Raging Star

by Moira Young

  That voice. Deep an dark. Cold panic grips me.

  It ain’t Jack. Oh no. It’s DeMalo.

  DeMalo. It cain’t be. But it is. That means he was at the bridge. He must of bin with them Tonton at the rear. Ridin among his men, like he’s wont to. DeMalo. Here. I don’t believe it.

  So, not dead after all, he says. Not that I ever thought you were. He’s outta breath from the chase. His anger’s leashed tight. You see, they brought me her body right away, he says. The girl in red. Your friend, the Free Hawk.

  Maev. At Resurrection. Shot by the Tonton. Her hand pressed hard to her side. Her life drippin to the floor.

  Gimme yer dress, she says. That’s all they seen, a girl in a red dress. Help me, Saba. Quick.

  We’d rescued Emmi. Nearly got away clean. Jest me an Maev left in the fortress. Then I made a mistake. An we got found out. The Tonton gave chase an shot Maev. A mortal wound. She was done an she knew it. Her final act was to save our lives. All of our lives. By puttin on my dress.

  Not a bad idea, says DeMalo, her wearing the dress I gave you. I’d think it was you who fought to the death. You who held off my men so your friends could escape.

  Now git outta here, she tells me. As far as you can, as fast as you can. Go!

  That was my last-ever sight of her this side of the stars. As I jumped to the lake far below, I glanced back. Her head held high, hair loose to her waist, a shooter gripped in each hand. Maev. The Free Hawk warrior queen. Frozen in that moment in my memory.

  They said she was fearless, says DeMalo. That she fought with blazing courage. I laid her on the pyre myself. Honoured her with full warrior ceremony, in case you care. What a tribute to her sacrifice, Saba. You, cowering in a tree. She was worth a hundred of you. Whoever she was.

  Blood slams to my head. I scramble down the tree an drop to the water. I face him. Bow drawn. Arrow nocked.

  Her name was Maev, gawdamnn you, Maev, I says.

  We’re ten foot apart. Me in the pool, thigh-deep. Him standin at the edge, the two ghosthounds eether side. They’re laid down all obedient, tongues drippin, their raw pink eyes fixed on DeMalo. He ain’t armed. Jest a shooter in his belt. He wears knee boots, britches an shirt. A black cloak draped over his shoulders. Slung across his chest is a worn leather bag. He holds my barksack in one hand.

  Oh I see, he says. So I’m the one at fault here, am I? He dumps my sack, throws off his cloak an steps into the pool.

  Come any closer, I kill you, dogs or no, I says.

  He don’t pay no heed. He moves slowly towards me. Who left their wounded friend to die? he says. Who blew up that bridge? Who killed those people? Twelve at my count. What do you make it, Saba?

  I pull my bowstring tighter. I mean it, stay there, I says.

  But on he comes. Dark eyes fixed on me. Let me remind you what you said, he says. That night you came to my room. You said, there’s no point to this life if we don’t at least try to make things better. You do remember that?

  Shut up, I says. I cain’t think fer the noise in my head. It’s screamin, Shoot! Finish this! What’s the matter with you? Shoot, fergawdsake! Shoot him!

  He wades silent, intent, towards me. Do you remember what else you said? You said, I want to work with you, Seth. I want to make the world a better place.

  His voice is rich brown earth.

  We can’t go on as we are. We need to find a new way. That’s what you said, Saba. Is this your new way? Destroying? Killing? I’m creating something. I’m bringing order to chaos. I’m making a new world, one blade of grass at a time. Healing the earth and its people. I thought we wanted the same thing.

  Shut up, would you? Jest shut up! I grip my bow tight. Tighter. C’mon, c’mon, I tell myself. One shot an this’ll all be over. Chop off the head of the snake. Do it an be done. Do it now.

  He stops two foot away. He opens his arms wide. He’s givin me a clear shot to kill him.

  His silver bracelet gleams on his wrist. His thin white shirt hangs damp. Through it, I can see his Tonton blood tattoo. The red risin sun over his heart. My skin tightens at the smell of him. Darkly green. Warmly juniper. The sun trickles shy through the trees. It trembles on his hair, thick an black as Nero’s feathers. His broad cheekbones. His smooth, unreadable face. His watchful, beautiful face.

  I cain’t. I cain’t do it. Slowly, I lower my bow. I says, Gawdamnn you sonofabitch.

