by Alia Hess
Something large hit him in the face and his mind snapped awake. He grabbed for it, jerking on Corvin’s arm. They surfaced with the debris, and Sasha pulled in a painful gulp of air. Corvin coughed and sputtered, scrambling for the wreckage—a chunk of hut wall. They climbed on, clinging to the edges as the ocean roiled.
Sasha squinted through the rain, unable to see the beach, or even the island. Nothing but darkness and an icy chill surrounded them. He quivered uncontrollably. He was tired. So tired. Corvin lay next to him, groaning. Blood covered his hands.
He looked at Sasha, shivering, his eyes wide and face pallid. Water rolled down his hollow cheeks. “A-are we go-going to d-die?”
“D-on’t know. I’m-I’m so—I want t-to sleep. W-ith Du-sty. In the m-morning. In our b-bed. I w-want to sl-sleep, Corvin.”
Corvin twisted his trembling fist into Sasha’s soggy shirt and pulled him closer. He drew his arms around Sasha and emitted a pained whisper through chattering teeth. “I was—I was go-going to ask D-Dewbell to marry me.”
Sasha emitted a sorrowful moan and sank next to Corvin. He could no longer feel the rain. He could no longer feel the chill or the throb in his eye where the debris had hit him. He couldn’t feel anything.
Sasha closed his eyes.
Warmth radiated through Sasha’s body. Was he in bed with Dusty? No, that couldn’t be. Corvin lay next to him, moaning, his face pinched. They rocked slowly, but where was the water?
Sasha shivered, his teeth chattering. He grabbed for Corvin, unsure if he was really there. Gripping Corvin’s bare, goosebumped arm was both reassuring and confusing. Where was Corvin’s shirt?
Where’s my shirt? My clothes? Where am I?
Rainbows swam through his mind.
Rainbows on the floor. Drinking coffee. Making love in the shower. No. No more water, please. Where’s the water? I should go to sleep. Am I asleep?
His body ached and he rubbed his arms.
So tired. I should go to sleep.
What time is it? Where am I?
Hands touched him on all sides, and his ears filled with the sound of weeping. His body burned and sweat rolled down his neck. He clutched himself, shivering.
Someone whispered his name. Then again and again.
“Sasha. Sasha. It’s Sasha.”
“Sasha is God. Sasha is God.”
“Send for the founder. Our god has come to us.”
“Why is he sick?”
“He mumbles. He’s injured. He’s no god.”
“Yes he is; he tests our faith. Do not disbelieve.”
I’m tired.
14
~ Wolves ~
Owl picked her way past the crumbling remnants of a high overpass. The rusty bones of cars hung from the sides and lay in crumpled heaps in the rubble below. Tattered remains of a tent and a dead campfire sat below one concrete column, the area overgrown with weeds.
They were nearly to Buck, having taken a shortcut through an area no wagon would be able to navigate. Dorhn’li didn’t like the idea of straying from the wheel tracks, but Gentlewave thought it would close the distance quicker between them and the swindlers. The tracks indicated the wagon had stopped at several homesteads along the way, then continued southwest. Gentlewave didn’t want to risk missing the wagon in Buck.
Owl glanced at Dusty. “You’re quiet today.”
Dusty stepped over a rock, one hand on her stomach. “I just… never thought I’d be here at this point in my life.”
“Crawling over rubble in search of wolfmen?”
She smirked. “No, no. I just mean, I never would have predicted my life would be like this. Two years ago, I was walking the roads on the outskirts of Hammerlink, suntanned and dirty, shaved head, wearing ratty clothes, and picking up any trades I could find.” She let out a laugh. “Did you know I thought I was doing good for myself back then? I thought that was the pinnacle of what my life would be until Sasha came along.”
Owl furrowed her brows. “Well, I guess if you grow up that way, you don’t really know the difference, huh?”
