Wolfwater

by Alia Hess

  The doctor put her hands on her hips. “Boy s’good. Man hardworkin’, yeah? Man do. But woman nurture. Woman ta’ care. Man put a’ seed inna ground, but woman make it grow. Ya seed s’girl, n’ya grow her tah strong woman.”

  Dusty chewed her lip and looked at her stomach.

  “Ya go’ Holy ‘ready?”

  “What?”

  “Holy. Fah babe? Nah? S’kay. Ah make. Ya go’ papa ‘ere?”

  Dusty sniffed and shook her head. “No. He’s back home. Couldn’t come and doesn’t even know he’s a papa yet.”

  “‘Kay. Ya ne’ Holy def’n’def. Ah make.” The doctor left the room.

  “Um, what was that about?” Dusty stood and put on her coat.

  “I don’t know. Holy… Maybe it’s some prayer they say for the baby?” Owl smiled at the skulls and plastic animal toys hanging from the walls. “This is all pretty neat. I need to take some pictures of the tribe before we leave.”

  “I’m not really religious, but I suppose that’s nice. We can use all the prayers we can get. Including this ‘seed.’”

  “You’re going to need to come up with a girl’s name now.”

  Dusty pulled her hood over her maple hair and shook her head. “It’s Sasha Jr. until I know otherwise.”

  “You better think of something just in case. Otherwise Sasha might name her ‘Irina.’”

  “God.” Dusty rolled her eyes.

  “If I ever have a girl, I’m going to name her”—Owl’s smile fell away—“Daughter of Owl, I guess.”

  Voices came from outside the tent. Gentlewave marched in, shrugging off the doctor’s grip on his arm. Dusty’s eyes widened and she took Owl’s hand.

  “Dusty, you’re pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?” Gentlewave tugged on his braids, his frown half-concealed by his scarf. “A better question, why did you even volunteer for this mission, knowing you’re pregnant? You should have stayed at home with Dewbell and looked after Sasha.”

  Dusty scowled and squared her shoulders. “I didn’t know I was pregnant, okay? And I want to help! I’m sorry if you don’t like that I’m having a baby, Gentlewave, but neither do I!”

  He shook his head, his hard face softening. “I didn’t say that. I like babies. You’re not happy?”

  She looked away and wiped her eye, shrugging. Gentlewave gathered her into a hug, and she said, “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to send me away.”

  He sighed, looking to the ceiling. “We’re going after kidnappers while you have a child in your belly. This is great timing.”

  Startled hurt flashed in Dusty’s eyes and she pulled away.

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not upset with you. We’ll talk about it later. Don’t worry about our plans right now. Just… decompress for a little bit. Relax. Dorhn’li said you were bleeding. You’re okay, though? The baby is okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Gentlewave offered her a conservative smile. “The Maralti want to throw you some kind of party, huh? For the baby? We can plan later, once the other tribesmen give us a direction the wolfmen went in. I’m not sending you away.”

  Dusty started at the floor, stone-faced, arms wrapped around her stomach.

  Owl imagined holding her own child in her arms, his soft skin and sweet scent, and his sticky, chubby face. This whole situation had affected too many children already. Hopefully Gentlewave knew what he was doing.

  She rested her hand on Dusty’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s have a party.”

  Dusty emerged from the doctor’s roundhouse dressed in a too-big fur coat, the hem dragging across pine needle-littered ground. A large pink spiral of paint graced her exposed belly and a woven crown of berry twigs wreathed her head. Painted red circles sat on the apples of her cheeks, and a white line ran down her forehead and nose.

  Her pinched face and downcast eyes marred her radiant, woodland fairy look.

  I sure hope Dusty comes around to wanting this baby, not just for the child’s sake but for Sasha’s. And her own. She’s a little awkward around Son of Owl, but she dotes on Sasha and saved so many orphans in Hammerlink. She has a big heart, but her fear is getting in the way.

  The observing Maralti stood in a half-circle around the roundhouse. They grinned and banged sticks together, the sound crashing through the area and echoing back.

