Wolfwater

by Alia Hess

  A crack echoed through the trees and several birds took to the sky. Mothwing grabbed Gentlewave’s arm. “Doesn’t sound abandoned.”

  Owl took a step back and curled her fingers around a small knife in her pocket. She turned in a circle, straining for sound. Water drops pattered on leaves nearby, and a beetle droned past her face.

  What if the Maralti aren’t friendly? What if they’re upset that we’re invading their territory? Treading across some sacred altar. If they have bows and arrows, or guns, they could shoot us right now and we wouldn’t even see them. There would be no time to use the drone.

  But we need to find the tribes, or we’ll never find Auth’ni.

  Another bird took flight, disturbing the strands in the trees and causing the beads to clack together. Owl glanced at Gentlewave. “What do we do? Walk toward the sound? Or away?”

  “I think we’re heading in the right direction,” he said. “The more of these signs we see, the closer we’ll be. But maybe the tribes moved away from this area for some reason. Just because there’s a sound in the forest, doesn’t mean it’s the Maralti. Could be anything.”

  “I keep getting the feeling we’re being watched, though.”

  “Yeah, I’ve felt it too.”

  “Well, let’s do something. I don’t want to stand here any longer.” Mothwing folded his arms, his face screwed up. He took a step toward Dusty and nudged her with his elbow, pushing her forward. “Dusty, you go first. See what that sound was.”

  Dusty whirled, scowling. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re tough. And you have a drone with guns. And you used to be an escort.”

  Dusty rubbed her face and let out an incredulous laugh. “I’m also—” She bit her lip and straightened. “Fine.”

  Gentlewave strode forward, shooting Mothwing a dirty look. “I’ll go first.”

  Owl followed, walking between Mothwing and Dusty. She glanced at both of their brooding faces, unsure of what to say.

  Like we don’t have enough to worry about as it is, without these two bickering. I really need to talk to Dusty about her attitude. Something’s bugging her and it’s more than just Mothwing or missing Sasha.

  They crunched through the leaves, occasionally spotting more broken strands of beads hanging from the branches.

  Mothwing linked his arm in Gentlewave’s, speaking to him in hushed tones. Dusty’s hard scowl softened as she peered at slices of light lancing the way ahead. Bunches of red flowers with dewy leaves pushed up between fallen trees and leaf litter.

  After a while, the dense forest opened into a clearing. Wildflowers in dusky purple, light pink, and white grew enthusiastically throughout the meadow, and birds chirped in the boughs.

  “Oh, this place is pretty.” Owl pulled in a deep breath, inhaling the pine air and turning her face to the warm sun. The clearing buttressed a vibrant sky, small clouds drifting past. “This seems like a great place to take a break.”

  “Good idea,” Gentlewave said. “I think I hear a stream too. Mothwing, why don’t you come with me and we can refill our jugs.”

  Mothwing nodded. “Sure.”

  Gentlewave said, “You girls going to hang here?”

  “Yes. This place is nice.” Owl smiled, the uneasiness and awkwardness of earlier dissolving in the sunlight.

  “We’ll stay in shouting distance in case you need us.”

  Dusty lay on her back in the grass, Sasha’s big coat enveloping her, the hood pulled up over her auburn hair. She picked up a pinecone and tossed it into the air, catching it as it came back down.

  Gentlewave and Mothwing walked hand in hand in the direction of the gurgling stream. Owl shrugged off her cloak and sweater, then turned her attention back to Dusty. “Aren’t you hot in that thing? It’s warm here in the sun.”

  Dusty stopped throwing the pinecone but didn’t reply.

  Owl walked to her, staring down into her pinched face. “What’s wrong, sis? You’ve been like this for weeks now. I know you miss Sasha, but…”

  “I do miss Sasha. There’s stuff that happens during the day and I think, ‘I can’t wait to tell Sasha about this,’ and then I remember that I can’t. I mean, I could have Trav write him a letter, but it’s not the same. At least you get to talk in person to your husband.”

  “I understand.” Owl sat on a rock, tilting her face to the sky.

  “Do you miss Son of Owl?”

