A Liar in Paradise

by M H Woodscourt

  My tall guide took me to the stream, handed me a “Dead Animal Bag,” and watched as I filled the flask to the brim. I had to wonder how clean this water was as I capped it and made to hand it over. He shook his head and gestured for me to follow him. Biting my tongue, I trudged after him back into camp.

  Again, we circled the tents until we arrived at a huge bonfire. It was ridiculous to burn so much wood in the heat of day, but then, they appeared to have plenty of forest to spare.

  On the other side of the bonfire Crenen lounged in the shade of a rawhide awning, his expression bored as one clan member fanned him with a giant red-tipped leaf. Yikes.

  Crenen's cheek was propped against his hand and he looked ready to sulk. As I neared him, he caught sight of me and perked up. Panic rolled through my insides, but I forced my legs to move forward. Rapt attention from an evil maniac was bad but running from one promised a worse fate.

  “What Strange Coward Boy got?”

  Tall Strong Jerk bowed his head, apparently not recalling the chastisement he had received the previous evening. “He brings fresh stream water, Master.”

  As opposed to...?

  “Excellent. Our favorite.” He beckoned me into the shade with a clawed finger and pointed at the ground. “Sit.” I knelt, grateful for the shade, and handed the flask to Crenen. He shook it close to his ear. “Very fresh,” he purred, and I decided that was as close to a thank you as I would get.

  He undid the cap and drank long. Took a breath and glanced at me. He blinked and cocked his head to the side. “What you still here for?”

  “Uhm.” I glanced at Tall Strong Jerk, who waved me over with a quick motion of his hand. I got to my aching feet and stumbled back to his side.

  “Be off,” Crenen ordered. He returned to his drink of water.

  I scowled as we walked away from the Yenen clan leader. “At war?” I mumbled under my breath, recalling Tall Strong Jerk's comment the day before. “He looked like the definition of 'at peace' to me...”

  Tall Strong Jerk looked down at me. “We are at war, but we choose not to panic about it.”

  Blinking, I tried a smile. “You heard that, huh?”

  He tapped his ear with one clawed finger. “How could I not?”

  “Right...” I made a mental note not to talk to myself out loud anymore. “So, what other tasks do I have?”

  “You will wash Master Crenen's laundry.”

  I froze on the spot, staring after Tall Strong Jerk. “Laundry?”

  He stopped and looked back at me. “Is laundry the wrong word to describe the washing of clothes?”

  I forced a laugh. “Nope, that's right. Good ol’ laundry. My favorite.” Never had my mom made me do laundry, and that was with a washing machine. Washing laundry by hand or in one of those cauldrons was ludicrous.

  “I thought so,” Tall Strong Jerk said with a fleeting smile.

  “Tell me you're joking.”

  He shook his head. “Come. I'll take you to your cauldron.”

  I groaned, not caring who heard. There was no way I could pretend to be happy about doing that creep's laundry.

  Not only was the water scalding hot and the steam thick enough to catch your breath, but the paddle was not made from metal, as I’d first thought. It was made with a heavy wood that was awkward to handle. Each time I turned the ragged clothes inside the boiling pot, another sliver worked its way into my skin. Tall Strong Jerk had been kind enough to remove all the slivers in a painful matter of minutes and then wrap my hands and fingers with a rough white cloth. Lunch was not easy to eat, as I was having difficulty lifting my spoon. I finally resorted to sipping straight from the bowl.

  The meal was far from grand: a rather bitter soup, a clay cup of freshly squeezed juice (which tasted good, thankfully, despite the little floaties that resembled tiny bugs), and a day-old crust of flat bread. Crenen had nothing good to say about the food, which was fine, since he noisily voiced my thoughts on the subject.

  As I gulped down the last of my soup and shuddered at the taste, Crenen shoved his dishes into my hands. “Wash,” he instructed. “Then nap.”

  I wasn't sure how I could wash the dishes with bandaged hands, but I was willing to attempt it for the sake of sleep. Considering I’d nearly died recently, I wasn't getting anywhere near the pampering and rest I deserved.

