Vanguard

by Ann Aguirre

  “Don’t do that,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Handle me. I don’t like it.”

  “I’m not allowed to tease you … or to touch. I’m sorry.” Though her voice was soft, she seemed sincere, so he tried to understand her.

  “You just … He was making you impatient?”

  “Yes. I’m tired and hungry, and I wanted him to go.”

  The cottage was dimly lit, with just the flicker from the dying hearth fire. The others must not be worried about Tegan, and the storyteller was overprotective. But they had left crocks of soup and half a loaf of bread on the table. Since the stew was still warm, they must not have retired too long ago. He heard Millie’s even breathing up in the loft.

  “This is so good,” Tegan mumbled, raking the vegetable mash into her mouth with a spoon.

  Meat. I miss meat.

  In truth, he preferred it raw, directly off the bone, and sometimes, his people enjoyed downing prey while it was still squirming. But humans would find that as revolting as he did this stuff. Eating this way for long periods seemed like it might kill him. He tore at the bread and pressed it with his fingers.

  His stomach gurgled.

  She paused.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  But to his surprise, her expression softened. “I treated a fisherman today who promised my pick of tomorrow’s catch. If you go with me in the morning, you might find it’s exactly what you need.”

  “That’s food you earned with your work.”

  “And you are my friend.”

  In all honesty, though he’d heard the word, he didn’t truly grasp what it meant. But now she’d used it twice, and apparently it included listening to his troubles and feeding him when he hungered. She’d also come searching when he had nowhere but the woods to sleep. So then … by friend, she meant kin?

  “I understand now how precious that is,” he said.

  She ducked her head. “Don’t be silly. They’re only fish.”

  As she ate, it was the most peculiar thing. Though he had no taste for smashed plants or dough, her pleasure filled him up. When she finished her meal, his stomach wasn’t rumbling anymore. Perhaps we are kin. In a place where nobody spoke his tongue, where there were enemies all around, that possibility wrapped him in comfort.

  “I should sleep here. Millie might be frightened if she woke and found me there in the middle of the night.”

  Tegan seemed unconcerned by this as she went up the ladder to the loft. “As you like.”

  The blanket he had carried with him didn’t smell like his people any longer, and it was ragged and badly in need of washing. He didn’t want to take it out of his pack in this human house. In the morning, they would see it and judge all the Uroch on what he lacked. But as he lay down in front of the fire, Tegan crept back down with a sweet-smelling quilt and a pillow.

  “Here. It’s a bit colder since you’re on the floor. Sleep well.”

  A human wouldn’t have known, but this was what she’d used the night before. He smelled her skin on the fabric, the remnants of her breath where she had rested her cheek; even the smoke from her hair left scented wisps as he nestled in.

  She’s given me the warmth of her own bed.

  Szarok growled his answer. If we’re kin, let her learn the language of the People.

  This time, she didn’t press him for a translation. Her footsteps crept away, and soon he heard her moving about overhead. Due to her measured breathing, he’d thought the other girl must be asleep, but her whisper proved otherwise.

  “Where did you go?” Millie asked.

  “For a long walk,” Tegan answered with a faint sigh.

  “James was frantic.” Millie shifted, possibly adjusting her covers.

  A sigh. “I know.”

  He wished he could close his ears, but it was impossible. Rolling away from the loft didn’t help. The conversation continued, including him as an unwilling audience. But they did lower their voices to the point that the words turned into meaningless sounds, and the susurrations lulled him to sleep.

  His dreams came broken but sweet, shards of memories that didn’t belong to him. In the morning, he woke nearly light-blind with someone squatting over him. He scrambled away, claws out, only to realize it was Tegan. His heart thundered in his chest, and he had no idea what he might do if she drew closer.

  “Did I startle you?” She didn’t move.

  “It’s…” The words stuck in his throat.

  It’s not all right.

  I’m not all right.

