Wolfwater

by Alia Hess

  Dorhn’li nodded, his lip curling up. “Yeah, n’Ah’m go’ shoot a’wolfmen wi’ mah bow.”

  “No you are not!” Gentlewave clenched his jaw. “Sneaking up on them might be the way to go, and maybe killing them too, but I won’t know that until we know exactly what we’re up against. And I’m not letting any of you be reckless and stupid on my watch. Especially you, Dusty. You have your own child to think about.”

  “And a husband stuck in jail until this is resolved! I wanna help!”

  Owl put an arm around Dusty. “You are helping. But you won’t be if you and Dorhn’li come up with some half-baked attack plan and end up getting hurt or killed.”

  Gentlewave narrowed his gaze. “No one does anything until I say so. Got it? Nobody officially made me mission leader, but I’m taking the job right now and I don’t care if you like it or not. No one is getting hurt while I’m around. If money’s not going to work, we may need to stake them out—watch them and look for weaknesses.” Gentlewave turned and continued walking.

  “I’m okay with that as long as I can help,” Dusty said.

  Dorhn’li looked less than pleased, and Mothwing stared at the meadow for a moment before trailing along beside them. Owl quickened her pace and caught up with Gentlewave.

  He glanced back at Dusty and lowered his voice. “Owl, will you keep an eye on her and make sure she and Dorhn’li don’t do anything stupid? They already look like they’re in cahoots back there and if something happened to her and that baby—” Gentlewave’s face pinched.

  “Of course, I will.”

  “I don’t like that Dusty is out here pregnant, but the thought of her and Sasha as new parents with a little baby girl is just about the cutest thing I can imagine.”

  Owl grinned at Gentlewave. He didn’t say a lot, but when he did, she knew he meant it.

  “A baby boy would be cute too, but I think one Sasha is enough for this world.” His eyes crinkled. “Dewbell will be so excited. She loves children.”

  “I know. She’s a great aunt to Son of Owl. She and Corvin spoil him rotten.” Owl stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Dewbell’s probably too old to have kids now, huh? I wonder if she was younger, if her and Corvin would want them.”

  Gentlewave’s face turned stormy. “Dewbell… wanted kids. With her husband, Daniel. She got pregnant once, but lost the baby. She was devastated. I came to see her and she’d thrown all the baby things away and her arms were all bloody from—from cutting herself.”

  Owl cringed. “Poor Dewbell.”

  Gentlewave wiped his eyes with his scarf. “After that, she never spoke about having kids again.”

  What if that had happened to me? What would I have done? It would have turned the whole world upside down. Trav and I had been trying for a while to get pregnant, but not years. God. Trav thought that I had drunk that poison tea those old women sent me—thought it would kill the baby. He’d wailed in the street.

  Dewbell lost a baby, then lost her husband too.

  Gentlewave glanced back at Dusty, Dorhn’li, and Mothwing, engaged in conversation about something that hopefully wasn’t a surprise attack on the wolfmen. “Dewbell didn’t have any control over what happened to her baby, but Dusty does. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anything happen to that child, whether it be an accident or her doing something stupid. She may not feel like she wants the baby yet, but I’m sure she’ll come around.”

  “I talked to her this morning about her concerns, and she’s feeling better now. Said she’s going to think up some girl names.”

  “That’s great to hear.” He dropped his voice. “Just another reason we need to be damn careful about our next moves. One slip up, and it could have serious repercussions for Sasha and Corvin, or for us.”

  Scenarios played through Owl’s mind. What if Dusty started bleeding again? What if the merchant was willing to sell the children back to them, but they didn’t have enough money? What if the boy with them wasn’t Auth’ni at all and they’d been chasing wolfmen for nothing? What if they did everything they were asked, handed Auth’ni over to Palesun, and the Elder changed his mind on the deal? Could he do that?

  Smoke from a farmhouse ahead curled into the late afternoon sky, and a high wooden fence—the posts taller than Gentlewave—stretched along the side of the road.

