Raging Star

by Moira Young

  —of pain.

  AFTER

  MY EYES OPEN TO DAYLIGHT. I LIE ON A BED. IN A ROOM I don’t know.

  DeMalo’s the first thing I see. In a chair, by a window, dressed in white, he sits an reads a book. Outside, the sky is blue.

  Lugh, Lugh with yer eyes so blue

  I could sail me away on yer eyes.

  I turn my face to the wall.

  You’re awake, says DeMalo. At last.

  I hear him git up. Hear him walk.

  A door opens. He says some words. The door shuts. He walks.

  The floor is plank. The door is oiled. His feet an voice fall soft.

  He moves his chair beside the bed. A quiet creak as he sits.

  How are you feeling? he says.

  It’s whitewashed stone. The wall.

  Do you remember what happened? he says.

  The room feels warm. My mouth feels dry.

  I got there just in time, he says. The river almost had you. You were bleeding badly. In terrible pain.

  The door opens an shuts. Someone’s come in. He stands. Moves away. She’s awake, he says.

  Firm footsteps. Work-rough fingers lift my wrist. Take my pulse. I turn my head. It’s Mercy. Her eyes warn me not to betray us. She lays her hand on my forehead.

  Fever’s gone, she says. Her pulse is fine.

  This is Mercy. She’s been caring for you, says DeMalo.

  He don’t know that I know her.

  You miscarried, lady, says Mercy. I’m told you had a bad shock. I expect that’s why. Still, it often happens with the first one. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re pregnant.

  Miscarried. Pregnant. Jest words.

  She straightens up. She says to DeMalo, Like I said, Master, your lady needs to put some flesh on her bones. Plenty of rest an proper food, that’ll soon set her right. I oughta check her over, now she’s awake.

  She stands, hands folded, eyes lowered.

  Of course, says DeMalo. I’ll leave you alone. Sleep, he tells me. I’ll see you tonight.

  Mercy sits on the bed. She takes me in her arms. Holds me. I’m sorry, she says. So sorry.

  DeMalo sent out searchers. To find the best midwife in New Eden. The Tonton tracked her down by word of mouth. She was brought here in greatest hurry. She stays to this room, her own room, a sluice room an the kitchen. Wherever she is, a Tonton’s with her. None must speak to her but on matters of my care. It’s a fine house, one of several DeMalo moves between. Plain but comfortable.

  She don’t know New Eden well. All she knows is we’re somewhere southwest. The house stands in grassland with views to nowhere. At the end of a long track from the road.

  DeMalo went in the river to save me. I bin here five nights an five days. At first she feared I had no will to live. DeMalo ain’t hardly ever here. She got the idea there was trouble elsewhere an he was called away to deal with it. She wonders if our work got discovered. She fears fer our people.

  Nero’s about. He comes an goes through the window. Mercy taught him to lift the latch. Tracker found his way here from the Lanes. He ain’t seen by day but he howls in the night.

  My brother an sister lie in graves, side by side. DeMalo raised stone cairns above them.

  That’s what she tells me. No more. Not yet. She don’t say the words agin. Pregnant. Miscarried. She don’t ask me no questions.

  I don’t speak.

  I don’t cry.

  I’m white.

  I’m bones.

  Stripped bare.

  I wake. It’s dark. There’s a fire in the hearth. The room’s lit by rushlight. DeMalo sits by the window in his chair. He stares at the starfall night. A glass of blood dark wine in his hand.

  I can hear the howl of a wolfdog. Tracker, not far off.

  Star season, he says. Superstitious fools. They think this tumult is all down to you. The Angel of Death. He don’t turn his head. He must of heard me move. That wolfdog’s been howling for hours, he says.

  I sit up an push off the blanket. I’m wearin a long shift. It’s thick an soft. He’s come to my bedside. He offers his hand. I look at it. Then I take it. I’m shaky as he helps me to a settle seat by the fire.

  Covered dishes keep warm on the hearth. He sets one on a low table. Hands me a fork. Eat, he says. You must be hungry.

  It’s scrambled egg. I take a small bite. He props hisself in the corner of the settle. One knee up, one foot on the floor. He’s poured me some wine. He watches me sip it.