  Owl lifted her camera and snapped a picture of Dusty. It ejected and Owl stared at it. Hopefully in the future she’ll look at this picture and wonder how she could ever not want to have this baby. It’ll be a good one for their wall. I’ve got some great pictures of her from her wedding too, in that beautiful dress Corvin made her. She frowned. There were no photos of herself from any ceremonies. Not that she had ever wanted a wedding with Trav—one Mainland wedding was enough for her lifetime—but what did she get when she was pregnant? Old women sending her poison tea because they didn’t want her to have a “half-breed.” Plus, she didn’t even get to name her baby!

  The doctor was speaking as she gestured to Dusty’s belly, Maralti around her laughing and clapping. Owl gritted her teeth, scowling at the glossy photo.

  Why am I feeling resentful toward Dusty? Because she’s getting a ceremony for a child she doesn’t even want and I got squat for mine? Because she gets to pick out a cute name for her baby and I didn’t?

  Surely Trav would have let her name Son of Owl if she had insisted, or they could have reached a compromise, at any rate. He was half Mainlander—why couldn’t she have given him a Mainlander name? He could still go on a naming quest for his Nisian name later.

  But I didn’t think about that when I was pregnant. And even though I disliked that I didn’t get to choose his name, I didn’t speak up. I didn’t tell Trav I was unhappy—just like always. He’s right; I just keep my feelings bottled up inside until I explode. Like with that stupid girl, Creek, that kept flirting with him. Like with my homesickness. Like when it was my birthday and I tried to explain to him that it was also Valentine’s Day and he didn’t understand.

  They’d had a nice dinner, but she’d spent it internally fuming because it wasn’t romantic enough. But how was Trav supposed to know? They didn’t have Valentine’s Day on the Islands.

  The only one standing in the way of her happiness was herself. She could still name Son of Owl. Why not? It would be a little weird, waiting so long, but the Islanders wouldn’t know the difference.

  The doctor raised Dusty’s hand into the air. “Dusty’s go’ babe!”

  The Maralti banged their sticks together. She continued. “Dusty’s go’ babe w’luckyman, Sasha. He nah ‘ere, but he go’ be luckypapa.” She handed Dusty a bouquet of herbs. “‘Kay. Ya toss’m fiah.”

  Dusty sullen expression shifted as she shot the doctor a skeptical glare and said something inaudible. The woman replied, gesturing toward the bonfire.

  The herbs hung limply from Dusty’s hand. She scanned the crowd, her mouth wavering.

  Owl pushed through people to reach her. “C’mon, sis. This is neat. When in your life are you going to be able to do something like this again?” Taking the bouquet, she waggled it under Dusty’s nose, and Dusty scrunched her face, giving her an irritated smile.

  Orange flames licked into the air as they neared the bonfire. Dusty wore a shy smile and threw her bouquet in. The herbs crackled, dark smoke billowing into the sky and a pungent aroma permeating the area.

  The Maralti whooped and patted her on the back, then dispersed, gathering plates and bowls of food and setting them on a long flat rock near the fire.

  Dusty craned her neck, watching the smoke drift. Owl said, “I think I want to name Son of Owl.”

  “I could tell. I mean, Muffin is a cute nickname, but you don’t seem happy with just waiting for him to go on a naming quest. Hey, maybe you can choose his first name, and his Islander name can be his middle name. Or he can decide what he wants to be called when he get back from his quest.”

  “Think Trav will be mad?”

  “No. Trav seems
to get mad when you don’t tell him stuff. Besides, everyone knows women are the boss. Just say, ‘honey, I’m giving our son a Mainland name now. And after his naming quest, he’ll have another.’”

  Owl chuckled, trying to picture Trav’s surprised face as she sprung those lines on him.

  Dusty’s look soured. “I guess I’ll think of a girl’s name, in case that’s really what I’m having. You got a name you’re thinking of for Son of Owl?”

  “Yes.” Shutting her eyes, she recalled feelings of home, of feeling safe and happy, the scent of—

  “Owl. Look ‘ere.”

  She opened her eyes. Dorhn’li stood by the fire, pointing to her camera. “S’nice. Ah like.”

  Owl brightened. “Let me show you what it does. Smile. Show me those sexy teeth.”

  Dorhn’li obliged and she snapped his picture, then held it up. “See?”

  His mouth fell open and he took the photo. “S’me.” He grinned. “Ya do ‘gain, yeah?”

  She laughed and took another picture, then handed him the camera. “Here. Take a picture of me and Dusty.” Owl put an arm around her and they smiled.

