Wolfwater

by Alia Hess

  Dusty’s mouth hung open, then she scowled and put her hands on her bare hips. “Hey, creeps, you can’t just stand there and watch us!”

  “Dusty!” Owl hissed, her pulse throbbing as she grabbed Dusty’s wrist and tried to pull her backward into the stream.

  Her knife was still in the pocket of her coat, hanging from a tree branch thirty feet away. And the drone… Where was the drone? It was so hard to locate in stealth mode. Dusty may not know how to command it to shoot Maralti, but it would at least be intimidating. The men didn’t have any visible weapons, but their coats could hide anything, and really, did they even need weapons? She and Dusty were nude, out in the open, and Dusty was standing there unabashedly, all her goods on display.

  “Gentlewave! We need you!” Owl shouted.

  One of the men, his face covered in freckles and a large bone plug nestled in his lower lip, traced his blue gaze down Dusty’s petite, wet body, stopping at her stomach. He leaned toward the other man and whispered something.

  Dusty shrugged off Owl’s hand and climbed onto the bank.

  “Dusty, stop!”

  She yanked her clothes from a tree branch and pulled them on. The men smiled at her. Owl shivered in the water, then reluctantly stood, trying to conceal her nudity as she pulled on her undergarments.

  “Gentlewave? Where are you?” Owl tried to smile at the men. “We have a couple of guys in our party too. You’re Maralti, right?”

  One of the men nodded. The freckled man reached for Dusty’s pink coat, rubbing the material between his fingers.

  “Hey!” Dusty jerked the coat away and donned it, zipping it up to her chin; water from her wet hair dripped down the front. “Don’t touch me.”

  The man dropped his hand, his face pulling into a grin. His teeth were filed, like the Islanders, but stained a deep black.

  Dusty paled and took a step back.

  The Maralti pointed to her coat. “Ah like a’coloah.”

  Dusty glanced at Owl. “What did he say?”

  Owl shrugged.

  “Ah like a’coloah. S’nice.” He smiled again and nodded, then pointed to a bright pink bead necklace among others, in different colors, gracing his collar.

  Dusty deflated. “Great. They don’t even speak our language. No one told us that. Little bit of an oversight on Palesun’s part, don’t you think?”

  “I can’t tell if they’re speaking a different language or their accents are just so thick we can’t understand them.” Owl eyed the men as she pulled on her shirt and coat, her hand curling around the knife inside. They stood in place, studying her and Dusty. Owl was almost afraid to take a step away from the riverbank, toward Gentlewave and safety, lest the men think she was fleeing and grab her.

  “There are, uh, we have men in our party. Right past these trees. We should join them and talk.”

  The blue-eyed man squinted at her. “Wha’?”

  “Nope. They can’t understand us.” Dusty sighed deeply and brushed past them, marching into the trees.

  Owl couldn’t stand here in a staring contest forever. She took a step after Dusty, then beckoned. “This way.”

  The men followed her as she waded through waist-deep ferns and white flowers, arriving in a small clearing of soggy grass. Dusty and Mothwing stood by as Gentlewave conversed with another group of Maralti.

  Gentlewave glanced at Owl and frowned. “Sorry. I heard you, but I kind of had my hands full as well. I don’t think they’re hostile, though.”

  Dusty folded her arms. “Maybe not, but they were peeping us while we were naked in the stream.”

  “Yuck,” Mothwing uttered.

  “Can you understand them?” Owl asked.

  Gentlewave scratched his head. “Somewhat. Their accents are very thick. And some of the words aren’t American. But I can get the jist of it. They’ve told me their tribe is a bit northeast of here. I asked them why all those beads and dolls are decorating the trees to the south when there aren’t any tribes there, and they said they had to leave the area because of ‘groth’nal.’ Not sure what that is.”

  The freckled Maralti extended his arms over his head and made a menacing face, baring his black teeth. “Groth’nal’s biggie mossa’.”

  “Big monster,” Mothwing uttered. “That thing we killed must be a groth’nal.”

  Freckles raised his eyebrows. “Kill?”

  “Yeah, we killed it,” Owl replied. “Well, Dusty did.” She thumbed at Dusty, then smirked. “Gentlewave helped a tiny bit too.”

  Freckles stared at Dusty and nodded approvingly. “Nah’ ens’ task, killin’ groth’nal.” He smiled. “N’imprego too, pre’ pinkcoat.”