  With a sigh, I got to my feet and, precariously balancing Crenen's and Tall Strong Jerk's dishes, as well as my own, walked from the tent into a windstorm. Fighting the gale, I dumped the bowls and cups into a small simmering cauldron and stared at them as they soaked. Then I plunged my hands into the hot water, ignoring the pain as it seeped into my bandages. I figured I'd need re-bandaging anyway, so I used the wraps to scrub the dishes clean. Glancing around, I noticed that everyone else had stacked their own dishes beside their cauldrons and extinguished their fires. I followed suit, dumping the water into the fire and swallowing smoke.

  Still choking, I entered the tent again, grateful to be out of the wind. Crenen and Tall Strong Jerk looked up from a piece of paper they had been studying.

  “Done?” Crenen asked.

  I nodded.

  “Excellent.” He pointed to my bed. “Sleep.”

  I collapsed on my furry blankets, not bothering to climb inside. As I drifted into a weary rest, I caught snatches of Crenen going over some sort of battle strategy.

  I woke to the pungent aroma of wet dog. Moaning, I turned from the smell and buried my face in my bedding—only to get a better whiff. I jerked my head back and blinked the blankets into view.

  Fur.

  I growled and sat up, despite my stiff shoulders, to gaze around the dingy tent. Was it really real? Would it never end?

  A drop of water splashed in my hair and I looked up to see a tear in the tent's top. Another drop fell on the blanket near my feet. Wet dog mystery, solved.

  The tent flap opened, bringing with it dismal light and a very tall silhouette. “Good morning. Ready to work?”

  I grimaced. “No.” Still, I shoved my heavy furs aside and got to my unsteady feet. Had I slept the rest of the previous day clear through? I was surprised Crenen had let me get away with it.

  “You still look pale,” the tall man said.

  “I'm fine.” I ran a hand through my tangled hair, wishing for a comb.

  “You'll start by repairing the tent. It leaked last night.”

  “Yeah. I noticed.”

  I followed Tall Strong Jerk from the tent and my mood plummeted into the mud at my feet. Rain pounded down from a gray sky, bringing out the vibrancy of the green forest around Crenen's encampment. Clan members milled around, ignoring the rain, barely registering each other as they splashed through the puddles, going about their business. Luckily the windstorm had mostly died out.

  “Here is what you need,” Tall Strong Jerk said, motioning to a pile of sopping rawhide.

  I stared at the heavy pile, waiting for the punchline. When I finally looked up into the man's face, he wasn't laughing—or even amused (from what I could tell). I looked back down. “Don't I need needles or something?”

  “Not unless you want to take the whole tent down to repair it.”

  I turned to look up at the tent. “Okay. So, how do I get up there to put this on?”

  “Climb the tree. I'll be back later.” He walked away and disappeared among the tents. I watched the spot I had last seen him for a long while, hoping he'd pop back up and offer to help. The rain pounded my skull. I turned to stare at the rawhide sitting like an island surrounded by muddy water.

  “It won't fix itself,” a soft voice observed.

  I spun, kicking up mud, and faced Jenen. He stood as calm as the eye of a storm, also ignoring the rain, though it caused his hair to cling to his face. His hands clutched his ridiculous silver shawl.

  “You seem at a loss for words,” he said. “Again.”

  I scowled. “I know it won't fix itself. I just don't know how to get that,” I pointed to the rawhide pil
e, “and me,” I jabbed my thumb at myself, “both into the tree.” I shot the offending tree a glare.

  Jenen's eyes shifted from me, to the pile, and then up to the large naked branch hovering conveniently over the leaky tent-top. “That does seem problematic.”

  I waited for his offer to help, but he remained silent.

  “Yeah. It is. Thanks for noticing.” I grabbed the heavy pile and lifted it, slightly pleased that I could handle its weight better than last time. Struggling to keep a grip, I stumbled to the tree trunk.

  “The leak was caused by the branch,” Jenen said. “The wind brushed it against the rawhide through the night.”

  “That's a freaking strong wind,” I muttered, gritting my teeth as I tried to raise the rawhide up into the tree.

  “That won't work,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course it won't. I can't do this by myself,” I growled. “Nobody could.” Except maybe Tall Strong Jerk.

