by Moira Young
There’s a spare few rigs on the road. Otherwise, the land’s silent as we roll our way northwest. Tommo an Lugh ride up front. Manuel an me follow behind. He drives a little cart of Peg’s, with Hermes tied to the rear. I sit on the bench beside him, muffled in Auriel’s shawl. Unner Molly’s green dress, my belly billows with its pad of corn husks. We’re Stewards of the Earth. Our Tonton escort of two’s bin charged by the Pathfinder hisself with makin sure we git back home as soon as possible. I’m a precious cargo, pregnant with the first set of twins in New Eden. Nobody’ll dare to ruffle us.
A sudden thought has me grabbin Manuel’s arm. Don’t say a word about Jack, I whisper. Not to nobody, okay? It’s important.
He slants me a look of dark-eyed closeness. I ain’t no talker, he says.
Despite the risks of road travel, it beats crawlin through the backwood trails. We make decent enough progress, so far as caution an conditions allow. I should be champin at the bit to go flat out. But we’ll be there soon enough. Too soon.
At a few of the checkpoints, the Tonton go through the right drill an want the right password. Lugh’s ready with it, all thanks to Jack’s network, if he only knew. Mostly, though, the day makes them careless. Not keen to leave the warmth of the guardhouse stove. Single guards run out at the last moment. A quick glance at the brand on Manuel’s forehead, at my swollen belly, an they’re liftin the gate an wavin us through. Strange nights of starfall an ghostfear followed hard by strangeweather days means people stick close to their fires. Even DeMalo’s Tonton. A reminder, if I need one, that yer only as strong as yer weakest man.
An I think of the young Tonton at the babyhouse. His heartsickness at leavin the baby out to die. Freedom, brother. That raw flare of hope in his eyes. I won’t tell on you. I promise. It cain’t only be him that’s got a conscience. There must be other Tonton who feel the same. But enough of ’em to make a difference when the time comes?
What time though? When? An where? Auriel will tell me. Auriel will know.
All my roads lead to the same place, she said. It’s my destiny. That’s what she said. Well, I bin walkin my roads, takin one step at a time since that terrible day I left Silverlake. An I’m still walkin an I still don’t know where all of this is leadin me to. The babies, the slaves, the seedstore. DeMalo’s false visions. The blood moon’s comin. I hafta finish this somehow. If I put one foot wrong, it’ll be the end of us. But I cain’t see what to do next. I ain’t got no certainty. I won’t till I can speak to Auriel.
My destiny. Is that what this is? What I’m doin? I didn’t choose it, but that ain’t how destiny works. Auriel said that long before I was born, a train of events was set in motion. Auriel said … Auriel said. Destiny or no, one step at a time has led me here an will lead me on. An this is happenin an will be, an whatever will be I mustn’t fear. Jest like Pa told me.
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.
The lack of him suddenly knifes me in the chest. Not the hollowed-out man he was after Ma went. But my handsome young father, so strong an steady. I’d crawl into his arms as nightfall came. An I’d listen to his heartbeat an feel him breathe an know I was safe in the world. Now all I can do is hold fast to his words. Hold fast to myself. An go forwards, step by step, on this road that only I can walk.
No matter what comes. Whatever will be.
My time ticks away. Only three nights to go.
NIGHT THREE
THE DARK COMES UPON US EARLY. IT TAKES US BY SURPRISE. The fog ain’t lifted all day. It’s made heavy weather of our travel. By middle afternoon, the sullen red sun dies. We’re muffled in misty darkness.
Even if it warn’t too dangerous to go on, nightfall means curfew in New Eden. We pull off the road an make a camp among the trees.
I take first watch while the boys sleep. My mind circles in a swamp of shallow fears. I hear whispers in the fog. Movement in the black heart of the night. Lugh relieves me when I done my time.
I lie down, close my eyes an try to sleep. But rest won’t come to me. What comes to me is
the faint, far-off sobs of a child.
The dry rustle of bones hung in trees.
I wait fer the night to pass.
We pause at the crossroads where we hijacked Slim. The one with the sourfruit trees. We’re in the bleak nowhere now. That means little danger of discovery. The boys shed their Tonton robes while I strip off Molly’s dress an dump the corn-husk belly. I ain’t felt like myself since Peg helped me tog up. That was yesterday morning already. Manuel climbs down from the cart to stretch his legs. We pass around waterskins an wet our dry throats.
