Wolfwater

by Alia Hess

  Mothwing’s mouth sagged open. “You mean we have to go to Hammerlink?”

  Owl groaned and leaned back on her stump. “But that will take months! And no one knows that we’ll be going that way. My parents live there, and they have Corvin’s old tablet. I could use it to call the drone in my house and let Trav know what’s going on, but that’s even longer that Sasha and Corvin will be stuck in jail.”

  “And longer that we’re out here.” Mothwing scowled.

  And longer without Trav and Muffin. Owl dropped off the stump and pulled her hood over her face, tears welling in her eyes. A hand touched her shoulder and Gentlewave said, “I don’t think they’ve made it all the way to Hammerlink yet. The Elder said this only happened a couple weeks ago. If they stop in towns along the way, we should be able to catch up to them before too long. They have a big wagon pulled by a cow… I think the Elder was talking about a cow. Anyway, I doubt they can travel that fast.

  “She said the tribe higher north where Auth’ni was living knows more about what direction the wolfmen went. She sent for a couple of tribesmen and they’ll be here tomorrow to give us more details. Once we know more, we can start making a plan.”

  “Why would these guys come this far north if they live in Hammerlink? Surely they could find kids to trick that are closer to the East,” Mothwing said. “I mean, if they’re rounding up a bunch of slave kids, that’s more mouths to feed on the way back to Hammerlink. I wouldn’t think that would be very cost effective.”

  Dusty folded her arms. “Not if they’re selling to collectors.” Her mouth twisted. “Sometimes Bosses like to have a bunch of different kids—dark skin, light skin, redheads, blonde… And the more unique the kid, the more the Boss will pay. I bet Auth’ni fits the bill really well.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  Dusty glanced at Mothwing. “Yep. Bosses are disgusting. Why do you think I killed mine?”

  Mothwing put his hands in his pockets and muttered. “I heard Corvin was a Boss.”

  “He wasn’t like that!” Owl sat up. “Tell him, Dusty. Corvin didn’t collect kids. He didn’t molest them!”

  Dusty scuffed her feet through the grass and shrugged. “He did some pretty questionable things, though. He didn’t treat his maid very nice, and he owned a bunch of orphans and made them work in his factories, but—”

  “There’s nothing questionable about that. It’s despicable,” Mothwing said.

  “But he’s changed, Mothwing! Would you still dislike him if you didn’t know about his past? He’s a good person now, but everyone is too hung up on how he used to be.” Owl’s chest hitched. “ No one likes him. Not you, Mothwing, not Trav. Not our father. The Islanders like buying his clothes, but they’re scared to even talk to him.” She let out a sob and pressed her face to the grass. What if they decided Corvin wasn’t worth saving? What if they didn’t care what happened to him?

  Arms pushed her up and Dorhn’li’s face filled her vision. “Hey. Ya ‘kay?” He scooped an arm around her and helped her to her feet, then guided her to a tent. He lifted the flap and pointed at a cot inside, laden with furry animal skins. “S’mah dwell. Ya sit. S’kay. Ya wan’suh drink? Tea?”

  Owl sniffed and nodded. “Okay.”

  “‘Kay. Sit.”

  Owl walked inside the dim tent and sat on the cot, wiping her eyes. Dusty joined her.

  “Not everybody hates Corvin. He’s just the kind of guy you have to get to know well to like.” Dusty looked at her hands. “Sasha wanted to give him a chance. I was kinda mad about that. But I’m glad now that he did, because Corvin changed. He put all the orphans in a boarding school that would take care of them, and the more I got to know him, the more I liked him and felt sorry for the stuff he’s been through. Even if he can act like a jerk on occasion, he didn’t deserve what the highwaymen put him through. And all those scars on his body…”

  Owl looked up. “What scars?”

  “The scars on… You don’t know?” She pursed her lips. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I always thought it was a little weird that he wears button-up shirts to the beach, but I didn’t know he was trying to hide his scars from you.”

  Owl sighed. Several times when they were kids, she’d caught Corvin crying in his room, or heard about something he got in trouble for that he never told her about. “Corvin doesn’t like to worry me with things. He’s my big brother and he feels like he shouldn’t burden me with his problems. What are these scars you’re talking about?”