  You’re too thin, he says. Too pale. Our wedding day will be the first great event in the history of New Eden. I need you to look in bloom. I’ll speak to the woman, to Mercy. She’s bound to know a trick or two. He holds his glass to the firelight. Stares at its blood red richness. I scour New Eden for the most skilled midwife, he says, and where do they find her? In a slave gang. It beggars belief. With the babyhouses full to bursting all the time, we need every midwife we can get.

  The babyhouse I seen was half full.

  While you’ve been resting, I’ve been busy, he says. A wedding likes this takes much planning, preparation. It’s going to be extraordinary. Magnificent. It will bind us all together. One family, serving, healing the earth. This will be the true beginning of New Eden. The story will be told for generations to come.

  He takes my hand in his. He looks tired. But beautiful. By the fire an lantern light, he’s burnished gold. Like Tommo in the sunlight that day.

  I’ve waited for you. Now I have you, he says. Say my name.

  Seth, I says.

  He pulls me to him. Gathers me close. No, he says. Like you said it then.

  Then. When I gave myself to him. I look in his blackwater eyes. An I whisper his name like he wants me to.

  He goes to kiss me. I turn my head, slightly. With one finger to my chin, he brings me back to him. An I know the dark country of his mouth once more. The drug touch of his hands. The heat of his body. He leaves me cold. He stops. So ungenerous, Saba, he says. I’ll forgive you. This time.

  He shifts back to the corner of the settle. I stare straight ahead as he looks at me. You’ll grow your hair long, he says. I want to see it against your skin. Now eat. I won’t have wasted food.

  I lift my fork. Make myself eat another bite. He drinks his wine an watches me.

  My men rounded up your rebel crew, he says. What was left of them. Three people in a junkyard. One’s the crazy old junk woman, I’m told. The Steward couple were easily found. Dealt with on the spot. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. Small wonder you were ready to surrender. And, before you ask, no, you can’t see them. They’re somewhere secure until after the wedding. Don’t worry, I intend to keep my word. I have no wish for a resentful wife. What is it they say? A little kindness goes a long way.

  He toasts me.

  So … how do I rate your performance? he says. In this little endgame of ours. You were always going to lose, no matter what you did. Was it unfair advantage that I set your brother against you? You must know that I always have a safety net. I’m sorry to say … you rate low. I expected much more. I give you a week and the best you can do is free a few children from their intolerable life of three meals a day, a warm bed and a meaningful future. They’re all back at Edenhome in any case. And as for that sentimental trick of returning infants to their parents, I don’t suppose they’ll be thanking you now. He stares at me a long moment. There’s the tiniest of frowns between his eyes. Disappointing, Saba, he says. And perplexing. You’ve caused me some … inconvenience, that’s all. And rained your own blood upon your head. Your lover, the traitor, is the only one not accounted for. If he drowned, he’ll wash up downstream. If not, he’ll be found and dealt with.

  He pulls somethin from his pocket. Shows it to me. It’s my little leather bag with the barkscroll messages. He says, Nero as go-between, I presume. That’s more like it. He tosses the bag on the fire.

  Safe passage fer Jack too, I says. You promised.

  What? he says. You’d have your brother d
ie for nothing?

  A single tear shames me. Tracks down my cheek.

  He watches me as he drinks. What is this? he says. Self-pity? Guilt? Or is it grief?

  It’s somethin in the way he asks. Not to taunt me. He wants to know. An at last I git it. His unreadable eyes. His smooth, blank face. Not blank becuz he’s hidin how he feels. Blank becuz he don’t feel nuthin. Kindness. Guilt. Grief. Self-pity. They’re jest words to him. He’s learned to say them at the right time.

  We marry in two nights and one day, he says. Cry until then if you must, but no more. He empties his glass. I’ll have no red-eyed bride, he says. We’re not made of common dust like the rest. We have a destiny, you and I. Together. There’s much to be done. I have plans.

  He kisses me agin. A hard kiss, like he owns me. Next time, we’ll know who the father is, he says.

  He gits to his feet. Goes to the door. It opens an closes. He locks it behind him. He’s gone.

  I sit. I stare in the fire. A sudden rattle at the window makes me jump. The gleam of black feathers in the lamplight, through the glass. My heart quickens.

  Nero, I says.

