by Ila Mercer
Within moments the other outlaws were scrabbling for cover. Lita roared again and sent torrents of fire blasting through the cave.
‘You will stop,’ she roared. ‘Or you will all be burnt to cinders.’
The outlaws immediately stopped in their tracks. Lita could see hands and knees shaking and those facing her showed eyes white with fear and sweat trickling down their foreheads.
With the grace of a cat, she alighted on the narrow shelf and bellowed, hoping to feed their fear lest they grow bold and reach for weapons. Sniffing the air, she found a familiar scent. The scent that in Lita’s mind was an infusion of tealeaves, tin and dusty old books. MaKiki was still alive.
‘Where is the woman?’ she said with a gnash of the teeth.
The outlaws quaked and whispered to each other.
As she glared into the darkness, scanning for MaKiki, one of the outlaws picked up a long-barrelled pistol. Lita sent a spear of fire into the cave, singeing his fingers and searing his knuckle hair. At once, he dropped the pistol and drew his fingers to his mouth.
Lita fixed each of them with an angry eye. The air grew scented with the sweat of their cowardice and pungency of burnt hair. Meanwhile, Tipple skulked into the shadows and dropped behind a great wooden chest cascading with jewels and gold. Suddenly, Lita realised her good fortune. With such a bounty, she and MaKiki would never need to tinker again. But where was MaKiki? And then, as she swept her vermilion gaze over the rest of the cave, she spied a stirring mound of rags. Lita arched her neck and stared into the dark recess. A woman lifted her head and returned Lita’s gaze. She smelled like MaKiki but there the resemblance ended, because her hair drooped limp and dirty and her eyes were impenetrable voids. With a sinking heart, Lita wondered what MaKiki had been made to endure.
‘I want the woman,’ Lita growled. ‘And gold.’ She flashed her teeth at Tipple who still cowered in the shadows.
Tipple’s shoulders shook as she said, ‘Take what you want. So long as you spare me.’ She caught the eye of a scowling outlaw. ‘I mean us.’
‘It’s not yours to give,’ an outlaw with a missing ear hissed as Tipple scooped out armfuls of treasure and shuffled towards Lita.
‘No fool,’ Lita said. ‘Put it on the woman.’
Tipple stumbled to the back of the cave and draped necklaces around MaKiki’s neck, and slid rings onto her fingers. Her hands shook, and her knees trembled until they nearly buckled. All the while, the outlaws seethed and cussed under their breaths as they watched their treasure dwindled. Tipple would pay dearly for giving away their loot.
When Tipple was finished draping MaKiki with jewels, she thrust her forward. ‘There, see,’ Tipple said, with a wavering smile. ‘We’re all square now, don’t you think?’
MaKiki shuffled forward, barely able to walk under the weight of so many jewels. Her face, though framed by sparkle and shine, remained impassive.
‘Help her,’ Lita ordered one of the outlaws.
One of the men roughly hoisted MaKiki onto Lita’s back and once mounted, Lita began her retreat; she dared not turn her back on them because she knew there was no honour when dealing with thieves. All eyes were locked on Lita, except for Tipple who inched her way to a sickle shaped slit in the rear wall. For a moment, Lita considered drawing the outlaws’ attention to her sly escape. But on second thought, decided against it. She was certain they would pursue Tipple to the ends of Dracodia, now that she had given away all their wealth.
With a final roar, Lita swooped from the ledge.
*
When they were a safe distance from the bandits’ cave, Lita alighted near a stream. A gentle dawn lit the horizon. Lita knew it would be a day for tenderness and patience. Who knew what damage lay hidden by the jewels and rags that dressed MaKiki’s flesh.
‘Do you need help?’ Lita rasped.
‘No Lita,’ MaKiki answered as she slipped to the ground and found a fallen log on which to rest. One by one, with fumbling fingers, she removed the jewels from her body, letting them pile on the ground. Bruises of every colour bloomed on her skin.
A tear rolled from the reddened corner of Lita’s eye and she had to turn away, for fear that MaKiki might misread her emotion as shame. With sudden rage, she wished she had torched the whole cave and everyone in it. And yet, she knew she would not go back – because revenge could undo none of it.