  Dusty picked up a fuzzy rabbit skin from the cot and rubbed it between her fingers. “When he was making my wedding dress, he needed to take measurements of my body. I went to his place, but I was kinda early and I didn’t knock. I walked in and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He has… cigarette burns all over his chest and shoulders, and big long scars from, I don’t know, knives or something. I asked him if the highwaymen did that to him and he said yes.”

  Owl put a hand over her mouth, her body shaking. “Oh my god.”

  Dusty looked at her sullenly. “I thought you knew. I’m sorry.”

  If I wasn’t in a hurry to get this escort mission completed before, I am now. Corvin, stuck in jail, after all the things that have happened to him. Is he surrounded by awful people right now? People that won’t hesitate to do that same kind of thing?

  Dewbell mentioned once that he had nightmares. It makes perfect sense now. Why can’t he share things with me? Why do I have to learn about his past from third parties?

  The itch of frustration in her chest was eclipsed by the desire to give him a hug and never let him go.

  Owl let out a deep breath. “I hate that they’re both stuck there, but I’m glad Corvin and Sasha are together. They get into trouble together, but they look out for each other too.”

  “Yeah.” Dusty leaned over and gave Owl a hug. “We look out for each other too. You, me, and Dewbell. And Seasalt sometimes too. We women are tough.”

  Owl gave her a smile as Mothwing walked into the tent. He glanced at them, waffling in the doorway. “I just… I’m sorry? I wasn’t trying to—”

  “It’s okay,” Owl said. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I’m just upset about everything right now. Especially all this wolfmen stuff prolonging our mission.”

  Mothwing nodded, sitting across from them on a stool.

  “Should I leave now?” Dusty asked.

  He shook his head. “No. You don’t always have to disappear when I come by. I’m sorry if I tease you too much.”

  “Sasha teases me a lot too. I hate when he does it, but I kinda miss it when he doesn’t, y’know? I think that’s why your teasing makes me mad. Because I miss him.”

  Mothwing stared at his sandals, drumming his fingers on the seat. “I shouldn’t have come on this mission.”

  “Oh, don’t say that, Mothwing.” Owl put a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry I got upset, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you here.”

  “No, not because of that. I just shouldn’t have come. I’m such a huge chicken—scared of everything. I don’t make a good escort.”

  “Then why did you come?” Dusty asked. “Because Gentlewave was going?”

  “Yeah. And I’d never been to the Mainland, which is something I regretted—”

  “What do you mean?” Owl squinted at him. “You came here for your naming quest, right?”

  Mothwing bit his lip and gave her a baleful glance. “No. I was too afraid. I just… sailed my boat up and down the coast for two months, then came home. I took the Black Aurora mushrooms and had my vision like I was supposed to, but I did it on my boat. I cheated.” He sighed. “It’s not a secret. Everyone knows. And it wasn’t a big surprise for my brothers. They know what a baby I am. A couple of them didn’t think I would even leave the island.” He bared his teeth. “Ever notice how I only have the two top and bottom of my teeth filed and the rest are still flat?”

  Owl nodded.

  “Well, I was a chicken when it came to that too
. It hurt so bad I gave up.”

  Dusty scoffed. “You’d never make it through the stuff I had to endure growing up, and I was just a little girl.”

  Owl hissed. “Dusty!”

  “No, she’s right. I’m a wuss. I hear a twig snap and practically jump into Gentlewave’s lap.”

  Owl smiled and gave Mothwing a hug. “Well, I’m glad you’re here at any rate. Even if it’s just for planning and moral support.”

  “Thanks, Owl.” He gave a wane smile, then stood and walked out of the tent.

  She turned to Dusty. “I hope we can catch up to these wolfmen quickly. For everyone’s sake.”

  “Me too. Makes me sick to think about those kids being shipped off to Hammerlink. I haven’t rescued any orphans in a long time—I had to get away from that environment to work on making myself better—but it doesn’t mean I don’t still care about them.”

  “How are we going to get the kids back, though?”

  Dusty shrugged. “I’ve been in more sticky situations than I’d like to think about. We’ll figure something out.”