“Yeah. When I was seven, up until I was fourteen, I was in this gang. This older kid, Jack, looked out for me and taught me things. She was like my mentor. Like… a sister to me. But she left, and then it was just me.” Something flashed on Dusty’s face—some deep-seated pain—then it was gone, and her face hardened into a scowl. “I don’t—I don’t really talk about Jack. Anyway, I stayed in the gang because they protected me from outside dangers, but the guys just used me. And us kids low in rank sometimes didn’t get good food like the others did. We got moldy stuff and scraps. Like dogs. But I didn’t know where else to go. I was tough and I could fight, but burglary and theft were hard with just one person. When we were organized as a group, it was easy. I didn’t know how I was going to make money on my own.”
Owl gripped Dusty’s hand, helping her down a steep, gravelly embankment; Dorhn’li, Mothwing, and Gentlewave walked ahead. A cluster of farmhouses sat in the distance, flanked on one side by an orchard of high, gnarled trees.
Dusty’s eyes took on a distant look. “One day, I was walking through an alley in Starburn and this guy grabbed me by the arm. Told me I was cute and that my lips probably tasted sweet like a peach, that sort of thing.”
Owl wrinkled her nose.
“I started to fight him off—I’d had enough of that stuff happen to me in my gang as it was. He told me to stop being so difficult, that he’d trade me twenty tins for some time with him. I couldn’t believe it. Someone was going to give me money for what they normally took from me for free? I made him show me the money, and he did. Stuck it right in my pocket. It was like a revelation. Liberating. I didn’t have to go back to the gang anymore! I could earn my own money. I started getting real good at it—I knew which places were the easiest to make trades, and I learned how to seduce men. I thought I’d discovered some amazing life secret that day.”
Owl let out a breath and shook her head. She and Corvin had grown up with a bigot of a father, and several times the neighbor kids had made threateningly suggestive remarks toward her, but at fourteen she had a bedroom of her own in a cozy farmhouse. She spent time lying on her quilted bedspread, writing in her journal or reading books. She went to school, played with the animals, and had scrambled eggs and glasses of milk for breakfast. Corvin liked to scoop a thick layer of cream off the milk and spread it on Mom’s fresh cinnamon bread. She was partial to jam on hers.
Dusty tromped through the underbrush, her hard eyes fixed on the way ahead.
“I’m so sorry, Dusty. I’ve always thought of you as a strong woman, but the stuff you’ve had to endure… I don’t know how you did it.”
I couldn’t have done those things… and Dusty owns it. It was her being proactive and doing what she needed to do to survive. I never had that fight. I just endured things. I let them happen to me.
Owl curled her shoulders, shrinking in on herself and frowning.
“Thinking about that time and comparing it to now makes me realize what a good life is,” Dusty said. “The life I have now is a good life. I’ve got a man who loves the hell out of me and always treats me right. I have a house of my own, with plumbing and a drip-cooler. It’s warm inside in the winter and cool in the summer. There’s glass on the windows instead of plastic sheeting. I have money—money that Sasha and I earned from escorting Corvin to Nis. I don’t want for anything anymore. And now I’m having a baby. I was so scared at first, because I was thinking about my baby having a hard life like I did. But thinking about my life now, this life that Sasha and I have made together, it’s not scary anymore. You were right. I think I’m going to be okay at this. I can be a good mom.”
Owl smiled and gave Dusty a squeeze. “I know you can. And you’ll have support—something you didn’t have when you were growing up.”
Dusty lifted her coat and looked at her stomach. She was a petite little thing and her swollen belly, though only around eleven weeks, looked big in comparison
. “I think Poppy is a good name. What do you think?”
It took Owl a moment to respond, her heart full. “Yeah. That’s a really cute name. Poppy Roborovskiy.”
“Think Sasha will like it?”
“I’m sure he will.”
“Sasha grew up with his grandma. Her name was Viktoriya. Poppy Viktoriya sounds nice. And you know, even if he doesn’t like that name, I feel good knowing that our kid won’t have the slave-surname, ‘Daughter,’ like I did. Roborovskiy is hard to say, but at least it’s a real name.”