Lita left the clearing, and when she deemed she was a safe distance away, closed her eyes and transformed back to a maiden. On her return, she untied her cloak and took it to MaKiki. ‘Here,’ she said, curling the cloak around MaKiki’s hunched frame, taking care not to graze the lesions on her arms and ankles.
MaKiki caught a strand of Lita’s hair. ‘Look at you,’ her voice grew choked. ‘I think you’ve filled out and become taller.’ She tucked the strand of hair behind Lita’s ear.
Lita blinked a tear away, understanding it was MaKiki’s way of saying how much she had missed her. She wanted to throw her arms about the older woman, but habit prevented her. How Lita wished to ask about the past and though the questions lay at the tip of her tongue, MaKiki’s eyes began to droop and her head started to nod. ‘Why don’t you lie down for a while,’ Lita said. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.’
*
While MaKiki slept, Lita filled the hours of waiting by building a comfortable camp. She found a hollow gourd that served well enough as a water container, a nest of eggs and some wild potatoes. It was by no means a feast but would help MaKiki restore some of her vigour. While Lita jiggled a stick in the fire, MaKiki stirred and muttered as she rolled over. She had done so most of the day; hers was not the sleep of peace.
MaKiki still lay wrapped within Lita’s cloak, despite the restlessness of her sleep.
*
Later, when the birds began roosting in the trees, Lita heard her name.
‘You’re awake,’ Lita said turning to MaKiki.
‘Did I sleep all day?’
Lita nodded and handed the water gourd to MaKiki. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘You must be thirsty.’
MaKiki took a sip and wiped her mouth. All the while, Lita chewed the inside of her lip. ‘I stayed at a cottage on Doom Mountain, above the Downs. And I think I’ve been there before. Long ago with my mama,’ Lita said, pausing to gauge MaKiki’s response.
The older woman’s face was inscrutable.
‘I think there are things you haven’t told me about my past.’
MaKiki nodded, dropping her gaze.
‘Why did you lie about the past?’
‘Oh Lita,’ she sighed. ‘To protect you, of course. You were newborn when you came into my care. And once you were older, it just seemed safer not to tell you. You were not supposed to exist. Your brother was not so lucky, he was stillborn. But then you came along shortly after, squawking with a lust for life. I meant to tell you one day, when you were old enough to understand. I’m sorry, but in my eyes, you were still a child. Now I see I was wrong.’
‘I had a twin?’ Lita said.
MaKiki nodded.
Lita steeled herself as she uttered the next words, afraid that she already knew the answer. ‘I remember my mama. We lived in a cottage beside a lake. She had long black hair and pushed me on the swing.’
‘That was me, Lita. We lived there until the day I was recognised by old acquaintances from the Keep. I felt it was unsafe to stay any longer and so our tinkering days began.’
‘And what about my parents?’
MaKiki turned from Lita. ‘What can I say? Katarin was my dearest friend. She hated rules, just like you. And despite my advice fell in love with the only person forbidden to her.’
‘Then she’s no longer alive?’
‘I’m sorry Lita.’
And my father was a Beast. Is he dead too?
MaKiki nodded.
Lita rose from the log and began to pace. She was so disappointed. All this time she had held onto the notion that her mama still lived, innocently believing a real mama would be
warm, soft and kindly spoken. Instead, she had MaKiki, a woman whose watchful eyes hid countless secrets, taut shoulders and barbed voice were like the prickly shanks and barred teeth of a dog warning you ‘don’t get close, I bite’. And yet, MaKiki had cared for Lita, fed her, educated her, even changed the way she lived for Lita’s safety. And though the tinker hid any sign of feeling under that tough old hide, Lita suddenly understood what MaKiki feared most. Even now, she was preparing herself for the possibility that Lita might choose to carry on alone. It was as if she saw MaKiki for the first time, realising that sweet words and fond gestures were not the only means of showing love. Small deeds also made up the sum. One could spend a lifetime wishing folk were different – but then you never truly allowed yourself to know them. And so it had been with MaKiki. Stern and rough with her affections – those affections were, in essence, no less than that of any other mama. Yes, a mama in all but name.
‘And Old Hodder?’ Lita asked, as her throat grew tight. ‘Did the Bandits eat him?’