  Owl bit her lip, picturing him after his naps. How she’d walk by the nursery and see him sitting up wide-eyed in his crib, his romper wrinkled and sweaty snarls of hair sticking up from his head. “Yeah. I do. Trav has always been the more hands-on parent, but there have been days when I just ache to hold him and smell his baby smell.”

  “Baby smell?”

  “Yeah. Babies have a smell. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s nice.”

  Dusty grunted. “I wouldn’t know. Son of Owl is really cute, but I never wanted kids.”

  “Sasha feel the same way?”

  “Yeah.” Dusty sat up and ran her fingers along the scalloped edges of the pinecone. “He said I’d make a great mother, but he doesn’t want any. We both had bad childhoods, y’know? Are you and Trav going to have more?”

  “Yes. Once Son of Owl is a little older, we’ll probably start trying again.”

  Dusty huffed and flung the pinecone away. It hit a tree trunk and bounced into the grass.

  “What’s really been eating you? You can tell me. I know you miss Sasha, but it’s more than that.”

  Dusty stared at her, mouth pulled down, then stood and shrugged off her coat. She turned in profile and yanked up her shirt, pointing to her slightly distended belly.

  Owl’s eyes widened. “You’re pregnant?”

  She zipped the coat back up and sat, folding her arms.

  “How far along?”

  “I’ve been thinking really hard about that, and I’m pretty sure I’m almost three months. I’ve been late since July.” She sighed. “I didn’t really think anything of it, at first. I mean, that happens to me sometimes. And I was using a pessary like I always do. I’ve kind of been in denial about it. I had it in the back of my mind—the possibility—but didn’t want to bring it up to Sasha. I started picking fights with him because I was cranky and… and scared, I guess. There’s no denying it now, though. My stomach has never looked like this before, and I’m craving all sorts of weird food that I can’t get out here…” Her brows bunched and she sniffled. “Sasha doesn’t want kids. I don’t want to have a kid. And now I’m out here in the woods, Sasha’s in jail, and we aren’t any closer to finding Auth’ni than we were three weeks ago. And I’ve only been married for four months! A fine time to have a baby.”

  “I’m sure all of this will get resolved long before that little guy—or girl—is going to come out. We must be getting closer since we keep seeing those beads and weird things. We’ll get that kid and escort him back. Be home next month. That will still give you plenty of time to eat weird foods.”

  Dusty’s chest hitched. “But no kid is going to want a prostitute for a mother.”

  Owl smiled and shook her head. “You’re not a prostitute. When is the last time you did that? Before Sasha, right?”

  “Sasha convinced me to stop.”

  “I didn’t know that. Sasha’s a good guy.” Tears rolled down Dusty’s face. Owl put a hand on Dusty’s knee and said, “You know what you are? Sasha’s devoted wife. A good friend. And a worldly, intelligent, wasteland-smart woman who doesn’t take shit from anyone. Any child would be proud to call you ‘Mom.’”

  Dusty batted at the tears on her cheeks. “But what if I can’t do right by my kid? I didn’t grow up with parents. I don’t know how to act like one. What if I make a mistake? What if I do something I think is right and it turns out awful and scars my kid for life?”

  “I think every parent has that fear. You just have to love them and do what you think is best.”

  Dusty plucked a purple wildflower and twirl
ed it between her fingers. “Do you feel that way with Son of Owl? That you might mess something up?”

  “Of course. I was worried about being a good mom too, but once you have the baby, you figure it out.”

  Dusty pursed her lips and ripped the petals off the flower.

  Owl nudged her. “Sasha’s going to be a fun dad.”

  “God. He already acts like a kid. It’ll be like I have two. But how am I going to tell him? Having to do it through Trav is so lame. There’s nothing wrong with Trav, just… it’s more of an in-person thing to say, y’know?”

  “Well, if you wait to tell Sasha when we get back, I’m sure it will come as quite a surprise, but might be better. Just show him your belly and say, ‘look what you did to me!’ I can’t wait to see his face.”

  “He’ll probably faint.” Dusty’s smile fell away. “Can you please not tell Gentlewave or Mothwing? Gentlewave will worry too much, and Mothwing is, well… Mothwing. I don’t need another thing for him to tease me about.”

