by Moira Young
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, an never give up. No matter what happens.
Them words, his last words, they’ve kept me goin time after time. Given me strength when I was weak. How strange that Mercy should love my father. Her, rooted in the wisdom of the earth. Pa, who looked in vain to the stars fer answers.
I wonder what Mercy would make of Auriel. How they’d git on if they was ever to meet. I’d sure like to talk with them both together.
Auriel. Auriel Tai. The star reader girl with the wolfdog eyes. Grandaughter of a warrior shaman. Namid the Star Dancer, maker of my whiteoak bow. Auriel’s rare. She’s the real thing, not like Pa was. She walks the thin place between the earth an the stars. The place of dreams an light an spirit. What she knows an how she knows it cain’t easily be explained.
If it warn’t fer her, I wouldn’t still be in this life. I was nearly lost to the madness of grief, seein the dead day an night, when Tracker led me to her at the Snake River. Auriel helped me, she healed me, she spurred me on. She gave me hope an purpose. Fer the first time, she made sense of everythin I’d bin through. She was the first one to say the word to me. Destiny.
There are some people, Saba—not many—who have within them the power to change things. Through their actions, they turn the tide of human affairs.
To turn the tide aginst DeMalo is my destiny. That’s what she said. She said all of my roads lead to him. An she’s bin proved right over an over.
Turn the tide. I thought I knew how to do that. That the way ahead looked clear. Hit him hard where it hurts. Hit him often. Weaken his grip. But after today—I need to think agin. If only Auriel was here. She wouldn’t even hafta think what I oughta be doin. She’d know becuz she’d read it in the stars.
Well she ain’t here. I need Jack. Right away. But I gotta hold myself in patience till tonight. When I meet him at the Irontree. Together we’ll figger out what to do.
He jest cain’t know. About DeMalo. The blood moon. The endgame.
Painted Rock rises high among the trees. It ain’t one rock but three of ’em, crowded close together. Great old buffaloes of sandstone, their backs hunched aginst the sky. In the middle day brightness their worn flanks blaze pink an gold. All is silent. Nero swoops ahead to herald our comin. The rush of his wings flicks the hush.
Mercy sniffs the air. There’s a hint of cooked meat, rich an deep. Somethin sure smells good, she says.
That means Molly ain’t cookin, I says. Lucky us. It’s the devil’s work when Molly’s at the cookpot.
I cup my hands to my mouth an give our daylight signal. The three-cheep call of a pinewax. I wait a count of two, then I call once more. There’s a cheep in reply from the top of the rock. A small figger appears.
There’s Emmi, I says.
Light glints offa the glass of her looker as she trains it our way. I raise a hand. So does Mercy. A shriek of excitement cracks the silence. Then she disappears.
She’s seen you, I says. Better brace yerself.
Camp’s in the middle of the great rocks. We ride through a wide gap between two of ’em into a big circle space, open to the sky. This is one of the old places. A site of long memory an much use. The ground’s bin worn smooth by many feet. Many hands down the ages have scarred the rock walls. Words an pictures scratched into the stone. By dreamers, idlers, artists an fools.
The Cosmic’s parked up. Slim’s medicine cart, the Cosmic Compendalorium. Fourth of its Ilk, says Slim. Whatever the hell that means. Painted bright yellow, with suns an moons an stars all over, stuffed to the gunnels with potions an cures. The horses bunch together, jostlin noses over heaps of dry grass. There’s Molly’s Prue, a placid mule called Bean, Slim’s carthorse, my own Hermes, eight beasts in all.
Every head turns as we come through the gap. Horses an people alike. Slim’s at the cookfire, ladlin stew into Ash’s tin. Molly’s sat on a rock, eatin. Nero’s already on the mooch, hoppin around her, beggin fer a share. But no Lugh. No Creed. No Tommo. My gut tightens.
Where are they? I says to Ash.
No sign of ’em yet, she says. When you blew the whistle, I jest legged it. What happened? I heard the blast go off. Loads of smoke. Damn, I wish I’d seen that.
We got chased, I says. They should of bin here by now.
You only jest got here yerself, says Slim. What was the Tonton doin there? I thought yer contact swore they didn’t patrol that far out.
It warn’t no patrol, I says. They was headed fer the Raze. Resettlement. A work party. It all went to hell, I—gawdamnmit, what’s keepin ’em? Not even one back yet.
