Wolfwater

by Alia Hess

  “It just doesn’t seem fair. None of this does.”

  The hut door swung open, and the rickety building shuddered. Sasha walked out, his fingers laced in Dusty’s. “Maybe we get enough kisses in to last for little while.”

  Dusty wiped at her eyes, her smile wavering.

  Owl’s heart ached. She hugged Dusty, then reached for Sasha, wrinkling her nose at his funk of sweat and stale cologne. He squeezed her and whispered. “Going to miss you too. Thanks for doing this for me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Trav is mad?”

  “No. He understands.”

  “Good. Don’t want to give you marriage problem because of me and Corvin being stupid.” Faint traces of pink lipstick colored Sasha’s thin lips and stubbly chin.

  Owl pinched his cheek. “I’d give you a kiss, but I don’t want your slobbery leftovers.”

  “Hey, even my leftovers is pretty good.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She snorted, then headed down the beach toward Corvin and Dewbell. He had a sheet of paper pressed to a tree trunk and was busily scrawling on it. He passed the note to Dewbell.

  Corvin turned to Owl with a tight smile. It was the same expression he’d worn before climbing out his bedroom window at sixteen and leaving home—leaving her.

  “Hey, sis. I made a list of things I’d like from home.”

  She threw her arms around him, squeezing hard. She wept into his rumpled shirt as he held her.

  He stroked her hair. “I can’t believe money won’t fix this problem. Even the police in Hammerlink will take money.”

  Owl pulled back and frowned, sniffling. “You’ve been to jail in Hammerlink?”

  “No, no. I paid them not to take me to jail.”

  She took a step back. “Why?”

  “Well, it started off as self-defense, but then I kind of… lost control.”

  “Like the time that stupid kid, Henry Bale, was threatening me and you beat him with a stick?”

  Corvin scratched his head and shrugged. “Couldn’t help it.”

  “I know.” For a split-second, it crossed her mind that maybe jail was the best place for Corvin. Just in case that monster lurking inside her brother ever decided to claw its way out and hurt one of them. But the thought, no matter how momentary, filled her with immense guilt. She nuzzled into his chest. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, sis.”

  What if this was the last time she hugged him? All of this felt too much like a repeat of their goodbyes as teenagers, neither of them realizing how much time and pain would come in the interim before they reunited.

  Would she be able to bear the weight of this mission? Sasha and Corvin were counting on her, but Dusty and Gentlewave were the experienced escorts, not her. What if she held them back or made a mistake? What if they failed? She couldn’t back out now, though. She was helping.

  “Stay strong, okay? Both of you,” she said.

  And I’ll try too.

  Sasha stared at the hut’s dark ceiling as he lay on the floor in a sleeping bag, with only the moon and Corvin’s snoring to keep him company. Tiny holes in the roof imparted a view of the starry sky, and if he held very still and stared long enough, the stars would drift from view, replaced by new ones.

  A tear ran from his eye, but he kept his arms propped behind his head. Ribbons of cool wind cut through the gaps in the walls, carrying the scent and sound of the ocean nearby.

  A photo of Dusty and himself, taken quite some time ago by Owl, lay snugly between his heart and his clean tee shirt.

  More pinhole stars slid out of sight. Corvin’s snores disintegrated into murmurs, then whimpers. Sasha frowned and sat up, wiping his eye on his sleeve.

  Corvin clutched at his blanket with white-knuckled hands. His mouth twitched, foot kicking the hut’s table and jostling extinguished candles. His whimpers grew louder and he rubbed at his chest. “Please. No more.”

  Sasha grimaced and pushed out of the sleeping bag. I don’t remember hearing any of Corvin’s nightmares when we were traveling to Nis. But maybe that’s because Dewbell was usually nearby? Or maybe he’s thinking about that stuff more now that we’re trapped in this place?

  Sasha sat next to him and put a hand on his arm. “Hey.”

  Corvin bolted upright, eyes wide and filled with fear. “No more. Please! I’m begging you—”

  “Hey, it’s Sasha. You had nightmare.”

  Corvin’s breath was rapid, his eyes still not registering where he was. He rubbed his chest. “Sasha?”

  “Yeah, man. It is just me.”