  Koya ran through a pasture, bounding after each other. Owl stopped and stared through the fence, mouth open. They pranced on spindly legs, their hooves kicking up clods of dirt. The intricate patterns of white on their necks and flanks rippled as their muscles flexed, and each pattern was different. Nobby black horns arched above their heads, spiraling back down toward short, bristled manes.

  One of the koya trotted toward the fence and stuck her head through, hot breath blowing in Owl’s face as she regarded her with big gray eyes. The koya curled her lip and flicked her ears, then stuck out a purple tongue.

  Owl laughed. “I think she wants a snack or something.”

  Dorhn’li grinned and reached up to rub the koya’s head. She dodged his advance and pressed her muzzle into his palm, sniffing.

  Owl pulled a handful of pine nuts from her bag and held out her hand. The koya nibbled at them, her tongue leaving Owl’s palm slimy. She wiped it on her pants. “These are so pretty and graceful. And slobbery.”

  She grinned at her companions, her smile faltering as she looked at Mothwing. He stared at the koya, brows pushed down. “What’s wrong, cousin?”

  Mothwing worked the muscles in his jaw, nostrils flared. “I can’t believe the wolfmen killed so many of these animals just to take their horns. I feel—I feel sick. I’m starting to think maybe we should just put bullets in their heads.”

  Dorhn’li folded his arms and looked at Gentlewave. “Yeah. Easy way tah go.”

  “No. Absolutely not.” Gentlewave turned to Mothwing and shook his head. “All of you are letting your emotions get in the way. I’m upset too, but we have to be level-headed about this.”

  “But it would be easy,” Mothwing said. “We could toss the drone right into the middle of them and yell at it to fire.”

  Gentlewave raked his hands down his face. “That would kill the children.”

  “Oh… Right. Bad idea.”

  Dusty glanced at Owl. “What do you think we should do?”

  Owl raised her eyebrows, everyone’s gaze on her. She turned toward the smoke coiling out of farmhouse up the road. “I think we should talk to those people and see if they know anything about the wolfmen. See if they stopped here. The more information we have about them, the better.”

  Gentlewave said, “I think that’s a good idea… as long as they’re friendly. Dorhn’li, you mentioned some of the farms not being nice. In what way? They come after you with pitchforks?”

  Dorhn’li glanced at the farmhouse. “Mm, once Brag go’ shot’a fro’ farm, n’Ah wanna trade w’some, but they go’ mad n’yell n’stuff.” He shrugged. “This’un, nahdunno.”

  Gentlewave chewed his lip. “Well, Owl, do you want to try to talk to them? I could do it, but if these people don’t like Maralti, they probably won’t like Islanders either. I hate to just send you to their doorstep alone, but I’ll keep a close distance should they be unfriendly.”

  “She doesn’t have to go alone,” Dusty said. “I’ll go too. I’m a Mainlander.”

  Gentlewave’s expression darkened. “No. I need you safe. Not that I don’t want Owl to be safe too, but—”

  Dusty glowered. “Shit, Gentlewave, why don’t you just tie me to your back for the rest of the trip? Would that make you happy?”

  “What would make me happy is seeing you and Sasha and your baby safe and sound in your house on—” His face contorted and he cleared his throat, then beckoned to Owl. “I’m coming with you to talk to these people. Dusty, will you please stay here with Dorhn’li and Mothwing?”

  “Um… Okay.”

  Gentlewave pulled his scarf high up his face, covering his nose. He drew up the hood of his cl
oak and tucked his braids inside. Owl frowned. She’d seen Trav do the same thing on multiple occasions to protect himself from the racism of Mainlanders, and it always made her bristle with anger. Hopefully these farmers would be friendly—it would be a small consolation, but one less hurdle.

  The rest of their group stood near the fence, Dusty’s pink coat standing out like a lone flower in an empty field. Two more koyas had joined the first and Mothwing reached up to pet them. They bobbed away from his hand, sticking out purple tongues.

  Owl followed Gentlewave around the side of the sprawling farmhouse; a rusty wheelbarrow sat nearby, full of animal skulls, rotted lengths of rope, and withering weeds. A hoe with a jagged, broken blade leaned against the wall next to barrels of rainwater sitting in the grass under the eaves. Gentlewave pointed at the front door. “Why don’t you knock and I’ll wait right here.”