  “What will you do about it?”

  Claws raked my insides and I chucked the rawhide into the mud. “I don't know! Everyone else seems so busy.”

  Jenen arched one slender eyebrow. “Are you blind, too?”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded, rain thundering against my head and running down my freezing face. Was he offering? My eyes narrowed. No. He was waiting for me to ask him for help. But that wasn't going to happen. I would do this alone, if it killed me (figuratively speaking).

  I bent down and heaved the rawhide into my arms, gathered my strength and threw the mass onto the nearest branch. Then I pulled myself up. I repeated the process—somehow keeping my balance—until I managed to reach the branch extending over the tent.

  I crept forward, then reached back and dragged the rawhide after me, trying to ignore the trembling of the limb I sat on.

  Jenen watched from below, water running down his face, his body perfectly still as mud swirled around his bare feet.

  The tricky part was getting the rawhide from behind me to in front of me, but after a few close calls, I finally managed it. From there I tossed the rawhide over the shuddering tent-top, covering the tears beneath the branch.

  Smirking, I looked down at Jenen's indifferent gaze.

  “Now get down,” he said.

  I smothered a scowl and pondered my awkward situation. Should I shimmy backward toward the trunk, or should I somehow flip around and crawl? My dilemma was answered by a loud crack. Before I could react, the branch beneath me gave way and I, branch, and tent came tumbling down. I might have been short for my age, and built like a stick, but I still weighed more than any tent could handle.

  Jenen rescued me from the smothering rawhide which had somehow gotten on top of me. Freed, sputtering, I found his smug face. Cheeks burning, I turned toward the mess of muddy tent heaped before me, broken wooden poles jutting up amidst the rawhide.

  “Impressive work,” Jenen said.

  I gritted my teeth. Don’t lose your temper. I had bigger issues to worry about: Crenen had chosen that precise moment to round another tent, and he halted when he spotted the carnage.

  I had two seconds to decide whether to hit the mud or shoot for the trees. Unfortunately, I wasted those two seconds, frozen in place by thoughts of what Crenen would do when he found out how his tent had been destroyed.

  It might not have been a big deal, except the poles had obviously torn through the tent in several places. Without a lot of mending it would prove useless.

  Crenen came to the same conclusion.

  “What happening here?” he demanded, hurrying toward us, his eyes narrow slits as he stared me down.

  I glanced toward Jenen for help, only to find empty space where he’d stood two seconds before. Reluctantly I looked back at Crenen and shrugged.

  “It fell. I turned away for a second, then heard a ripping sound, and—well, it looked like this.”

  His eyebrow arched. “That so, yeah?”

  I nodded, meeting his eyes.

  Tall Strong Jerk came up behind Crenen, taking in the ruin.

  Crenen stepped closer and raised one clawed finger, running it through my hair too quickly for me to react. He lowered his hand to my eyes so that I could see the tree sap oozing down his slender finger.

  “Sticky Smelly Sap not lie like Strange Coward Boy.”

  I watched the sap drip to the ground, mingling with water and mud. Finally, I met Crenen's eyes again. He was deadly calm. I almost wished that he would jump into a rage or pitch a fit, but he only watched me.

  I refused to budge either.

  The rain kept pounding against us, little floods eddying around our ankles, leaking into the hole-filled tent. My shoes were soppy sponges.

  “Strange Coward Boy lie again to us, we kill,” Crenen finally said, his eyes betraying nothing but terrifying sincerity. “Yeah?”

  I found myself nodding more fervently than I liked.

  “Tall Strong Jerk.”

  The towering man stepped forward, watching me with the same unreadable gaze.

  “Show Strange Coward Boy how repairing tent is done.”

  “Yes, Master,” the man said, inclining his head.

  Crenen still held my gaze. “Strange Coward Boy learn to take responsibility, or wake up dead someday, yeah?”

  I bit down my anger, trying to feel humble. It was an effort (especially with all the retorts going through my mind).