  Dorhn’li peered into the top of the camera and pushed the capture button several times, then turned to the bonfire and clicked it again. He bent to a small pine tree and pushed the button, then stuck one hand in front of the lens and took another picture. Glossy squares fell from the camera, drifting to the ground in a trail as Dorhn’li snapped everything in sight.

  Dusty raised her eyebrows. “Whoa. Someone’s excited.”

  Owl laughed, picking up the photos. “Good thing I brought more film.”

  Dorhn’li beamed and admired the camera. “Ah like. Ya gimme a’ keep, yeah?”

  “No, you can’t keep it. Sorry. But you can keep the pictures.” Owl handed him the stack.

  He traded them for the camera. “‘Kay. S’good too. Ah’m go’ grateful, Owl. Go’ pre’ mah dwell.” He fanned out the photos, grinning, and walked away.

  Owl peered at the two in her own hands—one of Dorhn’li, and a slightly crooked one of Dusty and herself. This wasn’t her ceremony, but these would still be memories worth holding onto.

  The tiny counter on the camera indicated there were four sheets of unexposed film left inside. She turned, taking a photo of the food spread—fish, grilled meat, and flatbread—then of Gentlewave and Mothwing, conversing with several unfamiliar men. One man pointed at Gentlewave’s map, and Dorhn’li, walking by, stopped to look.

  “Do you think those are the tribesmen from the other village?” Dusty pulled her shirt down, covering her painted stomach.

  “Looks that way.” Owl headed toward the men as Mothwing wrinkled his nose and shook his head. Dorhn’li had taken on a similarly disgusted expression.

  Gentlewave looked up. “Oh, good. Owl, Dusty, we’ve got a lead on where to go. Toward the southeast, there’re a string of farms and ranches and apparently the wolfmen like to hit them whenever they come through. They have, as far as these men know, at least three kids, including Auth’ni. He and one other boy came from their tribe, and another kid was seen on the wagon with the wolfmen—a little blonde girl around seven or eight.”

  Dusty’s nostrils flared, and her mouth contorted into a trembling grimace. “Are”—she pulled in a breath and looked at the tribesmen—“are you guys going to come with us to help get the kids back?”

  Mothwing shook his head. “We already asked them that. They said they couldn’t convince either of the boys to stay, and they went willingly with the wolfmen.”

  “But—but do they know what’s going to happen to them?” Dusty looked at the men again. “Kids taken to Hammerlink get sold. Traded and used up like a tool, then thrown away. No one cares what happens to them. They’ll be abused, molested, and worked to death. I’ve seen it first hand.”

  The two men from the northern tribe listened impassively, whispering to each other and shaking their heads.

  She tapped her chest insistently. “I was one of those kids! And nobody saved me. I had to do it myself.” She dropped her eyes and mumbled. “And then I did whatever I had to in order to save others.”

  Dorhn’li stared at Dusty with rapt attention. “Ya save lotsa kids?”

  Dusty folded her arms. “Yeah. Forty-seven.”

  Owl’s mouth parted. How many times did she have to sell her body to rescue that many kids? And how can she think she won’t be a good mother, with such a selfless heart?

  Dorhn’li bent to Dusty’s glowering face. “Ya go’ save fifty. Ya go’ catch’a wolfmen. N’Ah’m go too. Ah’m good a’trackin’.” He stood and looked at Gentlewave. “Ah’m go.”

  Gentlewave scratched his head. “Are you sure? I don’t know how long it’s going to take us to catch up to the wolfmen. We’ll be traveling for weeks, most likely.”

  “Ah wanna he’p.”

  “We’ll need it, I’m sure,” Owl said. “Dorhn’li, have you been that way before? To these farms that the wolfmen go to?”

  “Yep. Huntin’ koya. But a’farms…” Dorhn’li bit his lip and looked away. “Mm, some’a nah so nice.”

  “What else is new?” Mothwing grumbled. “I’ve heard Trav mention quite a few times how awful the people of the Mainland treated him.”

  “Not all of them,” Owl said. “And if they’re bigots, I suppose just me and Dusty could talk to them.”

  Gentlewave stared at his map. “Okay. It’s a plan, then. Let’s head out at first light tomorrow. Leaving today after this feast or whatever is over isn’t going to give us much daylight. So have everything packed and ready tomorrow morning. Sound good, Dorhn’li?”