  Owl eyed the skulls in the wheelbarrow, then hesitantly climbed the creaky steps. She knocked on the door, slipping her hand into her pocket and clutching her knife. A weird sound drifted, almost like an abrasive laugh, and she realized it was the koyas.

  The door swung open and a haggard, unshaven middle-aged man peered out. He stuck his thumb through one stained suspender strap, his bushy brows pushed down over his eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Uh, hi. My friends and I are trying to find a group of wolf—traveling merchants. We heard they may have come this way with a wagon.”

  The man’s face scrunched, his wrinkles growing more severe. “Yeah, they came through here last week. Sold us some shit that was supposed to be antiseptic and turned out to be rosewater or some other worthless thing. Are you friends with them? You tell them that if our grandson dies of infection, it’s on their heads! He was doing okay before we switched his poultice to that crap they sold us, and now the wound is getting worse.”

  Owl put up her hands, heart pounding. “I’m not friends with them. Just need to find them. They swindled us too, in a way.”

  “That so?”

  Gentlewave stepped up to the door and the man reached for something beyond the frame, eyeing him.

  “He’s my friend,” Owl said. “We don’t want trouble.”

  “I have antiseptic.” Gentlewave pulled his scarf down a bit. “Real antiseptic.”

  The man folded his arms. “This some kind of trick? The second half of that merchant’s plan? He sells me shit and then a week later, more of his buddies show up to see how much I’m willing to pay for the real thing?”

  “Not at all. I just don’t want anyone to die from infection. And I don’t want money. All we’re looking for is whatever information you can give us on these swindlers.”

  “That’s it, huh?” The farmer squinted. “Show me your face.”

  Gentlewave paused, then pulled down his hood and removed his scarf.

  “Much better. I don’t like strangers with hidden faces showing up at my door. If you truly have some antiseptic, I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Gentlewave nodded and pulled off his pack. “I have it right here.” He opened a pouch and removed a small glass bottle.

  “Can our friends come listen to this too? We have three more in our party,” Owl said.

  The farmer regarded her warily, running a hand through his gray-peppered hair, but nodded.

  “I’ll get them.” Gentlewave jogged around the side of the house.

  Owl looked at her boots, the laughing bray of the koyas floating on the air.

  “So how did these merchants swindle you?” The farmer shut the door and sat on the porch steps. Sunlight softened his hard features and lit up the silver in his hair. He rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes.

  “They tricked some children into going with them. They’re going to sell them into slavery in Hammerlink.”

  The man’s face tightened. “I saw a kid on that wagon. Little blonde girl with one blue eye and one green. She looked scared and underfed. I asked the merchant—Merriweather, he said his name was—what was wrong with her, and he said she was afraid of the koyas.” He rolled his eyes. “Kids love the koyas. I suppose I should have asked more questions, but I didn’t feel it was my place.”

  “Did you see any other kids on the wagon? Maralti boys?”

  “Maralti? No. But they were a little squirrely about anyone getting close to their wagon. You know, I’ve seen these guys pass through before but didn’t realize what scoundrels they were.”

  Gentlewave returned with the rest of their group. The farmer’s gaze lingered for a moment on Dorhn’li, then he looked at Gentlewave. “How about that antiseptic now and I’ll answer whatever questions you have the best I can?”

  Gentlewave handed the glass bottle to the man. He pulled out the cork, sniffed, and nodded. “Now this smells like antiseptic. I was pretty reluctant to buy that stuff the merchant was peddling—didn’t look like no antiseptic I’d seen before—but that Merriweather has a silver tongue. You watch out for that. Probably everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie.”

  Dusty sighed. “I’m used to that. Lots of bullshitters in Hammerlink.”

  “Well, hopefully you’ll be more equipped than I was, then. I’m Gary, by the way.”

  Gentlewave introduced himself and shook the farmer’s hand. “How many adults traveling on that wagon?”

  “Four that I saw. Merriweather, two men, and a woman. Looked like she could be a Mainlander, but had filed teeth. Called herself ‘Brandy the Half-Breed.’”