  He brings his arms down. Another perfect chance wasted, he says. Just like that night in my room. Whatever you put in my wine to knock me out, another drop or two would have killed me. Isn’t that right? It would have been so easy. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder? He steps in close. Touches the heartstone. It burns in the hollow of my throat. Sweat trickles between my breasts.

  He touches my bare skin. It shivers at his touch. His hand brushes aginst the heartstone. It’s hot, he says.

  It’s a heartstone, I says. The closer you git to yer heart’s desire, the hotter it burns.

  He says, Am I your heart’s desire?

  No no no. Step away, step away from him now. He cain’t be trusted, he’s dangerous, my enemy. But I don’t. I don’t move.

  Why can’t you kill me, Saba? he says.

  I could ask you the same, I says.

  The first time I saw you at Hopetown, he says, I knew you. Who you really are. Who you can be.

  You don’t know me, I says.

  Oh, but I do, he says. You have a rare fire within you. The power to change things. The courage to act in the service of something greater than yourself. And you lower yourself to this shabby misadventure. What are you doing?

  I’m silent.

  I’m doing good, he says. I’m guiding people, freeing them from want and hardship and suffering, showing them the way to a better future. You were there at that dawn, in that bunker. You witnessed my visions of the world as it was. The lushness of the land, the richness of the seas. Those magnificent creatures. Unimaginable wonders. You do remember?

  I couldn’t ever fergit what I seen at that dawn.

  At this moment, he says, in this place, we have a real chance, maybe our only chance, to start again. To do right by the earth this time. We can make a better world. We can know some of that wonder. Don’t tell me you don’t want that. I was watching you. I saw your face. Your tears. You care just as deeply as I do.

  His words slide softly around me. They grip. Tighten. Pull me towards him.

  You kill people to git what you want, I says.

  So do you. You’ve just done it again, he says. But this isn’t about what I want. I’m doing what’s right. I’m making difficult, real decisions every day. Allocating what scarce resources there are to those who can make best use of them. I’m behaving morally. Responsibly.

  Morally, I says.

  Most people just survive day to day, he says. I have a higher calling. To serve the greater good. Any violence is regrettable, but it’s a means to an end. You might even say, a virtuous necessity. You remember what I told you. We’re cleaning the infected wounds of Mother Earth. Did you weep when you destroyed that cesspit Hopetown? Did you lose sleep over any scum that might have burned in its flames?

  I cain’t make no answer to that.

  No, he says. We are so alike, Saba.

  A virtuous necessity, I says. Is that what yer Stewards call it when you murder their newborns?

  There’s no killing of infants, as you well know, he says. The weak are left in the open overnight. If they’re still alive in the morning, they get another chance. It’s the way of the world and everyone here understands that. Does a bird feed all its young equally? Of course not. The healthiest and largest grow and thrive. The weak fall back and perish. If we have any chance of healing Mother Earth, we need the strongest and the best. The greater good must always be served.

  His eyes persuade. His voice woos. His words caress. We have a destiny, he says. Together, Saba. We’re born to command, not obey.

  At last, at last I look in his eyes. Eyes so dark
they’re almost black. Heavy lids that hide who he is. In the night-time mountain lake deep of his eyes, I see a tiny reflection. It’s me.

  I ain’t yer creature, I says.

  I don’t want you to be. I have plenty of those.

  He bends his head. His mouth so close. His warm breath kisses my lips. Oh, my traitor soul. What is it in me that cleaves to him? To blur me melt me lose me.

  I lose myself in the touch of him. The taste of him. The smell of him. Till I feel the moment when the edges of me start to blur. I lead him to his bed. We lie down together. An I melt to the dark, blank heat.

  My skin trembles. Jest barely do I whisper. But I do. I whisper,

  You will not … have me.

  He goes still. Perfectly still. In the silence between us, the day holds its breath. Then,

  I step back. From him. Away. From him. Air floods my lungs with such a rush that I’m dizzy. To heal the earth. That’s right. But how he’s doin it is wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. The greater good. Moral. Virtuous. He can twist lies into truth an truth into lies till I don’t know one from the other. An he can twist me. Till I don’t know who I am. Till I don’t know what I believe.

  We did wrong today at the bridge. An he’s wrong. He is wrong. What’s right must lie somewhere else. Between us maybe. Or beyond us.