There’s a harsh beauty to this place. It seems somewhere in a dream. A white hotwind sky that scalds yer skin. The great forest of red pine frozen to stone an the baked cracked red earth. The scattered remains of light towers. A hazy shimmer of mountains far north.
I have a fancy that our voices linger in this place. That that moment of decision still murmurs in the dust, echoes in the frozen pine branches. All of us hot an quarrelsome. Arguin over which way we oughta go. Me determined to press on to the Lost Cause with nuthin in mind but to find Jack. Lugh pullin in the opposite direction. Anxious to turn back, to head west to the Big Water. If we’d done as he wanted, Maev might still be alive. I wouldn’t of fallen to DeMalo. We wouldn’t be speedin now towards the sharp point of our lives.
What should I whisper to myself? There at the crossroads of the past? What should I tell myself to do? Listen to Lugh an turn back? Or forge onwards, though I know what lies ahead?
I catch Lugh’s eye. I can tell that he’s hearin our voices too. But did we, do we, ever really have a choice? It seems our course was set long before that crossroads moment.
They’re gonna need you, Saba. Be strong, like I know you are. An never give up. Never. No matter what happens.
I won’t. I ain’t no quitter, Pa.
I buckle on my jerkin an armbands. I tie Auriel’s shawl around me like a sash. I ain’t no quitter. One step at a time, I’ll see this thing finished. I ain’t got no fear on my own account. But fer them that I love, I fear plenty. If that makes me a bad leader, so be it. I look at Lugh an Tommo. I says, You know that you ain’t obliged to come with me.
But they’re both swingin theirselves onto horseback an Manuel’s jumped in the cart, reins in hand, ready to move at the word.
C’mon then, says Tommo.
Let’s go, says Lugh.
So I swing myself up onto Hermes. An I lead us on north to Nass Camp.
Our landmark looms into view. The rusted stub of a single light tower leg. Ash is perched on the topmost beam. The moment she spots us, she shouts out somethin, then swarms down the leg to the ground. Nero sails off to greet her. By the time we roll to a stop, Creed’s appeared. As the boys an me dismount an Manuel halts the cart, he strides towards us with a big white grin. Ear rings janglin, coat tails flappin, his hair wild tossed by the wind.
That smile better mean they’re here, I says.
You ask an the magic man delivers, he says. He takes my hand an ushers me forwards.
Don’t believe him, says Ash. They was already in New Eden. We met ’em jest after they’d crossed the Yann Gap.
Creed flings his arms wide. Behold, he says. Yer army!
We’re lookin down a mild slope into Nass Camp. I dunno what I espected, but it warn’t this. A dry flat valley of white rocks, bright in the middle day sun. The strangest rocks I ever seen. A close-packed clutter of cones, pillars, mushrooms an chimleys. Small, large an every size in between. Some rise many foot high in the air. They’ve bin carved by human hands into honeycombs of caves, nooks an holes. But it ain’t the rocks that drop my jaw. It’s what’s camped among them.
Good gawd, says Lugh. He sounds as numb as I feel.
This is everybody, I says.
Every last one of ’em, says Creed.
The Snake River cam
p has picked up an moved here. Their flotsam skellies, teepees an ragtents scatter all about between the rocks. Their carts an horses an other beasts. They’ve took over some of the caves as well. I spy Auriel’s patchwork tent. Dogs chase. Children play. I hear Moses, in full-throated bellow of complaint. I spot Slim at the same time he spots us. He raises his hand an shouts welcome. A few kids start runnin towards us. Then everybody begins to move in our direction.
How many? says Tommo.
A hunnerd twenny three, says Ash. That’s accordin to Auriel. An she should know.
I feel instantly sick. Seein ’em all here like this, all together, it hits me. They’re my responsibility now.
Over the Yann Gap, says Tommo. But we wrecked that bridge.
There’s a new one, says Ash. The Pathfinder’s bin busy. An not jest the bridge. They also cleared the Wraithway of yer pals, them skull collectors. How’s about this, Saba? Struck dumb, huh?