  Owl put a hand to her cheek and stared at the deerskin rug on the floor.

  “Tough women, Owl,” Dusty said. “We’re tough, and we’ll figure it out.”

  9

  ~ Nothing Happen ~

  The days ran together like the colors in one of Corvin’s weird paintings. That should have made time feel like it was moving quickly, but instead, a week just felt like one endless day. Perpetually sitting in a little hut, or out on the dirty beach, staring at an ocean that never changed. Sasha swore the ocean stared back, mocking him: I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. You’ll sit on this beach until you turn into a fossil, indistinguishable from the rest of the rocks. At least Dewbell and Trav were going to visit in a few days—that was something he always looked forward to. Had there been any word from Dusty and the escort party? His sexy and sweet notes for Dusty were piling up, but he didn’t want to stop writing them for fear that would feed the belief their communication link was truly gone—or worse, that something had happened to them.

  Sasha lay in his sleeping bag, struggling to drift into a deep sleep. His dinner of gristly hog meat wasn’t sitting well on his stomach, and he was certain Corvin’s snoring got louder every night. When the sleeping bag slid away from his shoulders, he groggily reached for it. “Baby, you stealing my covers again.”

  “That’s right,” a husky voice whispered, and a rough hand slid down his back.

  Sasha’s eyes shot open and he recoiled toward the wall. An arm hooked around his neck and something sharp pressed into his throat.

  Sharkguts chuckled. “This won’t be as fun with your blood everywhere, so I suggest you stay still.”

  Sasha thrashed and squirmed at the man’s groping hand. His arms were pinned beneath him, and struggling only intensified the sharp pains in his flesh. “Corvin! Help! Cor—”

  Sharkguts grabbed a fistful of Sasha’s curls and shoved his face into the sandy floor. “Quiet! Or I will slice you!”

  Warm blood soaked the collar of Sasha’s shirt and he stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing rapidly as Sharkguts’ hand slid back to his pants.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every bad thing I’ve ever done. I’ll write a new apology list—I’ll do anything. I won’t flirt with another woman ever again. Just don’t let this happen. Please.

  Soured breath filled his nose as Sharkguts pulled down Sasha’s briefs. The man’s laughter dissolved into a strange gurgling noise. Something hot and wet ran down the back of Sasha’s shirt. The sharp thing at his neck fell slack and Sasha scrambled away, yanking up his briefs and turning around. Corvin’s tall, moon-limned form loomed above them, the straight razor in his hand. He grabbed Sharkguts by the shirt and pulled him away from the sleeping bag. The man made a watery rasp, blood spurting through his fingers as he clamped them around his throat. Corvin jerked the implement from his hand—a curved clam shell tied to a wooden handle—and plunged it into Sharkguts’ stomach.

  The man gasped and Corvin stabbed again. Sasha pressed himself to the cold wooden slats of the wall, covering his eyes and pulling in deep breaths. Awful noises came from behind him. When a hand eventually touched his arm, he jerked away.

  Corvin looked in his face. “It’s me, Sasha.” He grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped off his hands, then dropped it on Sharkguts.

  Blood pooled around the body, running into the cracks of the wood floor. Sasha’s heart pounded against his chest like a fist. Droplets splattered on the wood planks from the blood coating his tee shirt—Sharkguts’ blood. He peeled off the shirt, feeling exposed and violated, and clutched his photo of Dusty tightly.

  Nothing happened.

  He tried to grab a clean shirt from a chair in the corner, but only succeeded in knocking over the stack of neatly-folded clothes. Corvin retrieved a blanket and draped it over Sasha’s shoulders. Sasha followed him to the other side of the hut, slumping against the wall under Dewbell’s mural and pulling the blanket tightly around him. His pulse throbbed in his ears.

  Nothing happened.

  Corvin lit a candle, then sat next to him, crossing his long legs. He peered at Sasha’s neck. “Turn your head. Let me see.”

  Sasha did as instructed and Corvin pressed his handkerchief to his cuts. He made a clucking noise with his tongue. “Not good; one’s pretty deep. I think it needs stitches. I don’t have a suture needle, but we can improvise.”