  “I don’t know. I think they should know. I don’t want you in some dangerous situation because they don’t know you’re pregnant. Like earlier, when Mothwing wanted you to go in front with the drone because you’re ‘tough.’”

  “No. I don’t want them to know. I can still do everything that you guys are doing. I’m not tired from walking or anything. Please? Just keep it a secret for now?”

  Owl stared into Dusty’s pleading eyes. She didn’t want anymore tension in their group, and if she told the others, Dusty wouldn’t confide in her again. “Alright. It will be between us for now.”

  Dusty smiled and hugged her. Owl said, “You can talk to me when stuff is bothering you.”

  “Okay.”

  Mothwing and Gentlewave appeared in the clearing, jugs of water hanging from their hands. Owl leaned toward Dusty. “Got any names picked out yet?”

  Dusty smiled shyly. “Maybe. I dunno.”

  “Well, give it up, sister. I’m jealous. I didn’t get to name Son of Owl. Since he’s half Nisian, we decided to go the Islander route and have him go on his naming quest when he’s older instead.” Owl frowned. “Well, we didn’t really decide it. Everyone just assumed and I didn’t tell Trav I wanted something different. So you have to tell me your names.”

  “If it’s a boy, maybe Aleksandr like his father.”

  “A little Sasha Jr. running around. What if it’s a girl?”

  Dusty’s face turned stormy. “I hope it’s not. Girls have it rough. You know, if I was born a boy, I wouldn’t have had to go through all the stuff that I did.” She pointed at the scars scattered across Owl’s forehead. “And neither would you.”

  Owl dropped her gaze to her lap. “Some of that may be true, but being a guy doesn’t give you a pass to safety. It certainly didn’t for Corvin.”

  “I guess you’re right. I don’t have any girl names picked out, though.” Dusty drew her knees to her chest, eying Gentlewave and Mothwing. “Promise you won’t tell them, right?”

  “Yeah. Promise.”

  Mothwing grinned as he approached, setting down the jugs. Water dripped from his wet braids. “Nothing like a dip in a cold stream! Refreshing. You know, me and my brothers used to toss Quietbird and Trav into the river by our house all the time when they were little. They hated it. They got me good once, though. Pushed me in when I wasn’t looking.”

  Owl chuckled.

  Mothwing’s black eyes jumped from Owl to Dusty. “You two sharing secrets or something?”

  “No.” Dusty huffed and stood, jerking the hood of her coat over her head, then left the group and walked to a nearby tree.

  “She really doesn’t like me.”

  “It’s not that.” Owl patted Mothwing’s arm. “She’s just having a tough time dealing without Sasha. Makes her cranky. That’s what we were talking about.”

  “Oh. I guess it must be different for her. You get to see Trav on the tablet, and I’m here in person with my man. She just gets”—he made a face, lip curling up—“obscene love notes.”

  Gentlewave stared at Dusty, then walked to her side and squatted before her, peering into her face. He said something and she nodded and hugged him; he held her tightly.

  Owl looked at her boots, then up at Mothwing. “We don’t talk a lot at home, I know. But I’m glad you’re here.”

  “You are?” A smile replaced the surprise on his face.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  “I don’t know how much help I am, but I appreciate you saying so.”

  They joined Gentlewave and Dusty and headed back into the thick clusters of trees.

  Traveling the northwest with Trav, although sometimes fraught with danger and haunted by memories of her ex-husband, was an experience Owl looked back on fondly. They’d walked the desert roads, warmed by the sun and their growing feelings for each other.

  Owl pulled her coat tighter as the trees thickened, casting them in gloom.

  Why did I think this trip would be at all the same? Trav’s not here, the geography is different, I’m away from my son, and my brother and friend are stuck in jail. To top it off, Dusty is pregnant and we don’t even know if we’re in danger out here.

  A familiar atmosphere of unease overcame Owl as she stared into the inky gaps between the trees. She strained to catch the shadows moving, but there was nothing.

  Maybe it’s just because I’m not used to being in a forest. I can’t see all the flat land and distant hills like I could if we were farther south. Making me claustrophobic.

  But was that it? Really? There were forests on Nis—different than this one but forests all the same—and she never felt this itchy foreboding.