‘No,’ MaKiki replied. ‘They sold the wagon and Hodder to a bootlegger. Poor Hodder. Perhaps he would have been better off if they had eaten him.’
Or maybe not, Lita thought, as she recalled the evening when she had found a horse resembling Old Hodder. Somehow, she felt his life would be the least changed of all.
She tossed sand onto the coals and watched as tendrils of smoke squeezed through the fine brown mantle. Smoke that was once wood, once the green limb of a tree, once a seed. Everything, it seemed, was in a state of change. And it was only when you allowed yourself to see past, present and future – all at once - that you finally gained an inkling of the truth. Almost immediately though, the realisation started to slip away from her, because it was like looking into the sun. She had to turn her mind from it because it was almost too great to bear.
And then, her thoughts were interrupted by insect song. Underneath leaf litter crickets rubbed their legs into a stirring chorus. It was something Lita had missed during her stay at the Keep, though she had not realised until that very moment and suddenly she realised she was happy, sitting there on a log under a sprinkling of twilight stars. She and MaKiki, each thinking their own thoughts. There was something freeing about life on the road, not knowing what might happen next or whom one might meet. It suddenly struck her that the tinkering life had never been dull. Why had she ever thought that it was?
‘We should move,’ Lita said. ‘Those outlaws are sure to come looking for their stolen treasure sooner or later.’
‘Go where?’ MaKiki said. ‘We have no horse, no wagon, no wares.’
‘That life is finished,’ Lita said. ‘I want my days to count for more than running or hiding, don’t you?’
MaKiki nodded but her eyes betrayed her trepidation. ‘What are you planning, Lita?’
‘We’ll sail to the land of Beasts, I mean my father’s folk. I want to know who my father was, where I fit.’ What she did not say was that she felt torn between two races, not knowing where her loyalties lay. But she knew one thing, once she had learned all that she could about her father’s people she would return. The Shindalay Mines were also a part of her future.
‘You know the Straits are treacherous,’ MaKiki said.
Lita nodded. ‘I kept the map after you tore it up and memorised the shipping routes all the way to Baaran.’
MaKiki laughed. ‘Then I suppose we’ll need a sea-worthy vessel but it’s a week journey over the hills.’
Lita shook her head. Had MaKiki already forgotten they flew from the outlaws’ cave, Lita wondered. It would take some time for each to become accustomed to their new roles. With a grin, she turned to MaKiki. ‘Who said anything about walking to Kipping? And if we get there soon we can travel with Captain Wright and his crew.’ With a wink she added, ‘They’re Beasts escaped from the Shindalay mines, you know.’
MaKiki shook her head and smiled. Squeezing Lita’s hand, she said, ‘It seems you had quite the adventure.’
For a moment this darkened the lightness of Lita’s mood, for MaKiki could not say the same about her time away. Hers had not been an adventure - ordeal was a more fitting way to describe it.
Lita poured the rest of their water over the coals and then handed her cloak to MaKiki. ‘Wrap this around you,’ she said. ‘It will be cold as we cross the mountains.’ She briefly explained the new skills she had acquired, leaving out any mention of the deaths of two folk in Madam Grist’s House of Paint. That could come later, when they had more time. Then she asked MaKiki to go for a walk to the nearby stream while she made her Change back into the winged Beast.
Once MaKiki had left the clearing, Lita made one last check.
The sun was not yet set, and the moon was a nail clipping in the sky. The breeze stirred in the trees and the forest grew quiet.
Lita drew on the power that fueled every living thing. Her body shimmered and shifted in a sweeping splay of light. She reached deep and pulled forth a beautiful Beast, a glorious creature that reflected her wildness, fragility, innocence and ferocity. And when it was done, she felt pleased, because it was as if she had turned herself inside out, parading her true self to the world while a milder mannered tinker’s daughter lay concealed at the core.
To the Reader
Thankyou for giving your time and energy to reading this book. It is my hope that you enjoyed the experience.
About the Author:
Ila Mercer was born on the Murray River in South Australia and lived a Huckleberry Finn childhood, building river rafts and shanties from whatever materials were at hand, imagining herself into lands of parallel existence. Writing a novel is not so different to the creative play of childhood – though it is a lonelier pursuit, until it is shared with others. This is Ila's first published novel.
Other works can be found at www.ilamercer.com