  He’s lifted the latch, like Mercy taught him. Silently, carefully—they mustn’t know he’s here—I open the window an bring him in. I can hear Tracker still howlin nearby. I lean out into the night. There ain’t nobody around. I whistle softly. Once. Twice. I wait. I wait. Then I see him by the light of the moon. A silver-grey streak, racin through the field towards the house. He flings hisself at the wall below me. Stretches on his hind legs to his full height. Hopin to try an reach me. But three bone-breaker floors stand between us.

  All I can do is look down an whisper to him. I’m okay, it’s okay, I’m here. I tell him what a fine fellow he is. He whimpers, but knows not to bark. Then I tell him to go. He mustn’t be found near the house. DeMalo would never hurt him. He’s kindness itself to any creature not human. But the Tonton cain’t be trusted not to harm him.

  I close the window an take Nero in my arms. Bring him to my fireside chair. I cradle his warmth to me. Breathe his smell to me. He rubs his beak on my neck. It’s jest you an me now, I tell him. They’re gone. Jest you an me.

  I say the words. I still don’t feel what they mean.

  We sit fer some time. An I begin to think.

  The two Tonton we left in the road. They must of led the way to Starlight Lanes. Three at the junkyard. Peg an Tommo an Webb. DeMalo said, the Steward couple, dealt with on the spot. The Tonton must of tracked down Manuel. His woman, Bo, would be judged guilty with him. But only those two from Jack’s rebel gang. That means they didn’t talk before they died. Before they died. That leaves Molly an Auriel at Nass Camp. Slim an Ash an Creed still somewhere in New Eden. Jack, who hates me, on the run. Maybe they all hate me.

  The Snake River folk on the farms ain’t bin discovered.

  He’s made plans for our marriage. Preparations. Extraordinary. Magnificent.

  I look to the fire. My leather bag lies in the ashes. I pick it out. It’s singed an blackened. But the scrolls inside ain’t bin burnt.

  I eat the eggs. Some cornbread. A sliced breast of duck. I drink some wine.

  I set Nero free in the night. Then I go to bed. An I sleep.

  I wake to find Mercy movin about. Fillin a tin bath with hot water. She drops in oil of thyme. When I’m scrubbed, she washes my hair with soapwort. As she’s tippin rinse water over my head, DeMalo comes into the room.

  There’s a Tonton jest inside the door. No doubt to make sure me an Mercy don’t plot. But we’re behind a low screen to be private.

  DeMalo comes around it. Without a nod or a look to me or a by yer leave, he says to Mercy, I want her blooming by tomorrow. Rosy cheeks. Bright eyes. Do you understand?

  She nods. A decoction of archangel, she says. Cures melancholy. That’s what she needs. I’ll hafta gather some.

  Find it, he says. Do you know where to go?

  I believe so, she says.

  My men will take you there now.

  I wanna see where you buried them, I says.

  He looks at me.

  Please, I says.

  After tomorrow, he says. That’s soon enough. That reminds me. DeMalo reaches in his pocket an pulls somethin out. He was wearing this around his neck, he says.

  He tosses an I catch it. Lugh’s necklace. The little ring of green glass, threaded on a leather string. I gave it to him fer our last birthday. Eighteen year, it was.

  I’ll spend tonight elsewhere, says DeMalo. I won’t see you now until we wed.

  He leaves. Mercy an me look at each other. I git outta the tub an, as she dries me with a sack, I says to the Tonton, Empty the water, would you please? When he hesitates, I says, You heard the Master. She needs to go right away.

  I stand aside, wrapped in the sack. He hurries over, not lookin at me. He seizes the tub, takes it off to empty it. I go to my bed. Pull my leather bag from unner the straw pallet an dump out the scrolls inside. As I start to sort through ’em, I whisper to Mercy, There’s a safe message drop near the watermill. On the Don River, where we met that day. D’you know the one I mean?

  I do, she says. I’ll find some archangel thereabouts. It grows most places. It’s our luck he don’t seem to know that.

  I’ve found the scroll I want. I press it into her hand.

  Could be they don’t find this in time, I says. We don’t even know if they’re still usin the drops. Or they might find it an … ignore it, I dunno. I don’t really know what I’m doin, I jest have this idea. I could be wrong, but—

  I’ll see to it. Don’t worry. As she tucks the scroll in her bosom, she says, I’m glad to hear yer voice agin. I was startin to think you’d lost it.