Simmer down, he says. They probly jest had to take a roundabout route. We’ll debrief once everybody’s back an settled in. Here, where’s yer manners, you savage?
He makes a waddly beeline fer Mercy. We’re used to Slim’s quirks, but to her he must look a odd fish—jobble-bellied in a patchwork frock the size of a tent, grubby eyepatch askew, muttonchops an hair in a mad dandelion frizz. A mangy old rabbit’s foot dangles from a chain on his belt. Young folk today, they got no couth, he says. Wouldn’t know polite if it walked up an slapped their face. We’ll jest hafta make our own innerductions an shame on them. Doctor Salmo Slim, TPS. That’s Travellatin Physician an Surgeon. Inchantee, ma’am.
I’m Mercy, she says.
She was with the work party, I says. Managed to free herself in the confusion. An, as chance would have it, she’s a friend of the family. That there’s Ash. An that’s Molly.
Mercy’s drawn an exhausted but she manages a smile. Glad to know yuz, she says.
Me an Slim help her down from the pony. Mercy’s a healer, I tell him.
A fellow perfessional, eh? In that case, I am double-delighted to make yer acquaintanceship, Miz Mercy. As he bows, all gallant, over her hand, they take each other’s measure with keen eyes. I’ll have a gander at that ankle if you like, he says.
Thanks, she says. What I’d really like is to get rid of this collar.
Slim peers at it closely. You need a junkjimmy with a cuttin tool fer that, he says. I know one’ll git it off, no trouble. We’ll git you over there aysap.
Ash says, In case yer wonderin, ma’am, yes, that is a dress he’s wearin. It belonged to his late mother.
Don’t let that faze you, though, says Molly. He’s a blue-chip quack, is our Slim.
Mama Big Doe bequeried me three frocks, her wood leg an two left shoes, says Slim. A salt johnny from Pooce bought the leg an a shoe, but her frocks fit me—an as you can see, I’m a awkward size—so, waste ye not, says I. I’m a fashion free-wheeler an damn the torpedoes.
Mercy! Emmi yells. She comes runnin through the gap with Tracker right behind her. It’s you, it really is! We thought you was dead!
As she rushes at Mercy, Mercy sees Tracker an he sees her an, as her mouth falls open an she’s sayin, Tracker? Can it be? he’s flyin at her, barkin with excitement. Then she’s bein hugged by Emmi an Tracker’s turnin hisself inside out, lickin everywhere with his long sloppy tongue an the whole thing’s a giddy jamboree. Mercy says to me, How on earth did you find him? Why didn’t you say?
Sorry, I fergot. I’ll tell you later, I says.
She’s lookin dazed. Em’s already bolted into a breathless gallop about how Tracker found us, so I go over, sayin, All right, that’s enough, you can tell her later. I peel Emmi away from her.
Slim helps Mercy to a seat by the fire with Ash an Molly. He bustles about, fillin her a tin of food while he clackets on in his usual cheerful way.
What took you so long? Emmi clings to me. Her legs clamp my waist. Her skinny arms bindweed my neck. Where’s Lugh? Where’s the boys? I bin watchin ferever.
Hey hey, yer stranglin me, I says. Git down, yer too big.
She twines me even tighter. Grabs my face in her grubby hands. Worry clouds her blue-sky eyes. I was worried an worried somethin bad would happen to you. An it did, she says. The Tonton came. Ash
said. What happened? Where’s Lugh an Tommo?
They’re on their way, I says. Now lemme go. On yer feet.
She slides down reluctantly. Her hands might be dirty but fer once she’s washed her face. In fact, she’s clean an neat. Positively respectable. Her wayward brown hair’s in a plait. Her shirt’s tucked in. Her britches buttoned. She’s even laced her boots. This is Molly’s doin. Left to herself, Em’s a scarecrow of a girl.
She stands with arms crossed, all sulky chin an scrimped up mouth. What did I do now? she says.
Don’t gimme that mardy face, I says. Listen, Em, yer a Free Hawk now. You cain’t go screamin around like you done jest now, like some little kid. I told you before.
But I—
Who’s on lookout?
Me, she says.
So what’re you doin here? I says.
She heaves a sigh. Well, pardon me fer bein glad you ain’t dead, she says.
Git back there this second, go on, I says.
Saba? says Slim. There’s fruit bat gumbo in the pot.