  Corvin sighed and nodded, then slid back into his sleeping bag. Sasha stared at the floor and shifted awkwardly. “I am not Dewbell, but if you want to talk—”

  “I’m fine, Sasha.”

  The hard edge in his voice took Sasha aback. He left Corvin’s side and slid back into his sleeping bag.

  Corvin rolled on his side, sniffled, and pulled a blanket over his head.

  4

  ~ Departure and Distractions ~

  Owl tugged at the straps of her backpack as she stood outside her house.

  Has a full pack always been this heavy? I’d think I’d be used to the extra weight, but Trav carries Son of Owl more than I do.

  The anxiety in her gut was heavier than the bag.

  Dusty stood nearby, greasy eyeblack smeared across her upper lids and a hard scowl etched into her face. She wore a high ponytail, displaying the freshly-shaved sides of her head. Trav stood by the door, watching Son of Owl follow the chickens around the yard. Dewbell sat in the grass, stargazers arching over her head and giving her a halo of purple petals. She stared into the distance, a sad smile on her face.

  Owl shut her eyes. Her mind pulled in two directions. A little clay house sat on Nis, filled with cozy comforts and the love of her husband and son. Her friends were here too. There were evenings sitting in Quietbird’s backyard with his many siblings and too much food, Corvin’s parties that were intended to be some version of sophisticated but always ended up bizarre, mornings sipping coffee in Sasha and Dusty’s kitchen, and Trav’s big hands around hers as he helped her pull fish in from the lagoon.

  Beyond the sea lay the Mainland—her homeland of farms, city ruins, and broken highways. Days spent tending to the animals, picking crops, and hanging out with Corvin. Then days growing up in his absence, rebelling, and making all sorts of rash decisions. She didn’t think upon that time with fondness, but it eventually led her to Trav and she considered that a worthwhile reward.

  But tugging at her heart was a little hut on that dirty gray strand of Tam.

  Cheery greetings from up the cobblestone path pulled Owl from her thoughts. Two figures headed toward the house, hefting backpacks. Gentlewave stood a head taller than Mothwing, his hair hanging in two black braids. A scarf concealed his mouth, and his traveling cloak resembled a pile of rags more than anything else.

  Mothwing had opted for a ponytail today and wore a playful grin, displaying his unusual teeth. Only two top and bottom ones were filed to points, the rest were natural. Despite his age—mid-forties—he had no more lines than Owl’s thirty-one years. His smile diminished as he approached the house. “Quite the mess all of this is, huh?”

  “Shut up. Give me a hug.” Owl leaned toward him and he crushed her in an embrace.

  Mothwing was the last person she expected to accompany them on a retrieval mission to the Mainland. Of Trav’s eight cousins, he was the least adventurous. Kind and soft around the edges, he preferred to stay home, baking and doing woodwork. Despite his homebody nature, his presence on this trip was not unwelcome.

  Gentlewave: stern, roadworn, and plainspoken, had seemed like an odd partner for Mothwing to choose at first blush, but he had a soft center too underneath his ratty scarves. And he would be a boon on this trip, having experience as an armed escort. He’d gotten Corvin to the island in one piece, and that was enough proof for Owl.

  Dusty shifted her feet anxiously. “You gu
ys ready to go?”

  Gentlewave nodded. “We have a boat waiting. Chartering it up the coast to the North shouldn’t take that long.” He spied Dewbell and squatted before her, signing. Dewbell’s chest hitched and she threw her arms around him.

  Dusty glanced at Owl. “This sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Does anyone even know what this kid looks like? Or what his name is? How old he is?”

  Owl dug into her bag and pulled out a paper. “His name is Auth’ni. He’s fourteen and has long red hair and dark skin. This paper has his information on it and his mom’s name, the tribe, how far inland it is—all the stuff Quietbird figured we needed to know.”

  Dusty nodded. “Great. Let’s get this done.”

  “Dusty’s raring to go!” Mothwing tugged on Dusty’s ponytail, then poked her in the ribs.

  She pulled away, scowling. “Can we quit fucking around and go already? I’ve got a husband to rescue.”