A real name. Will Trav be mad? I want Son of Owl to have a real name. And not just any name. If I named him Michael or James or Benjamin, that would be more of an identity than ‘Son of Owl’ but it’s not meaningful enough. I want to give him a special name that’s important to me… and I hope Trav is okay with it. He’s understanding, but he also doesn’t like—
“Owl! Dusty!” Gentlewave hissed and beckoned. Mothwing clutched Gentlewave’s arm, eyes wide. Owl and Dusty hurried to catch up and Gentlewave pointed toward the farmhouses ahead. “Do you see it?”
Owl’s heart leapt. A large wagon, decorated in cheery reds and blues, sat next to the nearest house. Three men stood nearby. She squinted, but the distance was too great to make out more details.
“We found them!” Dusty whispered, hands to her mouth as she bounced on her toes.
Dorhn’li set his jaw. “Gen’a’wave, Ah’c’n make a’ nice brac’lets fro’ a’ bones. Wha’ ya fav’ite coloah?”
Gentlewave sighed. “No, Dorhn’li. We can’t even tell who is who from here. We don’t know which one is the merchant, which ones are guards, and who happens to be the unlucky farmer drinking the wolfwater right now. I suggest we inch a little closer for a better look.” His gaze touched on all of them briefly and Owl felt she could read his thoughts.
Dorhn’li’s probably sneaky, but too unpredictable and hotheaded. Dusty’s pregnant, and anyone could see her bright pink coat from a distance. Mothwing won’t want to get any closer.
He narrowed in on Owl. “Come with me. The rest of you stay here.”
Her stomach clenched. I knew it.
Protests erupted all around and Gentlewave shushed them, face pinched. “This isn’t a damn trophy hunt! We’re not in competition with each other to see who can help the most. I don’t want to botch this or wind up with someone getting hurt. Owl and I are going in a little closer to get a look. We will absolutely tell you what we see. Mothwing, you’re in charge.”
Mothwing’s face fell. “Why me?”
“Because you’re older than these two by twenty years.”
Owl smirked, despite the anxious knot twisting her gut. If Dewbell is the motherly one of our friends, I think Gentlewave must be the father.
Dusty stared at the wagon, then nodded. “You’re right. I wanna help, but it’s not a competition. Besides, I need to sit down. This baby is so heavy, I feel like I swallowed a drone. C’mon, guys.” She started for a cluster of trees near the broken overpass columns, then turned. “Owl, I expect a detailed report on how ugly that merchant is.”
“You got it.”
Dorhn’li glanced at the wagon, then slumped his shoulders and followed Dusty.
Mothwing scratched his head. “You won’t be gone long, will you?”
“No,” Gentlewave said.
“‘Kay. Be careful, guys.” He leaned in and gave Gentlewave a peck on the lips, then jogged toward the trees.
Owl followed Gentlewave down another steep embankment, the wagon and farmhouses slipping behind a weedy hill. With each step, her heart thrummed harder. Auth’ni was so close—right in that wagon. An image of Corvin and Sasha walking through the detainment center gate, past those leering guards—free—surfaced in her mind. They could have Auth’ni with them tonight, but how? Should they ambush the guards? Grab all four of them and tie them up? When they were asleep, maybe? It would be so easy just to put a bullet in all of their heads right now—
Owl paused and chastised herself. Now she sounded like Dorhn’li. Gentlewave would know what to do once he got a look at what they were up against. Maybe killing them would be the way to go if there were no other options, but despite what the wolfmen had done, it didn’t seem like the appropriate go-to response.
Gentlewave strode up the embankment, slipping into the orchard. Pungent, rotting apples littered the ground, squishing under Owl’s boots. She weaved around high trees, the farmhouse growing closer. Voices drifted, one louder than the others.