  Without another word, Crenen spun around, kicking up mud, which splattered both Tall Strong Jerk and me. He trudged away, tattered wraps dragging through murky pools behind him. I rubbed mud from my nose and glanced up at the tall man's now-disapproving face. I tried a grin but was certain it came out as a grimace.

  “If I leave for a moment to gather supplies, can you keep from causing trouble?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  He took off through the rain, eventually disappearing in a tent down the way. Finally, he returned, carrying several spools of heavy thread and four large needles, several rolls of rawhide hanging over one shoulder. He dropped these on top of the toppled tent, covered them with the rawhide I’d nearly drowned under, and looked down at me.

  “Working in the rain is difficult. We'll fish until the weather lets up.” He turned again, and I made to follow him, nearly losing my shoes in the mud as I took a step.

  “Fish?” I asked, finally catching up and matching his pace.

  “Fish.”

  Having never fished in my life, I was both anxious and excited at the prospect. But I did have to wonder: In this strange, exotic world, what were the fish like?

  “I should've known,” I muttered as Tall Strong Jerk pulled one speared fish from the creek bed. It flopped wildly, baring its needle-point teeth, grinning as it died. The scales were a shimmering orange-yellow; they flashed like firelight in the rain.

  Tall Strong Jerk pulled the fish from the spear after it wriggled its last and tossed the piranha-like monster into the wet grass. “Never take the fish off the spear until it has died. Otherwise you'll lose a finger.”

  “Right.”

  The man handed me a second spear. “Rain brings the fish to the surface.”

  “Is this dinner?” I asked.

  “Yes, though you may not get any.” He thrust the spear into the rippling water, twisting the haft in his powerful hands.

  “Because I lied.” I didn't have to ask. Crenen's reaction to my little fib had left no room for doubt.

  “Crenen despises liars,” he answered, staring at the spear resting idly in my hands. Finally, I sighed and plunged the spear into the creek, stirring the water. He could tell I wasn't trying, but he said nothing about it.

  “He is disappointed,” Tall Strong Jerk said, withdrawing the spear-tip, another monster-fish attached. “If you truly are Vendaeva, he expects better of you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don't even know what the heck a Venday-thing is,” I said.

  “Ven-day-vuh. It is complicated. Suffice it to say, you fit the description, and Cren
en cannot understand how you can be so foolish and still save us.”

  Heat singed my cheeks. “I'm not foolish.”

  “Perhaps.” His voice was neutral. He pulled the fish off the spear. “You must learn to distinguish between the ripples caused by raindrops and by those of the fish.”

  The abrupt change in topic gave me a moment's pause and I turned my focus to the water. When I looked carefully, I could just make out the lithe forms of fiery fish kissing the water's surface.

  “Fyar,” Tall Strong Jerk said.

  “Huh?”

  “It's their name,” he answered. “Fyar.”

  The word almost resembled fire—with an accent, emphasis on the 'a'. I watched the fiery fish for a moment, carefully took aim, and stabbed the nearest one. It squirmed, but I held firm until it stopped wriggling. I pulled it from the water and dropped the fish beside the others.

  “Good work,” Tall Strong Jerk said, a tiny smile touching his pale face.

  I found myself beaming until, on stabbing the water again, I startled a fish. It leapt from the water, engulfed in honest-to-goodness flames until it plunged into the depths again and swam away.

  I was done fishing.

  As the living tower had predicted, I wasn't allowed to eat dinner. It hadn't helped when Tall Strong Jerk announced that the tent was beyond repair (no thanks to the water) and we would have to confiscate another. Luckily the occupants of the chosen tent relinquished it wordlessly, moving into another enclosure not far away. Still, Crenen found this change annoying. (It was more to blame for my fast than the lie was.)

  As I sat in a dark corner of the new tent, picking at the damp fur beneath me, I thought of Jenen. He hadn't come back since the incident with the rawhide patch. I wondered where he slept in this wooded land when it rained. I also wondered, with some bitterness, how anyone that girly could stand to wear a shawl and still expect people to think them male.

  After a while I shifted to sit cross-legged on my furs. I flexed my bandaged hands. Laundry the previous day had given me blisters to compliment the slivers, and the haft of the spear today had added to both, even with the bandages. My palms throbbed dully.