  Mothwing’s face fell. “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  Owl turned to Trav, chest tight. “Well, with Sasha letting Dusty hold onto his tablet, it’s not like we won’t see each other. We could call and talk to each other every night if we want to. No big deal. Muffin loves it when we call my parents. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see me on the screen instead.”

  Trav’s sad eyes told her that wasn’t much of a consolation. “You know how to call the drone in the house?”

  “Dusty does. She also knows how to use Irina, Sasha’s drone. It’s way more high-tech than the one in our house. And still flies. We’ll be able to shoot anything that comes our way. Dusty said Sasha programmed it special, but hasn’t needed to use it since he moved here.”

  Trav shook his head. “I don’t understand how Sasha can be so smart with certain things, and so dumb with others.” He glanced at Dusty. “Sorry.”

  She grinned, the first smile she’d shown that morning. “No. You’re right about that.”

  “Well, let’s go rescue him.” Mothwing pulled his cloak tight. “Before someone else claims him. He is pretty cute.”

  Dusty’s gaze narrowed on Mothwing, her eyes blazing. He raised his eyebrows and put up his hands. “I was just joking. No more mood-lightening. Sorry.”

  “Where is the drone?” Dusty looked around. “When it’s got stealth-mode on, I can never find it. Irina?” She spoke a command in Russian, the word coming out awkward. Whether she pronounced it right or not, it was close enough, as a large black drone materialized behind her, floating a foot from the ground.

  The drone matched the disabled one sitting in Owl’s living room—morning sunlight crowned the round, matte surface and a shiny screen wrapped the front. Hard grooves and criss-crossing seams cut through the surface. Although impossible to tell at the moment, inside hid retractable guns and spider-like legs.

  Dusty frowned at it. “I wish Sasha would have named this thing something else. It’s going to be annoying calling it the name of his ex any time I want it to do something.”

  Owl laughed. “Yes, but isn’t it just like Sasha to name his drone after a woman? Maybe he should change it to ‘Dusty.’”

  “I think that would be confusing.” Dusty pulled out Sasha’s tablet. Her fingers hovered over the surface and she gesticulated in the rainbow haze, swiping past information. “I’ve got all the commands for the drone listed in here in case I don’t remember them. Before we got to Nis, I was still thinking about being an armed escort. Sasha wasn’t very happy about that, but he thought I should learn to use the drone if I ever went on another mission. A lot of the commands I have memorized, but Russian is hard.”

  In other circumstances, Owl would have waited for Sasha to dole out the cheesy innuendo she knew would come. Instead, they all stood around glumly as the chickens pecked in the grass and the ocean sighed in the distance.

  Owl scooped her son into her arms, looked in his black eyes, and swallowed a hitch in her throat. Memories of past Mainland dangers: the snapping, fleshless jaws of trashdogs, highwaymen with bloody maces, and slavers with greasy grins and lusty gazes, forced their way into her mind. She shoved the thoughts away. “Mommy has to take a trip and go bye-bye for a while. I have to go far away. But I’ll come back, okay? You be good while I’m gone.”

  Son of Owl’s face brightened. “Bye-bye?”

  “Not for you, cutie.” Her voice wavered. “Just Mommy. You get to stay with Daddy.”

  Son of Owl squirmed in her grip and twisted toward Trav. She passed him off, then slid her arms around Trav and wept, eyeblack smudging the front of his silky green shirt. Trav took her face in his big hands and kissed her deeply as tears streamed down her face.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “Be safe and come back to me. I need you and Muffin needs you.”

  “I love you too. I just hope I can do this without you by my side.”

  “Of course you can. There’s strength inside you, darling. You don’t need me to hold you up.”

  Owl kissed her son’s forehead and turned to the group. Dusty held a tin of eyeblack, brows pushed down over her amber eyes.

  “You gotta quit crying or you’re going to have to reapply this all day.” Dusty pulled out a rag and wiped Owl’s cheeks, then smeared fresh black paste around her eyes.

  “Thanks, Dusty.”

  “No problem.”

  Mothwing scratched his head. “Remind me why you guys are putting on eyeblack when it’s going to take up to two days to get to the coast. I thought it was for scaring away highwaymen.”

