says.
Then I’m glad I ain’t got none. Emmi takes my reins. C’mon, Saba, I’m gonna git you some help. These two can do what they like. She heels her horse an starts leadin me down the bluff.
In the east, a thunderhead gathers itself. It eyes us up. An heads this way.