Dumb. Shocked. But I take in what she says. DeMalo’s built his bridgehead to the west. Of course he has. The maps in the seedstore roll out in my mind. The land an the waters, to the west, east, north, south. All of it DeMalo’s to control.
Take me to Auriel, I says.
By this time the kids is on top of us. Grubby urchins, gabblin an leapin with excitement as they help with the horses an cart. Then they’re all upon us. We’re swept along in a tide of warm bodies towards the camp. These people who’ve trekked from the Snake River. What a difference from the first time we met them there. With fear-filled faces an weapons in their hands, they would of done us mortal harm had Auriel not stopped ’em. They’d fled fer their lives from DeMalo an the Tonton. An they knew about me, the Angel of Death who’d razed Hopetown to the ground. Him an me was one an the same in their eyes, bringers of misery an death.
Now they’re wantin to shake our hands. There’s nods an smiles an the chatter of hopefulness surrounds me. I reckanise quite a few. They’re dry folk, these people, parched in body an spirit. Stand ’em next to the fresh green Stewards, they’d look poor specimens indeed.
Who are the best stewards of the earth? The old and weak? The sick? Or the young and the strong? There isn’t enough clean water or good land to go around. You know that.
DeMalo’s words hiss in me. Slither in dark corners. Be silent, be gone, yer his thoughts, not mine.
Make way! Make way! Slim sails a path through the crowd, belly-first. Molly follows in his wake. His gappy grin stretches ear to ear. Whaddya say, Angel? Does all this put yer mind at rest?
I cain’t believe it, I says.
We’d barely got here ourselfs when they pitched up, says Molly. They caught us on the hop. But they jest set to without no fuss, diggin latrines an all else.
A wiry little man pardons his way through. He’s got a woman with worn red hair by the hand. They’ve both bin edged sharply by a lifetime of want. They got springtime years but wintertime faces. I don’t s’pose you remember us, he says.
You s’pose wrong, I says. How are you, Ruth? An—
Webb, he says. Webb Reno, ma’am. Ruth’s hangin on, ain’tcha girl? Not givin up, jest like you told her to. You did us a great service that time. We come to help you fight. I mean me.
I’m glad to see you both, I says. What about food? I says to Slim. An water?
Only waterhole’s half a league off, says Slim. Moses don’t mind playin water carrier.
We didn’t have time to collect much in the way of provisions, says Molly. With what they brought, there’s enough fer a few days. I tell you somethin. She leans in close an lowers her voice. Some of these folk ain’t in the best shape, but every last one of ’em’s hell bent on doin their bit.
Beg pardon, ma’am, says Webb Reno. But d’you think there’s any chance we can find our girl they took? Our Nell? It’s all Ruth lives fer, me too, to have her back with us.
That trigger inside my head. It clicks agin. Nell. The same age as Emmi. If she’s still alive, she’ll be at Edenhome. We need a way in there. Maybe this man is it. I says, I cain’t promise nuthin. But let’s talk about it later.
When yer starved of hope, even lean words can make a meal. A spark leaps in their flat, faded eyes.
Oh, thank you! Thank you! Ruth seizes my hand an kisses it before I can stop her.
I ease from her grasp, gentle as I can. I says, If the day comes that I earn yer thanks, Ruth, offer me yer hand. I’ll be honoured to take it. Hand to hand, eye to eye. That’s what’s fittin between people.
I surely will, she says.
The crowd surges us towards Auriel Tai. I can see her waitin in front of her tent that’s bin pitched atop a small rise in the land. The same high-peaked tent made of tatters an patches that I remember so well from the Snake. The wind twitches at her long black shift.
I ain’t met everybody on this earth there is to meet. Still, I know there cain’t be none other like Auriel. This star reader servant of the light. Sixteen an fine boned as a sparrow, with skin the clear white of a watery moon. Her milkfire hair hangs loose to her waist, threaded with feathers an beads. A dark eyeshield covers her eyes. Any glint of light—the sun on water, say—can set her off in a vision so fierce she’ll be laid out cold on the ground.
Auriel knows my black water. She knows it like nobody else. In night skies an lightnin, she’s read me. Past an future. Mind an soul. She’s roamed the grey plains of my dreams.