  If you keep on with this course, he says, more people will die. Maybe even people you care about. Your sister. Your brother. How many are you? Ten? Twelve? You’re out of your depth. If I were you, I’d weigh my chances carefully.

  I says, This earth belongs to everythin that lives here. Not jest yer Chosen ones, them that you deem worthy. Clean water an decent land is everybody’s birthright. You cain’t take it. You cain’t own it. The Free Hawks ain’t goin nowhere.

  Well rehearsed, Saba, he says. Who put those words in your mouth? He’s silent fer a moment. As always, I cain’t read nuthin in his face. Not a hint of what’s goin on inside of him. Then he says, I’m going to make you an offer. It’s a generous one, in the circumstances. You’ll formally surrender to me, all your weapons and your fighters. I’ll guarantee everyone safe passage over the Waste, your family and friends. I’ll provide them an escort as far as the Low China Pass. From there, it’s a decent trail west through the mountains. This is all, of course, with the strict understanding that if they ever return to New Eden, they’re dead.

  An in return? I says.

  You, he says.

  A prisoner.

  No. My wife.

  Same thing, I says. I’ll see you in hell first.

  You and I are on the side of the angels, he says.

  He wades to the edge, grabs a branch an pulls hisself outta the pool. Water showers offa his britches an boots. As he picks up his cloak, the ghosthounds rise. I’ll rebuild the bridge in a week, he says. If you hit me again, I’ll hit you back tenfold. When you’ve had enough, if you’re still standing, come and find me. My offer’s good until the blood moon. Like I said, I’m feeling generous. After that, I’ll have your whole misstarred mob hunted down and killed. Wherever you run to. And that includes you, Saba. Believe me, I’m not sentimental.

  So you say, I says. You had yer chances, jest like I have. I’m still here.

  This is the endgame, he says. We play by new rules from now on. He starts to go. Oh! He turns back, like he’s jest remembered somethin. I don’t suppose you’re pregnant, he says.

  A swift move, my bow’s up an I fire. My arrow close-shaves him. Spears the tree next to his head. The dogs move. Ready to go fer me. A lift of his hand halts ’em. DeMalo didn’t dodge. Didn’t flinch. His ear drips red on his white white shirt.

  New rules, I says.

  The blood moon, says he.

  With a bow of his head, he disappears among the trees, the great white dogs at his heels.

  I don’t move. Not a twitch. My tight twisted heart tracks DeMalo. Not by sound. He moves silent, him an his dogs. No, I track him by the heat of the heartstone. It fades. It cools. Then it’s cold. He’s gone.

  I let down my bow. A long breath shudders out. My bravado whimpers an dies. His will drags at me, strong as a fast river current. It takes all that I got to resist.

  I wade my shaky legs to the bank an slump among the mossy roots. Gawdamnn heartstone. Not DeMalo, my heart’s desire. Never, never DeMalo. I rip the thing off. Pull my arm back to fling it, drown it, rid myself of its hot lies. But I hesitate. I cain’t. It was my mother’s. The only thing I ever had that belonged to her. I shove it deep in my pocket.

  I ease my achin shoulder. Only now do I feel it. That cart wheel at the bridge slammed into me hard. I’ll have a bruise an then some to show fer it.

  DeMalo’s rattled me to the marrow. His last words grip my head like a vice. I ain’t with child, I sure as hell ain’t. Oh, help. First that nightmare at the bridge, then him trackin me, huntin me down with them unearthly hounds. Can he really mean what he says?

  The blood moon. The first full moon after the harvest moon. Think now, think. Last night, as we ran through the woods. The moon was on the wax. A quarter moon. That means … when? Seven nights from now? Seven. Generous, he said. That ain’t nuthin. He could be lyin. Bluffin. No. We’re in the endgame, he said. New rules.

  If you keep on, more people will die. Maybe people you care about.

  I lost so many that I care about already. An we ain’t no further ahead. Seven days. We’ll never defeat him. We’ll hafta run.

  I’ll have you hunted down and killed. Wherever you run to.

  He will too. An I’m instantly hot with shame I’d ever think of runnin. Like I’m some common, everyday coward. That jest proves how he gits to me. We’re all set on this fight. But Emmi. I need Emmi away from danger. I should of done it long ago. I’ll send her to Auriel Tai. Back to the Snake River camp. She’ll be safe there. If we was to die, she’d have Auriel to raise her to a woman. Lugh can take her there. No, he’d never leave me an he won’t have a star reader raise Em. Tommo, then. He can go with her.