  Corvin tugged a box to his side and pawed through it. He paused and looked up. “You’re okay, right? I mean, other than your neck?”

  Sasha nodded, brushing his hair from his face with unsteady hands and still hearing Sharkguts’ throaty laugh in his ear. “Nothing happen.”

  “Good.”

  “Thank you, Corvin.” Sasha put his fingers to his temples and let out a shuddering breath. Corvin gave Sasha’s shoulder a squeeze and Sasha threw his arms around him. “Thank you!”

  Corvin hugged him back. “Of course.”

  The pool of blood on the floor had run all the way to the door. Sasha said, “He is dead, right?”

  “I stabbed him in his shark guts twelve times. I’m quite sure.”

  Sasha hopped up, shoved open the window shutters and leaned out, vomiting. Certain that he had expelled not only this evening’s dinner, but all his jail meals over the past month, he stood, groaning. The sensation of Sharkguts’ hands rose in his mind and his stomach seized. He heaved again, then wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve. After gargling water from a cup on the table—and shaking badly enough he spilled some of it down his front—he pressed the handkerchief to his smarting neck.

  “You okay?” Corvin asked.

  Sasha sank against the wall. “I am glad you stop that guy—very glad—but why you stab twelve times?” And why were you counting?

  “I would have kept going, but the knife broke.”

  Sasha gave him a sidelong glance. “That is too much times.”

  Corvin stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t quite follow you. You didn’t want that guy to still be alive, did you?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “So what does it matter how many times I stabbed him?”

  “Normal people don’t do that, Corvin. If Trav rescued me, he would have cut guy’s throat and that’s it. Maybe stab one or two times. Not twelve.”

  Corvin pursed his lips. “I was just… thinking about you. Seeing you in that compromising position. And thinking about myself. My younger self. And I got really upset. I couldn’t stop.” He ran a hand through his messy hair and frowned. “Are you… are you scared of me now?”

  “Honestly, I have always been bit scared of you. But you are my friend and that don’t change now.” Sasha pulled in a breath. “I am glad you did it.”

  Corvin looked unconvinced. “Maybe we can keep this between ourselves, huh?”

  “Good idea. Nothing happen, but… I don’t want anybody to know. And not Dusty, for sure. I am
so tired of this place and I just want to go home. Everything keep getting worse.”

  “Speaking of unpleasantries, I still need to suture your cut. Do you trust me to do that?”

  Picking at a frayed edge of the blanket, Sasha gave a small nod. Corvin wouldn’t harm him. They were friends, and he’d just saved Sasha’s life. “Of course.”

  Corvin bent a sewing needle into an arc with a pair of pliers, then dipped it into a little bottle of healing herbs Trav had brought on one of his visits. His fingers danced over spools of thread in his lap. “Y’know, this is some quality, Melonvine-brand stitching you’re getting here. Do you have a color preference? Orange or pink, maybe? I could do a ladder stitch or zigzag. Oh! I could embroider Dusty’s name onto your neck. How does that sound?”

  Sasha exhaled a teary chuckle. “Didn’t know you could make jokes. That is joke, right? You’re not serious.”

  “Yes, Sasha, it was a joke. I’m capable of making those on occasion.”

  “Well, I’m not really in mood for laughing, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

  The tincture-soaked rag didn’t hurt as bad as antiseptic, but still wasn’t pleasant. Corvin removed it and slipped a length of vibrant orange thread through his needle. He scooted close and Sasha tilted his head, fingers of pain climbing his neck and caressing his jaw.

  Corvin touched Sasha’s throat. “You ready?”

  “No, but do it anyway.”

  The needle pierced Sasha’s flesh and he grunted, balling his fists. Corvin worked quickly, but it didn’t lessen the discomfort of each thread tugged and knot tied. He eventually snipped the thread and sat back with his head cocked.

  “Looks good. You hanging on?”

  Sasha swallowed painfully. “I hate my life right now.”

  Corvin scooted back, candlelight pooling in his dark eyes. He slipped his arm around Sasha. Sasha leaned his head on Corvin’s shoulder.

  A gust of wind rattled the shutters, and palm fronds thatching the roof whispered together in the breeze.