I knew what she looked like. I knew her to be sixteen. But her power is such that since I left her at the Snake, my memory’s changed her to someone more like Mercy. A older woman with long knowledge of the world. A little spray of shock hits me at the sight of this small girl.
As I stop jest below her on the slope, Nero lands on my shoulder. I can feel the press of bodies behind me. All of my people. All of her people.
She stands there quietly. The chatter stops dead. She raises her voice so none miss her words. They fall clear as spring rain upon a lake. The hotwind dies down, as if soothed by the sound.
The starworld is unsettled, she says. Change in the skies foretells change here on earth. The stars told us to leave our Snake River camp. They sent us here to this place. They sent us to be of service to Saba. My Snake River friends know this land well. It was their land before the Pathfinder came. Before he stole it from them an named it New Eden. He stole their children, their hope fer the future. He killed an enslaved their loved ones. Their friends an their neighbours. They fled in fear of their lives. Yet here they are, returned. Prepared to risk all in the hope of real freedom. The stars say that hope lies with Saba. We wait upon her command.
She motions fer me to come to her. As I go up the slope, settin Nero loose to fly, my Free Hawks crowd behind me. Slim an Molly, Ash an Creed, Tommo an Lugh.
I glance back at them. I’ll see her on my own, I says.
Lugh says, But surely I can—
On my own, Lugh, I says.
He stops with a frown. He has a iron dislike fer Auriel, forged in his soul by our star-scarred life. He despised her the moment he set eyes on her at the Snake. Thanks to our misbegotten father, he’s always spat at the very mention of star readin. Auriel ain’t no never-was, not like Pa. But despite that she proved to a certainty she ain’t no fake—maybe becuz she did—Lugh will not give her credence. He’d claim disbelief even if she raised our mother from the dead right in front of him.
She’s holdin the tent flap open. As I’m about to duck inside, she lays a cool hand on my arm. Where’s Emmi? she says.
Not here, I says. She’s back at base.
Auriel goes completely still. Jest fer a moment. Like that warn’t the answer she espected. Then, Come in, Saba, she says.
The tent of a shaman ain’t jest her home. It’s the place where seekers come. To hear her speak startold secrets of their lives. To journey drugged dreams born of strange powders on the fire. It’s odd to see Auriel’s tent here in New Eden, jest as it was at the Snake. The cot, the stool, the chest, the little table. All of it plain, rough stuff. By
the firepit, her rocker chair an tin box of dream powders. Their smell hangs thick in the air. Sweet an sharp an strange.
She settles in her rocker like thistledown. I pull up the stool an sit, facin her.
The hotwind that was leashed by her voice now roams free. The tent walls billow an snap. The harsh light of middle day’s softened here inside. It’s safe fer Auriel to take off her eyeshield. I know what I’ll see, but a tiny shock jest the same thrills me. She’s got eyes like Tracker. The palest blue of a thin winter sky. Uncanny wolfdog eyes.
I wait fer her to speak. She don’t say nuthin. She jest holds me with her steady gaze. I feel a red heat wash my neck. She knows about me an DeMalo. She knows about my tangle of lies. Of course she does. I so wish she didn’t. Auriel’s all air. She skims above the ground. Not fer her the hot earth of bodies. The drag of unwanted desire.
She told me I’d meet DeMalo. She told me to beware of him. She begged me to stay longer with her, so I’d be more prepared. She said other things, too, an I shrugged her off. All I could think of was goin after Jack.
I should of heeded you, I says. You warned me about him. You said he would know my shadows. He does. I … I lay with him, I—why am I sayin this? You already know.
The time’s short, she says. The blood moon draws near. What would you have my people do?
I give a little laugh. What would I have them do? I says. You know very well. Go onto the farms, back to the land. An I gotta git them kids away from Edenhome—if Webb Reno’s girl is there, she’ll be the key—but I need you to tell me what I gotta do after that. I bin thinkin an tryin to work out that final move that’ll bring all these things together an bring DeMalo down. I know that’s what’s gotta happen. The babyhouse, the slaves, how I needed these people from the Snake—that all came to me pretty clear. But after Edenhome, I cain’t see nuthin. It’s jest blackness. I bin so badly needin to see you, Auriel. Even you probly got no idea how much.
To my dismay, my voice wobbles. I gather it up an carry on.