  Dorhn’li nodded and looked at Dusty. “Ah’m go’ he’p a kids, pre’ pinkcoat.”

  Dusty grinned. “Good. I’m glad you’re coming with us.”

  Dorhn’li beamed and turned for his tent. Owl nudged Dusty. “Like you need to give that guy another reason to crush on you.”

  “As long as he remembers I have a ‘luckyman,’ he can crush on me as much as he wants.” She fiddled with her wedding ring. “Do you think Sasha’s okay?”

  Owl forced a smile. “I’m sure he is. Hanging out in that little hut with Corvin. …I’m sure they’re fine.”

  11

  ~ Dinner and a Confession ~

  “Oh. Oh, God, Dewbell.” The noises coming from Corvin’s mouth were humorously obscene. He took another bite of steak, juices dripping off his fork. “This is fantastic.”

  Sasha wanted to make a lewd comment, but was too busy stuffing his face with pizza. He licked his greasy lips, sitting back in his chair as Dewbell watched with a small smile. Trav looked around the hut, his brow creased.

  “Sasha,” Corvin said with his mouth full, “give me a slice of your pizza.”

  “Give me some steak.”

  “Deal.” Corvin struggled to slice through the meat with a dull wooden knife—the only cutting implement the guards let Dewbell take through the gate—and flopped a large portion onto Sasha’s plate. Corvin picked up a slice of pizza, gooey strings of cheese hanging from the end, and took a bite.

  Sasha swallowed. “Dewbell, will you marry me?”

  She gave a soft chuckle and squeezed his hand.

  Corvin pointed his knife at Sasha. “Hey, back off. She’s mine. What’s for dessert, dear?”

  Trav laughed. Dewbell pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of her yellow dress and wrote something. She slid it to Trav and he squinted. “She says it’s pitch fruit pie.”

  Corvin emitted a moan of pleasure and smiled at Dewbell.

  “She also says that she wants you guys to eat all of the food here, because you look much too thin.” Trav grunted. “We had to bribe the guards with even more pegs so they’d let Dewbell bring this food in. As it was, they took half that pie.”

  Sasha chewed a bite of steak. “I think Quietbird’s plan for guards to help us is not working. They are only taking advantage. But I am happy for the food. Going to get even more skinny if they give us
spider stew again. No way I’m going to eat that shit.”

  Trav’s face scrunched. “Spider stew?”

  “Yeah. I was complain of having belly before I get locked up. Don’t need to worry about it now.”

  Corvin wiped his mouth and sighed. “This was so good, dear, for a moment I forgot where I was.” He glanced at Trav. “Have you heard from Owl yet?”

  Trav’s face fell. “No. The tablet must be broken. I mean, that has to be what happened, right? Or it got lost. Or fell in the water or something.”

  “All of those things is possibility.” Sasha touched his chest, feeling the creased photo beneath. “I am sure they are alright.” He stared at his plate for a moment, then slapped his forehead. “Oh my god. I am so stupid.”

  “What?” Trav asked.

  “I could have kept tablet. Or you could have, Trav. And we could have talked to everybody with Irina, my drone they take with them.”

  “You can talk on that drone too?”

  “Yes. I am idiot!” He put his face in his hands. “But Dusty kept saying she needed tablet for drone commands, and want to take pictures of forest. So I let her take.” Trav looked even more disappointed and Sasha’s stomach sank. “I am sorry. With everything happening, I did not think about it at time.”

  “It’s okay. What if… what if you used the drone in my house to talk to Irina?”

  “Can’t. It don’t work like that. Need tablet or computer.”

  “Damn.” Trav shrugged and tried to smile. “Well, I just keep reminding myself that Gentlewave is with them. He’ll keep them safe. And y’know, they might be on their way back at this point. It won’t be long. How are things with you guys? Everything okay?”

  Corvin glanced at Sasha, a grimace flashing on his face. “Yeah. I mean, okay as it can be. We’re fine.”

  Sasha stared at the pizza crust on his plate and regretted eating so much. An image of Sharkguts’ bloody corpse flashed in his mind, and he shoved it away so all of Dewbell’s delicious food in his stomach didn’t end up expelled out a window.