  “Don’t come so close without warning me. It’s impolite.” That was the least of what he wanted to say. Rage-snarls nearly throttled him.

  “Humans wake each other up in a variety of ways. Just tell me what I need to do.”

  He couldn’t focus on her expression, and fear rioted in his head, giving way to uncertainty. How did I sleep so well among my enemies? The last time he’d gone down so deep, he had been protected by his kinfolk, secure in the fact that nobody would come with guns or knives. Bewilderment tickled like a bug in his ear. Without meaning to, he jerked his head to shake it out. His breath galloped away from him, hard and fast.

  He couldn’t speak to answer.

  “Szarok? Breathe. Just breathe. I’m truly sorry I scared you.”

  He dug his claws into his scalp until the pain cleared his head. “This. You say this.”

  Then he made the wake and rise sound, without expecting she’d ever attempt it. We’re animals to you. You won’t. To his astonishment, she did, deep in her throat. It wasn’t right, but it was so close that he squeezed his eyes shut and almost, almost begged her to do it again.

  Her tone drooped, a flower too wet with dew. “Was it that bad?”

  The sweetness of her trying tightened his throat until he couldn’t breathe.

  “No,” he said eventually. “Please, wake me that way tomorrow. Though I’d like to know why you’ve roused me so early today.”

  Nobody else in the house was stirring. The embers of the fire were dead and cold. Yet she was bright-eyed and eager, practically dancing in her desire to drag him into the daylight. As he stared up at her awful dollop of a face, he had the strange idea that if she woke him enough, days on days, that maybe he would get on that hell-boat with her.

  Because she was kin? Because she was Tegan.

  Just … because.

  Fellowship of the River

  That morning, Morrow left home early.

  He bought sweet buns fresh at the bakery with a handful of chits, good only on the Evergreen Isle. Trade with the wider world was proving to be a challenge for his father, but fortunately he didn’t have to worry about that. But he spotted Tegan much sooner than he expected, already on the dock, talking with Wiley, who was gesturing with a bucket. He recognized the brown-cloaked figure with her as well, but he couldn’t fathom why they were together. Again. Possibly it was arrogance that made him think she’d miss him once she went away. But now that she was back, he felt like a glove made of thumbs, badly sewn and no use at all. Still, he pinned on a smile and hurried toward them with his paper-wrapped present.

  Tegan smiled when she saw him, but she also beamed at bone carvings, sunsets, and unexpectedly gruesome stories. “Good morrow, James.”

  At least she still made a joke of his name. “I come bearing gifts. Are you hungry?”

  “That’s exactly why we’re here,” she said.

  “I didn’t think you were especially fond of fish.”

  Shaking her head, she accepted the pail of water from Wiley, and then handed it to the vanguard. “These are quite small, but you might be able to eat them whole. I’m not sure if you’d have problems with the bones?”

  “Thank you for breakfast,” Szarok muttered.

  The Uroch took the offering from Tegan and rushed away, his head bowed. Morrow found the entire exchange odd and he said so.

  “You embarrassed him,” she said.

  “Me?” That seeme
d unfair, no matter how he weighed it. “You were the one quizzing him about bones.”

  “He wouldn’t have minded, except that you were listening.”

  Her statement stung like a slap. Morrow had the sense that she had drawn a line upon which she meant to build a wall, and when she finished, he would be standing alone on the other side of it. Truly he had no notion what to say.

  The fisherman cleared his throat, and Morrow realized belatedly that they had an audience. “Can I take it that we’re square now, Doctor?”

  Tegan nodded. “But … if you don’t mind, could you keep the little ones like that, just in case he enjoys them?”

  “Done. Normally I throw them back, but I don’t imagine one person’s appetite will ruin my fishing,” Wiley said, cheerful as a sunrise.

  “Have you eaten?” Morrow asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Trying to recover lost ground, he teased her with the sweet rolls. “Still warm, gooey, delicious. Would you like one?”

  “Please,” she said.

  She still has a sweet tooth.