  Please be careful, I says.

  I ain’t got this far bein careless, she says.

  With a smile an a nod to reassure me, she slips out the door. She’ll be gone fer some while.

  The house is quiet. Nobody comes, nobody goes. I stare out the window. I sit an I think.

  I hold Lugh’s necklace in one hand. I hold the heartstone in the other.

  I cain’t let myself feel. Not yet. So I do what I did in my Hopetown cell at night. When the dreams woke me. When the fears took hold. I imagine the world all around me is dark. I go deep inside my self. Shrinking my self down to one point of light. Where I’m safe. Where I’m strong.

  I’m one point of light an I ask,

  Who am I?

  What do I believe?

  Never lose sight of what I believe in. Never, no matter what happens.

  What one person does affects all of us.

  We’re all bound together. We’re all threads in a single garment of destiny.

  I make my destiny myself.

  By the choices I make.

  Mercy won’t be back. That’s all they’ll tell me. She must of bin caught tryin to leave the message in the drop box. I dunno if she’s alive or dead.

  But somebody, maybe her, picked the archangel. It was brewed an brought to me in wine. I don’t touch it.

  Tomorrow, I marry DeMalo.

  A strange slave woman wakes me in the grey time. As the night turns towards dawn. She’s bin sent to dress me to be wed. As she lights every lantern in the room, I see the gown that’s bin laid at the foot of my bed. It was put there while I slept.

  It’s strange. Wonderful. Extraordinary, like he said. A queenly gown. Long to the floor. Tight sleeves to the wrist. Laced up the back. The colour of rich wine. Made of heavy soft cloth. It’s old. Wrecker old. It’s bin garlanded with fresh flowers, with real leaves. With feathers an polished stones. There’s a circle of twisted gold fer my head. No boots. That means he wants bare feet.

  Nero taps on the window. I let him in. I wash my face an hands. The woman combs my hair. She’s shy. Won’t meet my eyes. Her name, she tells me, is Fan.

  In silence, she laces me in. The gown fits me perfect. Of course. He’s seen to it. Fan’s brought rose petals in oil. She rubs ’em into my cheeks an lips
. I must have bloom. The flush of joy. That’s what he wants. Today, appearance is all.

  In New Eden appearance is all. The lie dressed as truth. Slavery dressed as freedom. Me dressed as DeMalo’s bride.

  The same someone who brought the gown left a tall lookin glass aginst the wall. When I’m ready, Nero comes to perch on my shoulder. We stare at the stranger who stares back at us. In the lanternglow light, the circle gleams gold on her black hair. Her eyes glitter huge an dark. The gown fits her like a skin. The neck’s low at her bosom. The skirt trails behind her with a hush. The stones catch the light. The feathers gleam.

  Beautiful, says Fan. Like a forest spirit.

  Nero starts to caw. He scolds, heckles me, bobs up an down. He’s right. She ain’t me, this stranger. I ain’t her. She ain’t real. She’s some idea of DeMalo’s that fits into his grand plan, his great story. With him, the powerful, wise father of New Eden. An her, the earth mother. An the Angel of Death is dead at last. Killed by him. Like her sister an her brother.

  Dead I may be at the end of this day. But I ain’t dead yet.

  I ditch the gold circle. Haul on my boots. I strap on my armour over the dress. The metal plate jerkin an armbands. It puts poor Fan in a twitch.

  If there’s blame, I’ll take it, I says.

  She dithers about me, the heartstone in hand, anxious to hang it around my neck.

  Not that one, I says. The green glass.

  I wear the necklace I gave to Lugh.

  Then we go outside. Nero takes to the air. It’s cool an clear an windy. Three shades short of dawn. I find a guard of eight Tonton lined up to escort me. Hermes waits in the middle. He looks splendid. He’s bin groomed like never before in his life. He shines an gleams from ears to hoofs. He tosses his head when he sees me.

  I pause. My gown’s tight. I’ll hafta ride sidewise. DeMalo’s thought of this too. A Tonton comes towards me to lift me onto horseback. I reach down an grab the hem. The old cloth tears easy. I rip it to my thighs. Then I swing myself onto Hermes.

  Nero flies above me as we move down the track. Then Tracker appears in the fields alongside. The Tonton horses shy, the Tonton go fer their guns.