  So. Stand an fight. An win. But we ain’t gonna win by blowin bridges.

  If you hit me again, I’ll hit you back tenfold.

  There must be another way.

  A cautious quork comes from the tree above me. Nero sidles out from wherever he’s bin hidin all this time. This is the crow who’s fought wolfdogs with beak an claw. Who’ll rush to defend me from all dangers. Unless, of course, that danger’s called DeMalo.

  Fat lotta good you are, I tell him. Thanks fer nuthin. You led him straight here.

  He drops onto my lap then climbs my front to nibble on my ear. He always does that when he feels guilty. The thing is, he likes DeMalo an he knows he shouldn’t. He’d of gone fer the dogs in my defence, no problem. But he’d never harm DeMalo an the dogs was with him, so he must of got confused.

  Whose side are you on? I says. I hug him close an stroke his breast feathers. They’re growin back good. Where DeMalo’s hawk wounded him, where DeMalo stitched him—a month ago now—it’s healed well. Who am I to talk? I says. Whose side am I on? I had him an I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t. What the hell’s wrong with me? I kiss Nero’s head. We cain’t tell nobody about this, you hear?

  He chitters agreement. Nero. Th’only livin creature I can speak to freely these days. I gotta guard myself close with everybody else. A leader tells her people as little as possible, only what they need to know. That’s somethin I learned from Slim.

  More people will die. People you care about. Your sister. Your brother.

  Lugh, I says. Ohmigawd, Lugh, of course. C’mon, we gotta git to the rendezvous. Make sure they all made it okay. I jump to my feet. Nero spills to the ground with a squawk of protest. As I gather my gear, I says, They’ll be wonderin where we are. Emmi’ll be inside out with worry. Nero, we gotta go. C’mon.

  He plays deaf. Beak deep in his birdy armpit, mutterin somethin about a mite. He’ll catch me up later. When it suits him.

  I shoulder my barksack an bow. As I pass, I wrench my arrow from
the tree.

  It’s the first time in my life I ever shot to miss.

  I’m cautious as I leave the pool. I set a course due north fer the rendezvous point at Painted Rock. I keep my eyes sharp, my ears keen, my bolt shooter ready in my hand. All clear. Nuthin untoward. No sound in the woods but the sounds of a wood. The bubble chat of warblers. The sigh of the wind. The creak of trees as they ease their bones.

  After a couple hunnerd foot, I start to relax. Then. Behind me. A shift in the air. Not a sound, but somebody’s there. As I start to move, a gun shoves me in the neck. Hard to the base of my skull. I stop dead. I know the feel of that snubby nose. A shortbolt shooter. A fast blast. A messy end.

  The voice comes from close behind me. I’ll be takin your weapons an pack. An it’s all the same to me if I have to kill you for ’em. You’re gonna drop your gun first, then your bow. One at a time, nice an easy.

  It’s a woman. She’s steady-handed with the shortbolt. I can tell by the angle she’s taller’n me. A whisker below six foot.

  I let my shooter fall to the ground. She smells of earth an sweat. She sounds of hard years an hard choices. Somethin starts to jig at the edge of my mind. I hesitate a moment.

  I said, the bow! She presses the shortbolt fiercer, deeper into the tender spot between my spine an skull. I slide it offa my shoulder. My rare whiteoak bow, the gift of a shaman. I toss it carefully to one side. My quiver follows. I don’t think she’s clocked my knife yet. It’s tucked away in my boot sheath.

  She snatches it. Quick as a rattler, she moves. The knife’s gone an the gun didn’t budge. She’s good. Must have long arms.

  Let’s have your pack, she says.

  I drop that too.

  Hands up, she says. On your head.

  I do it.

  Now, she says. On the ground. Kneel.

  The red hot flashes an I’m back at Pine Top Hill. With Emmi, prisoner of Vicar Pinch. The rest of us beat by him an his Tonton. Outfoxed. Outnumbered. I knelt at his feet an begged fer their lives.

  I don’t kneel fer nobody, I says.

  She grabs my collar. Kicks me. Back of my legs. I’m down. On my knees. Gun hard to my skull.