  Dusty screwed the lid back on her tin and put it in her bag. “It’s good luck. Tradition for when you’re traveling. It doesn’t really make you look that scary.” She walked to Dewbell and gave her a squeeze.

  Mothwing shrugged. “I don’t know. You look pretty scary, Dusty. Then again, you look scary without it, so…”

  Dusty huffed, shouldered her pack, and marched up the path. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Sasha sat in a wobbly chair, his bare feet propped up on the table and the photo of Dusty and himself held tightly between his fingertips. His gaze ran down the gentle curving lines of her face, over her long maple lashes, and across her pillowy pink lips. He shut his eyes, thinking about those lips on his the day before and trying to cement the sensation in his mind. If he forgot—if he could no longer feel their buttery softness—he was afraid he might lose his grip and breakdown.

  “Oh, you picked the wrong hut, my friend!” Corvin’s cheery, hostile voice cut through Sasha’s reverie and he fell back in surprise, landing on the floor. He pushed up, tucking the photo into his shirt and walking outside.

  A tight grin spread across Corvin’s red face as he stood by the outer hut wall in a neatly-pressed blue button-up and white bow tie. A bleary-eyed, disheveled Islander wobbled near the wall, pissing on the side.

  Sasha raised his eyebrows.

  Corvin’s lip quivered. “Did you hear me? My hut is not a toilet! I insist you leave right now.”

  The Islander mumbled and put a hand on the wall, his greasy locks falling over his shoulders. Sasha walked around him as Corvin balled his fists and said, “Friend, I’m—”

  Sasha put a hand on Corvin’s arm. “Hey, maybe we should go for walk or something, huh?”

  “Not now, Sasha. Not until this guy understands that he can’t piss on my house!” He laughed, causing goosebumps to erupt across Sasha’s skin.

  The man finished relieving himself and pulled up his pants. Corvin grabbed him by the collar and shoved, knocking him into the sand.

  “Hey! Sonnuvabitch.” The drunk pushed himself up unsteadily.

  Corvin reached for him again, his perfect white teeth bared in a snarl. Sasha held him back, then patted his shoulder. “Okay, man. That is enough. We probably act like that guy the other day too, you know? Maybe somebody drug him too.” Although, I doubt it.

  “Don’t be silly, Sasha. This man is a drunkard.”

  “Yeah, well, I used to be tha
t way too. And got my ass kicked a lot. Give this guy pass for today, huh? Besides, I got idea that maybe keep us busy while we are in here.”

  Corvin glared daggers at the Islander as he staggered away, then looked at Sasha, his face softening a little. “What might that be?”

  Sasha walked into the hut and Corvin followed him. Leaning against the table, Sasha gestured to the boxes on the ground and the open sketchbook near Corvin’s sleeping bag. “I was thinking, we are going to be stuck here for while with nothing to do. You could maybe… design new clothes line? Maybe this shithole give you some inspiration? I seen paintings you make when you are upset. Maybe you want to make some clothes that look tough and cool?”

  Corvin stared at his sketchbook, hands on his hips. “I never thought about that. This place being an inspiration.”

  “And I could help. I don’t know nothing about making clothes, but maybe, uh… maybe you could teach me how to sew or something?” I don’t want to learn, but if it keeps you from attacking someone, it will be time well spent. “I will leave designing to you though, because I don’t have creative ideas like that.”

  A smile lit Corvin’s face. “You want me to teach you how to sew? That would be fantastic. Oh, and Dewbell could bring me some more things from home. I’ll need some better shears. My sharp ones. I’m hoping she can get them through without the guard confiscating them.” He laughed. “Can you believe they let her bring us our straight razors?”

  “I’m telling you, this is laziest jail I have ever heard of. I know Islanders don’t got to shave, so they probably don’t know there is blades inside, but still. No way you could get anything pointy into Russian jail. Have to make your own shiv from toothbrush. I sort of feel like I am in crappy hotel, you know? Service sucks, place is falling apart, but I haven’t been murdered yet, so is not that bad.”

  “You’re deluding yourself.” Corvin sighed. “And maybe I am too, wanting to sew in a place like this, but it’ll be a good distraction, I think. You know… I have some studs and spikes. And teeth! That would look tough, right? If I embroidered teeth onto things?”