  He got out a bun and broke it in half, his fingers honey sweet with sharing. The sun felt warmer on his head as she took the first bite, eyes closing in pleasure. Her strength was the first thing he had noticed about her, second her cinnamon-brown eyes, next her determination, and afterward, the smooth curve of her cheek, until her beauty and her resilience plaited around his heart with silken skeins. Now it was a joy merely to stand beside her.

  She crammed the rest of the pastry into her mouth with such delight that he had to laugh. “What shall we do today? And please don’t make me entertain young Millie again. That would be exceedingly unkind.”

  “She’s a sweet girl,” Tegan protested.

  “With boundless curiosity. I deserve a rest.”

  “I suppose that’s true. But don’t hurt her feelings. She already thinks we’re all members of some private club that she could never join.”

  “The Fellowship of the River?” he suggested.

  It disappointed him a little that she didn’t seem to understand the joke, pale as it was. But she had spent much more time learning anatomy than reading old stories. When he thought about it, nobody in the world cared as much as he did about preserving old-world legends. Still, he wanted her to love what he did, not necessarily as much, just to love it.

  Even a sliver of your heart would be enough, he thought. A corner? A crack where the light can shine in?

  “We’re not a secret club.” Her stern look did yield to a twinkle, however. “But if we were, I’m sure we’d have a better name.”

  “Company D?” he offered.

  “It has a certain ring to it.”

  They all had the patches Mrs. Oaks had sewn. He’d had his stitched onto his best jacket, though he didn’t wear it around town. It seemed wrong to boast of his involvement when it was only a trick of timing that he had been at the right place at the right time. And too, he carried some misgivings, because it wasn’t that he’d fought because he was strong, or it was right. His reasons seemed small, now that he examined them in depth.

  I was curious.

  Curiosity didn’t make him stay, of course, when things were at their worst. But it wasn’t a very heroic reason. Some people are not heroes. We only write about them. That, too, was a little embarrassing, the way others had taken his words and copied and recopied, so now what had been meant as a private gift for Deuce was making its way all over the free territories, mostly in the hands of traders who were peacock-proud to have their names in print.

  “I’m in your hands,” he told Tegan then. “What would you like to do?”

  “Go see Captain Advika.”

  She really might go, then. He’d thought that when she came to Rosemere, it would be to stay. But it was also impossible to imagine Tegan keeping house as Deuce was learning to do. The Huntress didn’t seem to regret turning her knives to chopping and slicing instead, but Tegan … Even if she stayed, she would be a healer first.

  “At this hour, I’m sure she’s still sleeping. I hear there was a fight at the tavern last night, and she was in the center of it.”

  Tegan grinned. “That sounds wonderful. She doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who starts what she can’t finish.”

  “Truly spoken.”

  Instead of the tavern, they went first to the potter’s house, mostly because Morrow thought she would be interested to see the work … and to learn. As he’d guessed, Tegan found the process fascinating. Like Millie, she had questions, but she paced them better, not distracting Artanno from his work. He wished he could be the one to reach around and shape the clay with his hands over hers, but he had no such skill. Her enjoyment was reward enough, though.

  When it came off the wheel, her bowl was imperfect, but the potter put it in the oven anyway. “Come back tomorrow. You can take it as a memento.”

  Tegan’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s incredible.”

  They talked a little longer, and when they left, it was past noon, late enough for it to be feasible to talk with Captain Advika. “To the tavern, then?”

  “Unless you’re busy. I can go alone.”

  That offer pleased him as much as a kick to the shins. “No, I set aside the whole day. I missed you.”

  “You’re sweet,” she said, but her tone was more like, Oh dear.

  Morrow swallowed a sigh and led the way to the tavern. When they arrived, Miwan, the fellow who owned it, was still cleaning up from the night before, fishing shards of crockery out of the floorboards. Morrow waved and glanced around, quietly hoping that the long-haul captain might have changed her mind. He found her in a dark corner with a mug of something.