  “I think he’s impressed, Dusty,” Gentlewave replied. “And he likes your coat.”

  “Yeah, I got that part,” she said.

  “I didn’t understand the other bit. ‘Imprego.’”

  Dusty stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked at her feet.

  Freckles pointed to Dusty’s belly and elbowed her. “Ya go’ luckyman, eh?”

  She gave the man a small smile. “What’s your name?”

  “Dorhn’li.”

  “I’m Dusty.” She offered her hand.

  Dorhn’li frowned at it, then showed Dusty his own hand, brightly-colored bracelets sliding down his tan wrist. She laughed and shook his hand.

  Owl smiled and offered her own to the man next to Dorhn’li. “I’m Owl.”

  He shook her hand hesitantly. “Brag.”

  Owl scanned the group of Maralti, then looked at Gentlewave. “Did you ask them yet about the kid we’re supposed to find?”

  “No. You have the paper with all the information on it.”

  “Right.” She dug through her pack and produced a paper from the inside of her journal. “We’re looking for a boy named Auth’ni. You know him? He’s fourteen. He has red hair and dark skin. Half-Islander. His mother’s name was… Nathual. She died and we’re here to escort him to Tam.”

  Dorhn’li frowned and exchanged a puzzled look with Brag. “Nah’dunno. Ya talk’n slow, n’hard ta ken’it.” He looked at the other three Maralti men and said something. They shrugged.

  Owl lowered the paper, her stomach dropping. “No Auth’ni? You don’t know?”

  Dorhn’li shook his head, then pointed a finger in the air. “Elder ken’it.” He beckoned. “Come. Elder ken wh’appen.”

  Gentlewave’s mouth pulled to one side. “I think he wants us to go talk to their Elder. They told me the tribe isn’t far from here. And he said we talk too slow for them to follow.”

  Dorhn’li nodded, his blue eyes flicking to Dusty. “N’go’ cake. Ya hunry?”

  Dusty brightened. “Cake?”

  He bared his black teeth. “Cake.”

  “That sounds awesome.” Her smile turned into a familiar scowl. “Hang on, you heard me talking about cake? So you guys were spying on us bathing naked.”

  Dorhn’li gave a sheepish grin. “Sorrah. Ya cute.” He looked at Owl. “Ya too. Ya go’ luckyman too?”

  Owl chuckled. “Yes, I have a lucky man too.”

  Dorhn’li shook his head, looking disappointed. “Ah well. Come.”

  They followed the Maralti through the trees. The men walked deftly, their moccasins crunching through leaves as they picked out the best path. Trunks painted in bright yellows and oranges appeared, more dolls and other toys swinging from the branches.

  Owl poked one of the dolls. “Why do you guys decorate with these things?”

  “S’nice.” Dorhn’li gave the trees an admiring glance. “Pre’.”

  “I like it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. I like Old World things. They feel… magical to me. These old discarded treasures from a forgotten time. I have some in my house. A collection.”

  “Oh?” He grinned and tapped Owl on the shoulder, then laughed. “Ya Maralti too.” Dorhn’li pulled off one of his bead necklaces, in turquoise, and draped it around Owl’s neck.

  “Uh,
oh. Thanks.”

  He eyed Dusty, then removed his bright pink necklace and handed it to her, pointing to her coat. “Pre’ pink.”

  Dusty smiled and pulled the necklace over her head. “I think you must like pink as much as Sasha. Thanks, Dorhn’li.”

  Dorhn’li nodded satisfactorily. He quickened his pace, catching up with the other men.

  Owl sighed. “I sure hope their Elder knows where this kid is. Being without any communication to home is really upsetting. And I’m sure it feels even worse for you.”

  Dusty pulled her coat tighter around her small frame in response.

  What was Trav doing right now? And Son of Owl? Were they on the beach, making Elder-houses in the sand? Or eating pearlberries in the garden? Trav had a habit of plucking the slugs from the squash leaves and giving them to Son of Owl to throw to the chickens. She used to hate that—Son of Owl had tried sticking the slugs in his mouth several times—but she thought of it with a heart-rending fondness now.

  She ached for Trav’s big, strong arms around her, his long blond hair falling over her shoulder as he hugged her, and his scent of greenery and sea salt. Her throat tightened and tears needled her eyes. She pulled up the hood of her cloak to hide her face. What memories did Dusty call to mind when she thought about Sasha? Their wedding? Walking the road together with Dewbell, Gentlewave, and Corvin? Owl turned to Dusty’s hooded form and gave her a hug.