I thought somethin smelled good. Lugh’s voice comes from the entranceway. I whirl around. He’s all in one piece. His smile stretches ear to ear as he opens his arms wide. Anybody miss me? he says.
I did, I did! Emmi dashes at him, leaps at him. He twirls her in a circle. You bum! she cries. I bin worried sick. Did you see Tommo? Creed?
What? They ain’t here yet? Sorry I bin so long, he says to me. I had to cut out wide to lose them Tonton. They took some shakin.
What did I tell you? says Slim.
Look who Saba found. It’s Mercy, Emmi says.
What? Then Lugh’s shakin Mercy’s hand, sayin, I sure wanna know how this came about. It’s bin a long time, ma’am.
You must be starvin, son, says Slim. Everybody come an eat.
That’s it fer Em goin back on watch. I’d hafta drag her there by her pigtail. An, after all, it’s daylight. We crowd around Slim’s cookpot an he loads our tins. Tracker an Nero make fast work of a stringy squirrel that he tosses their way. They keep a wary eye on him, anxious not to splat him with guts. Last time they did, he banished ’em from the fire fer two chilly nights. We’re jest gittin stuck into our meal an all wantin to ask Mercy this or tell her that, when Tommo pitches up at last. He tells the same tale as Lugh. He had to go off his set course to lose his pursuers. He falls on the food like a jackal.
Then a short while later, Creed arrives. He’s bare chested. His precious frock coat’s folded, tucked unner one arm. The other arm’s streaked with dried blood. There’s a arrow stuck in his shoulder.
Creed lounges aginst a boulder while Molly stitches his wound with a fine bone needle an gut thread. He looks like some spirit of nature. Wild curly hair, silver rings in his ears, tattooed waist to neck with twined vines an serpents.
Molly bends her head to her work. As always, there’s a scarf tied over her long blonde curls. Pulled low on her forehead to hide her brand. That loathsome letter. The lie that the Tonton seared in her skin. W. W fer whore. But it don’t mar her beauty. Nuthin could. A face to make angels weep fer joy. That’s what Ike used to say of Molly. An lips that detoured many a man to her Storm Belt junkshack tavern. In the hope that she’d serve them a smile with their drink.
She ain’t smilin now. She’s got her Creed look on. It says, if he does it agin, if he declares his love fer me in front of everybody I’ll slap his head from his neck. But Creed’s so punch drunk in love with her, he cain’t seem to stop hisself. He’s only got the one tactic. Open desperation. He must think she’ll be flattered or take pity on him an eventually give in. As if a delicious woman like her would ever go fer a hobbledy boy like him. Molly’s used to swattin off lust-lorn loobies from her tavern days, but Creed’s a whole new world of aggravation.
I go over to crouch beside them. Give her some relief. I says, With all them tattoos, I’m surprised you can see what yer doin. How deep did the arrow go?
Not very, she says. Surprise surprise, he’s makin out it’s worse than it is.
Creed says, Anythin to keep you close to me, darlin.
I ain’t yer darlin, she says.
Cut it out, Creed, I says.
He leans his head in close to hers. I’m crazy fer you, Molly. Marry me, he says.
She slaps him hard. Almost slaps his head off. Everybody turns at the sound. The angry crack of skin on skin. Her brown eyes spit. In a voice of low fury she says, I’ve told you an I’ve told you but you don’t pay no heed. I’m sick to death of this buck-at-the-rut pursuit. If you was a man, I’d of shot you by now. Fer once an fer all, Creed, leave me the hell alone!
She ends on a shout of frustration. There’s a fat silence as she goes to the fire an sits. Nobody dares move fer a long moment. Then they start eatin agin, with nervous caution. Not so much as a tink of a spoon. In case the sound sets her off agin.
I should never of let it come to this. Me an Slim had a talk some days ago. We agreed I oughta call Creed to order, but I bin puttin it off as ticklish work.
He looks at me with a plea in his eyes. The mark of her hand blooms ugly on his face. She’s left him half-stitched. The needle’s stuck in the wound, the thread danglin. I’m a nervous doctor but I sit down. I pull out the needle an, with clammy hands, I start to sew. I start in on him too, my voice hushed.
You gotta stop this right now, I says. It don’t jest vex Molly, it unsettles all of us. You know she’s still mournin Ike. It’s only bin six months, fergawdsake. Show her some respect.
He’s silent, frownin.
Are you listenin to me? I says.