  More strings of beads occasionally hung from boughs, and the forest grew denser, strangling out the sunlight. Owl peeked over her shoulder, wishing for the warmth of the flowery clearing. Every crunch underfoot was deafening in the still air, and she jumped as a raven cried out in the distance.

  She slid her hand into her cloak pocket, touching the knife there and wishing she still had her machete.

  Ahead, a plastic baby doll dangled upside down from a branch, sinew tied around one foot. Its lidded blue eyes stared vacantly as it twisted gently in the gloom.

  “What is this creepy shit?” Mothwing whispered. He craned his neck toward another tree, also hanging with baby dolls; moss crept down the rotting plastic torsos.

  Gentlewave drew his gun, although what he planned to shoot was unclear.

  Some of the dolls lay in the dirt, half-covered with leaf litter. Dusty picked one up, rubbing soil from its face with the sleeve of her coat. “I think they’re kind of cute. Or, well, they probably were at one time.” She turned the doll over in her hands, shot Owl a conspiratorial glance, and stuffed the doll in her pocket.

  Beyond the baby doll trees, more beads dangled, interspersed with other salvaged decor hanging from the branches like mobiles: rusty spoons, light bulbs, strange symbols carved from wood and painted in bright colors, scissors, shotgun shells, and plastic bottles.

  Bright paints slathered the trunks of the tall trees, symbols painted in seafoam green, white, pink, and sky blue.

  Mothwing batted a bottle away from his face as he passed by. “I’m seriously weirded out. I’ve never wanted out of a forest so much in my life.”

  Owl peered into the trees at the suspended objects. “I like it. I’ve always liked Old World things.” Like Corvin’s collection of treasures in his secret house when we were teens. Like all the things Trav collected for me to keep me from being homesick.

  She pulled out her knife and cut the sinew from a toy car, running her fingers along the flaked red paint and wobbly wheels. She glanced at Dusty with a small simper, then put the car in her backpack.

  “I want out of this forest too, though,” she continued. “Can’t get rid of the feeling of being watched.”

  Mothwing stopped inspecting the hanging junk and stood rigidly, his eyes wide. “Speaking of, I swear I just heard footsteps.”
>
  Dusty snorted, pulling out Sasha’s tablet and taking a photo of the assemblages. She turned the screen to a different tree and took another photo. “Sure doesn’t take much to scare you, Mothwing. I’m standing right here, and I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I’m serious!” Mothwing bit his lip, eyes darting back and forth.

  They paused, listening. The slight breeze jangled a collection of spoons together, creating an eerie, off-key melody.

  Dusty laughed. “This is so ridiculous! There’s nothing—”

  A loud crash erupted from the trees, and a huge shaggy form lurched out from behind a thick trunk. Deep brown fur, laden with vibrant moss, hung from its bulky, humanoid frame. From its scowling, wrinkled face jutted thick, pointed incisors. It grunted and reached for Dusty. She cried out in surprise, dropped the tablet, and fell back into the dirt.

  “Dusty!” Owl took a step, then paused as the beast looked her way. She brandished her tiny knife, gripping it feebly.

  Dusty scrambled backward through the pine needles. “Irina!” She shouted a command at the drone. Its cloaking shield disappeared and guns descended from the belly.

  The creature growled and smacked the drone with one meaty fist, sending it careening toward the trees. The drone wobbled as it hovered in the air, righting itself.

  “Tell it to shoot!” Owl shouted.

  “I… I can’t remember how now! How to tell it shoot that whatever-it-is and not us!”

  Gentlewave fired his gun. It made a strange noise, but the bullet didn’t leave the chamber. He emitted a stream of curses, then yanked off his pack and pawed through it.

  The creature turned back for Dusty and she cowered on the ground. It dug its stubby fingers into her coat and lifted her into the air.

  Owl’s stomach lurched and she sprinted for the beast. Dusty scissored her legs, screaming, and kicked the thing in the jaw. It dropped her and put its hands to its mouth; Dusty landed on her back in dirt with a hard thud.

  Owl threw herself between them and aimed her knife at the monster. Its beady brown eyes locked onto her.