  Dusty’s frown softened as she looked into her eyes. She took Owl’s hand and quickened her pace, pulling her along. “Come on. We’ll find that kid. Can’t be too hard now that we’re with the Maralti. And they have cake.”

  Dorhn’li looked back and grinned.

  After another half-hour of walking, the painted trees and colorful Old World assemblages growing more frequent, they arrived in a wide clearing occupied by tall, cone-shaped ivory tents, bright colors splattered across the sides. Several wooden structures with circular roofs sat in the center and smoke curled out of chimneys in the top. Tree stumps surrounded the area, TVs and computer monitors positioned on top, facing the woods. People sat outside the tents, skinning rabbits, grinding meal in stone bowls, and weaving baskets.

  Gentlewave pointed to the monitors ringing the clearing. “What are these for?”

  “Watchin’.” Brag pointed to his eyes, to the woods, then back to the monitors.

  “Like drones?” Owl asked. The foreign drones that used to occasionally fly by weren’t actually listening to every word that people said, like she used to think, but people still believed in the superstition. Even more vexing was that the belief still held, even though no one could have possibly seen a drone in the past year (other than Sasha’s), because those crazy doctors from Sasha’s old research facility had dropped North American Hemorrhagic Shock on the rest of the world, killing everyone but one percent of the population that were immune. The Collapse had happened again, one hundred and fifty-six years after its origin in the Americas.

  Sasha occasionally became morose about what happened with the virus, and she didn’t blame him. He’d tried to stop it and failed. It would be hard to live with yourself after something like that. She hoped those doctors were getting their just desserts, wherever they were. Thankfully, most of the time Sasha was his happy-go-lucky self, reading comic books and dishing out cheesy innuendo.

  I hope he’s in good spirits right now. Corvin too.

  Brag pointed to the monitors again. “Watchin’ groth’nal.”

  Mothwing’s gaze flicked to the trees. “More of those things come around here?”

  Dorhn’li shook his head. “Nah. Sees’s face n’exnet.” He laughed.

  Gentlewave squinted at him. “They’re scared of their own reflections?”

  “Mm.” Brag wiped dust from one of the TV screens with the furry sleeve of his coat. “Watchin’. Come.”

  They followed the group past the line of monitors and several tents, and Owl was struck with a sense of surrealness. All of these eyes on her unearthed memories of the hostility from the Nisians when she first arrived on the island with Trav. People had stared from their doorways, their shock and disdain badly concealed. A woman had screamed for her son to fetch the Elder, and another had taken one look at Trav and slammed the door of her house.

  The looks in the eyes of the Maralti were more curious, their faces placid as they paused in their tasks to stare.

  One of the men pointed to a wooden building. “Elder’s ‘urt.” He singled out Gentlewave. “Ya go.”

  Gentlewave said, “Hopefully the Elder knows where this kid is. Owl, give me that paper of yours.”

  Owl handed it to him. He headed into the building. Dorhn’li looked at Owl, Dusty, and Mothwing. “Cake. Yeah? Come.”

  They followed him to a cone tent. He pulled up the flap and walked inside. Owl rubbed the soft leather exterior and traced her fingers along the splattered paint designs. “This is pretty. These people are so colorful. Corvin would love this place.”

  Dorhn’li came out of the tent with a handful of objects wrapped in cloth. He handed one to each of them, then opened his own and took a bite of the spongy thing within.

  Owl unwrapped the object and took a bite. It was indeed a sort of cake, sweet and soft. The center contained a slippery red blob with a sharp, metallic tang.

  “Mm.” Dusty grinned, chewing. “This is good. What’s in the middle?” She pointed at the red thing.

  Dorhn’li stuffed the rest of his cake in his mouth. “Pick’n’ blo’ fruit.”

  Mothwing sniffed the cake, his mouth pulled down. “Did he say, ‘pickled blood fruit?’”

  “I have no idea.” Dusty took another bite. “I don’t care. It’s good.”

  Dorhn’li wiped his mouth and grinned. An older woman walked up to the tent, eyed the cakes in their hands, and smacked Dorhn’li on the arm. She let out a rapid utterance that couldn’t be anything other than a curse.