I gotta make her see, he says. What can I do?
Be a man, Creed, I says. Accept that she don’t want you an leave her alone. There’s too much at stake fer us to fall out. We gotta be able to depend on each other, stick tight together. Okay, I’m done here. I’ll git Emmi to bandage you, she’s got neat fingers.
I jest don’t unnerstand, he says.
I grab his knee an shake it hard. Molly ain’t fer you, I says. Accept it. Capeesh?
He looks at me. No, I mean, I was so sure, he says. That first time I seen her, my heart knew. It went … oh, it’s you, yer the one. How can that be wrong?
Yer heart, I says. More like yer britches.
I stand up an he does too. A storm brews in his grey-blue eyes. Yer really somethin, y’know that? he says. Depend on each other. Stick tight together. That’s rich, comin from you.
I start to hear the pound of war drums. What’s the problem? I says. Say what you mean an be done.
He raises his voice so all can hear. Yer the problem. That’s what I mean. We’re all thinkin it, he says. I’m th’only one’s got the guts to say it. What the hell was that, Saba? Back at the bridge? You, chasin that fuse? We should of bin long gone, safely away. Instead you nearly got us all killed.
You know why, I says. There was innocent people there. Slaves, like Mercy.
That’s their bad luck, he says. Whose side are you on? We’re yer people, not them.
I jest bin told what went down today, says Slim. He fixes me with his watery one-eyed pebble stare. Creed’s right, he says, we agreed the plan. Set the charge, blow the bridge an skedaddle. In an out, quick an clean.
Around the fire, every head’s turned to look at me now. Emmi’s wide-eyed worried, seated at Mercy’s feet.
Killin warn’t part of the plan, I says.
It’s called collateral damage, says Slim. Would you rather yer comrades got killt? You keep yer eye on the goal an you keep discipline an that includes you.
Sometimes you gotta change tactics, I says.
Agreed, he says. But that ain’t what you did. You change tactics fer two reasons. To win the goal or save yer crew. You’d already won the goal. What you did was risk yer crew. That’s a bad leader.
Ash says, I don’t git you, Saba. What about Darktrees? The Tonton slaughtered our friends while they slept. Forty lives. Free Hawks an Raiders. Have you fergot that? An Epona an Maev. Ike an Bram. The
y all died fer this fight. I’m sorry, but Creed’s right. Where’s yer loyalty?
I am loyal, I says. I ain’t fergot. Not Darktrees an not one of them you name. Far from it. But this ain’t about loyalty, I—
It is fer me, says Tommo. Loyalty.
But it’s different now, I says. Doncha see? Here in New Eden, I mean. There’s too many people caught between us an the Tonton. Innocent people.
We cain’t afford a weak leader, says Ash. Me an Creed bin down that road before, with Maev. An it leads to defeat an death. Yer strong. Certain. Single minded. You ain’t that bleedin heart we seen today. Gawdamnmit, yer the Angel of Death. Yer epic, Saba. That’s why we all lined up behind you.
Maybe you ain’t got the stummick fer this no more, says Creed.
I go cold still inside. Is that a challenge? I says.
He says, Be who we need or stand aside.
That’s enough, says Lugh. He rises to his feet from his place by the fire. He’s bin listenin all this time. What happened at the bridge was my fault, he says.
Everybody looks at him. Surprise on their faces. Puzzlement in their eyes.
How d’you figger that? says Creed.
I got spooked by them first two Tonton, Lugh says. I was unner the bridge with the blastpack. Saba ordered me not to move but I did. I slipped an fell an she came to save me. If it warn’t fer her an Tommo, I’d be dead. I defied a direct order from my commander. I’m the one who broke discipline. I put her an the rest of yuz at risk. If Saba did anythin wrong, it’s becuz I rattled her. She couldn’t depend on me. The blame fer today is mine entirely. I’m sorry. I let everybody down.
He’s said all of this lookin straight at me an no other. My throat’s tight.
After a moment, Slim says, Well, we got lucky this time. Nobody got killt. So, I say we accept Lugh’s apology an leave it at that. We learn, we move on. But we cain’t afford no more mistakes. Not from any of us. An that includes yer contact, Angel. Whoever they are, they gave us bad info. Not on purpose, I ain’t sayin that, but if things’re changin quick here, they gotta keep pace. Our lives depend on their intel. Now, I want you two—he waves at me an Creed—to shake hands, make yer peace.