  Gentlewave and Mothwing exchanged a look and the farmer put up his hands. “It’s what she called herself, I swear. My wife made a comment about it and the woman said if we didn’t like it, we could call her ‘Brandy the Trashcoconut’ or ‘Brandy the Cocobilly.’”

  Owl frowned. “Was she there against her will?”

  “If I thought that, I would have said more, or done something. But she was a surly one and when she was giving us samples of some fancy candy they were hawking, the little blonde girl tried to take a piece and Brandy smacked her hand.”

  Dusty scowled, slumping on the porch step and sinking into her coat. “So she doesn’t like the kids either? I thought maybe we could get her on our side.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “They go’ guns?” Dorhn’li asked.

  “Yep. The two men had rifles, and I’m sure Merriweather and the woman were carrying too.”

  Dusty put a hand over her stomach. “How many guns do we have? Just Gentlewave’s and the drone I don’t know how to use right?”

  “That’s it,” Gentlewave said.

  She kicked a pebble. It bounced through the dirt and stopped at Owl’s feet. “So, four child-hating swindlers with guns against the five of us who have one gun and a quiver full of arrows… and a baby.”

  Gary said, “You best be careful. Merriweather was real interested in meeting my grandson. Wanted to give him some candy too. Then changed his mind when I told him he was injured. That’s when he said he had antiseptic. Had I known they were kidnapping kids…”

  “God. This makes me sick.” Mothwing stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away, peering at the pastel mountains in the distance.

  “You said they were here a week ago?” Owl asked. “Do you know where they were headed?”

  “Yep. Headed for Buck.”

  Gentlewave unfolded his map. “Are there little places to stop along the way?”

  Gary nodded with an irritated sigh. “There’re more ranches and farms. Lots of people to swindle. I hope folks keep an eye on their kids.”

  “We may be able to catch up to them before they get to Buck, then. It’s a way off. This is all great information. Thanks, Gary.”

  “You’re welcome. Now if you’ll pardon me, I’m going to go give my grandson some real antiseptic.” Gary climbed the steps and walked back inside.

  Dusty said, “This was a good idea, Owl—getting more information. I want to help, but I don’t want to do anything that could put the baby in danger. We’ve got more people, but we clearl
y don’t have the upper hand. Thinking about these guys with guns and some nasty chick that just lets kids get mistreated is kinda—” She frowned. “Gentlewave, can I sleep next to you tonight?”

  He nodded, the hard lines of his face softening with relief. “Of course.”

  Mothwing chuckled and opened his mouth. Owl nudged him. “Don’t you dare tease her right now. You do and she’ll go back to acting tough. This is good. Save it for when we’re safe back on Nis. Then you can tease Sasha too.”

  Mothwing sighed. “I’m going to have a lot of pent up jokes by then.”

  Owl glanced at Dusty, the way she held her arms protectively across her stomach, then at the road ahead. That’s the least of my worries, right now.

  13

  ~ Storm ~

  Corvin paced in their hut, twisting a large origami flower in his hands. He peeked out the front window, then sighed. “I suppose it’s a little early for them to show up.”

  Sasha leaned back in his chair, bare feet crossed on the table. Corvin’s footsteps were unnaturally loud without rugs and homey objects to muffle the sound. They still possessed more than the other inmates: sleeping bags, blankets, changes of clothes, and notebook paper, but everything else, including their razors, had gone into the ocean.

  Being without weapons was disconcerting, but still safer than having the guards discover them. There was no telling what would happen to him and Corvin should someone find out they killed Sharkguts.

  Sasha squinted at the flower in Corvin’s hands. “That flower got words on it?”

  Corvin glanced down. “Uh, yeah. It’s, um, my apology, I guess. And a”—he dropped his voice—“love poem.”

  “That’s good. Dewbell will like.”

  “Oh! I see Trav coming.” Corvin let out a breath and opened the door. He tucked in his shirt and straightened his bow tie. Glancing at Sasha, he tightened the small ponytail at the nape of his neck. “Do I look okay?”

  “You look like you been in jail for month and one half and don’t get enough to eat.”