  The tall woman perked up when she saw Tegan. “Ahoy, Doctor. Did you come to sign on? I have a slice on my thigh that might need stitching.”

  “We should tend to that first, then talk,” Tegan said.

  Without further discourse, the two women adjourned to the back room. Miwan followed their exit with his gaze and then shook his head. “That woman is trouble in breeches.”

  “What happened exactly?”

  “You know how it is with fishermen and sailors. Get a pint in them and they start telling tall tales. Advika claims she’s been across the big drink, sixty days at sea, and nearly been pulled down to the depths by something as big as a house with eight arms and—”

  “A monster?” Morrow cut in.

  His enthusiasm for a long voyage kindled. This time, I can pen a true-life sea epic. To his mind, sharing a second adventure with Tegan culled all the disadvantages and dangers down to nothing. His father would probably squawk, but if he was so worried about his only son dying in a horrific and interesting way, he should probably marry again.

  “That’s what she said.” The barkeep swiped at the counter. “But she had four pints in her by then. She said something about giant suckers as big as your face, and someone called her a liar, and a tankard got thrown. All downhill from there.”

  Morrow could see that some of the mugs had fresh dents. The tavern was usually a safe place to drink a bit, warm up, and eat some mediocre stew. But when the long-haulers put into port, life got more exciting. Before he could ask Miwan anything else, the storeroom door opened and the two came out.

  “How many stitches?” Morrow asked.

  “Five. It wasn’t as bad as I feared.” Tegan set down her doctor’s bag, wearing a satisfied expression.

  “Another fine scar for my collection,” Captain Advika said.

  “You mentioned before, about signing on?” Tegan seemed eager to bring the conversation back to the job offer.

  “What I said still stands, and now I know you’ve got a calm manner and a steady hand. You might find it challenging to do the same work on board, though.”

  “I have a few questions,” Tegan said.

  “Let’s hear them.”

  To Morrow’s great delight, she had clever queries that elevated her in his esteem when he’d already
thought it was impossible for him to admire her more. Tegan grilled Captain Advika about their route; asked to see navigational charts; requested a complete itinerary of planned stops; asked what sights they might see along the way; and then, of course, inquired about food and lodging, working conditions. The conversation carried on well into the afternoon. Now and then Morrow made an occasional comment, but mostly it was a pleasure watching Tegan work.

  As they wrapped up, Millie popped her head in, seeming relieved to find a couple of familiar faces. Politely, he raised a hand to beckon her over, and she smiled so bright that he felt like the sun had come out. It’s too much for so little, he thought. But her joy didn’t waver as she sat down beside him and smoothed her gray skirt. He couldn’t remember if he’d seen her in Otterburn, and she said she’d moved to Winterville to be near Tegan. Morrow guessed they must be close, if Millie wanted to follow the other girl to sea.

  Oblivious to his scrutiny, Tegan was saying, “That sounds tremendous. But I’m wondering, how long would we be gone? Counting the return trip?”

  “Half a year, most likely. Unless something goes horribly wrong. In that case, I couldn’t say. So far I’ve always come back, but that’s the way it goes until the time you don’t. There are no guarantees on the high sea. I’ll say this, though, having a good doctor could make all the difference in a bad situation.”

  “Then … I want to go,” she said. “Do I need to sign something?”

  Millie glanced at Morrow, her eyes wide. “This is happening?”

  “For her. I haven’t asked about us yet.” It wasn’t such a great service, but she touched his arm, quick like a butterfly, in a gratitude that looked so profound, it made him squirm.

  Captain Advika shook her head. “Show up day after tomorrow, bright and early. As long as you’re there when we leave port, your word is good with me.”

  “What if I have second thoughts?” Tegan asked.

  “Then I’ll send my boys to bring you aboard in chains,” the tall woman said, grinning.

  Millie leaned close to whisper, “I’m not sure if she’s joking.”