  Shirking away, Dorhn’li gestured to their group and retorted back. The old woman huffed and shook her head, walking away.

  “Sorrah!” Dorhn’li called after her. The woman waved him off. He looked back at them and chuckled. “S’nah mah cake.”

  Owl laughed. “Stolen cake. Even better. Thanks, Dorhn’li.” She sat on a stump and finished eating.

  Dusty sat in the grass. “That was great. I’m still hungry, though.”

  Dorhn’li scanned the area, then slipped back into the tent and handed Dusty another cake. He put a finger to his lips. “Shh. Fah babe.” He gestured to her stomach.

  Mothwing wrapped his cake up and put it in his backpack. “Now he’s calling you ‘babe?’ This guy is a Maralti Sasha.”

  Dorhn’li sat on the ground next to Dusty. “Sasha’s luckyman?”

  “Yes, he’s my luckyman,” said Dusty.

  “Ah go’ jealous.” Dorhn’li shrugged off his coat and flexed his bicep, then grinned at Dusty. “Eh? Ya luckyman go’ keen buil’? S’nice, huh?”

  Dusty snorted. “Alright. Calm down, ladykiller.” She pointed to her wedding ring. “See? From my luckyman. That means I don’t have any other men. Only him.”

  Dorhn’li pursed his lips, his gaze moving from Dusty’s hand to Owl’s. His face brightened at her bare fingers.

  Owl shook her head. “I have a ring too, but I don’t usually wear it. I’m afraid I’ll lose it. It’s at my house.”

  “Mm. Sure.” Dorhn’li smirked.

  Owl looked at Mothwing. “You’re right. He is a Maralti Sasha.”

  Dorhn’li pointed to his teeth. “Ya like?”

  She chuckled. “My luckyman has teeth like that too. But not black. White.”

  “Black’s nice coloah.” He pushed up on his lips, revealed his black gums, then sighed. “‘Kay. Ah goin’ giveit. Ya go’ luckyman.” Dorhn’li stood and walked to a group of men sitting near a small campfire. He slapped one on the back and said something.

  Dusty wiped her mouth. “He gives up easier than Sasha, though.”

  Gentlewave exited
the wooden building, hard lines carved into his face. Owl’s stomach dropped; it wasn’t the expression she wanted to see.

  He walked to their group and put his hands on his hips. “Bad news.”

  “The kid’s not here,” Mothwing replied.

  “He’s not. Apparently, he left with some wolfmen.”

  Owl frowned in confusion, picturing lumbering, lupine beasts, their humanoid hands twisted in the back of the teen’s fur coat.

  “Oh, that’s just great.” Dusty shook her head. “I hate wolfmen.”

  “What the hell is a wolfman?” Mothwing took a step toward Gentlewave, eyeing the trees. “Is it a ‘biggie mossa’?”

  Dusty barked a loud laugh. “No! A wolfman is someone who cheats you. Swindles you. Tricks you into doing something. You know, like the phrase, ‘you drank the wolfwater.’”

  Mothwing squinted. “I’ve never heard of that.”

  “So like what happened to Corvin and Sasha?” Owl asked.

  Dusty huffed. “Yeah, they drank the wolfwater, alright. Literally.”

  “But usually a wolfman is someone who cheats people as a profession.” Gentlewave pulled his scarf tight around his face. “There are a lot of them in the East. There’s even a tiny town south of Hammerlink called Wolfwater. Anyway, there’s a group of wolfmen that come by this area every year or so, I guess, trying to sell the Maralti all sorts of worthless shit—like ‘groth’nal repellant.’ The Maralti have gotten smart, and don’t buy those things anymore, but they still like to trade for Old World junk, so the wolfmen keep coming back and selling them baby dolls and computer monitors.”

  Owl stared at the stumps at the clearing’s edge. “Do you think those TVs and monitors really keep the groth’nals away, then? Or maybe the wolfmen just told them that?”

  “I don’t know. From what I could gather from the Elder, though, this time the wolfmen came back with a different con. They were recruiting children.” Gentlewave scowled and balled a fist, his knuckles cracking. “For a ‘life of fame and fortune in Hammerlink.’”

  Dusty dragged her hands down her face. “Oh, God. Seriously? I wanna say Auth’ni is stupid, but I guess a kid that’s never been to Hammerlink isn’t going to know that it’s full of Bosses just waiting to buy orphaned children.”