“I assure you, sir, this tonic will make your hair grow back twice as thick as it was in your youth! Not to brag, but do you see this shiny blond coiffe on my head? Wasn’t there a year ago, I kid you not. I was as follically-challenged as yourself until I discovered this elixir.”
Owl rolled her eyes. If these are the smoothest lines this guy has, I don’t know how anyone could fall for it.
Gentlewave turned and pressed a finger to his lips. He inched through the trees and Owl stuck close by, creeping through the leaf litter and mushy apples until the merchant came into view.
Merriweather did indeed have a “blond coiffe,” as well as a horseshoe moustache and thick sideburns. He wore a tweed suit and mustard-yellow bow tie; the scuffed black boots on his feet looked glaringly out of place.
The merchant offered a glass bottle to someone out of view and grinned. “I stumbled upon this concoction while I was studying the natives on the Pearlollan Islands. They’re savages, but have you seen how long and luscious their hair is? They use a sacred mixture of ingredients and bathe in it every day.”
Gentlewave’s face tightened, a vein standing out on his forehead. He leaned to Owl’s ear. “Another comment like that and I’m ready for some of Dorhn’li’s ‘bone bracelets.’”
Owl shook her head, lips drawn in a hard line.
Merriweather rocked back on his heels and tilted his head, pointing to his face. A long, puckering scar ran from his eye and down his cheek. “This left eye of mine is glass, but even with only one good peeper I know a great opportunity when I see one. I seduced one of the scantily-clad Islander women until she spilled the exact tonic recipe to me. Broke her heart when I sailed my ship back to the Mainland.”
Maybe this guy just likes to hear himself talk.
She leaned slightly to see beyond the tree trunks. A burly man with a shaved head stood at the back of the wagon. He shifted the rifle on his back and scratched his ass, looking bored. The doors on the wagon hung slightly ajar.
Is Auth’ni in there? He has to be. Are the other Maralti boy and the little girl in there too, or around front?
A muffled voice responded to the merchant and he grinned. “Why sure, I have more of the tonic! Got a whole crateful in the back. How many bottles do you want? I recommend applying it straight to your scalp twice daily for maximum results. …Six bottles, it is. Brandy!”
A woman appeared, her light brown ponytail swishing as she rounded the side of the wagon. The guard gave her a wide berth, and she swung open the back doors, climbing the steps and walking inside. There was a flash of stacked crates and the bars of a cage before the doors closed again.
Owl blew a long breath out her nose; she dug her nails into the bark of a nearby tree.
The doors of the wagon opened and Brandy turned her head as she exited. “Shush, you!” She slammed the doors, swiveling a latch in place as she juggled a wooden crate of bottles.
Owl put a hand over her mouth, sickened and overjoyed all at once. Someone was definitely back there, and they were so close to this whole fiasco being over.
Merriweather pinned Brandy with a glass-eyed stare, then gave their customer a friendly smile. “We’ve got a dog in the wagon. Sweet thing but she likes to whine. Anyway, Brandy’s got your tonic right here. This supply should hold you for a while, but you may want to buy a couple more, just to be on the safe side. We won’t be back through here in quite a long time and I would hate for you to run out and your hair start to thin again. Two more bottle
s would be a good idea. I’ll even throw in another for free. That’s nine bottles for the price of eight!”
Gentlewave pressed his lips to Owl’s ear. “Why don’t you go back? I’m going to slip around the back of the house and get a look at the front of the wagon.”
“Are you sure that’s safe?”
“The more we know, the better. Go on.”
Owl frowned at his non-answer, but nodded and retreated through the trees, creeping cautiously back to the embankment and jogging down the hill.
She passed the copse, reaching the highway rubble, and Dusty stood up. “Well? Where’s Gentlewave?”
“He’s getting a better look. Told me to come back.” Owl glanced at the wagon in the distance. Be careful, Gentlewave.
Mothwing’s face contorted. “A better better look? How close is he going? He tells us not to be rash, and he goes and does that?”
“I think he knows what he’s doing.” I hope. “The merchant’s a schmuck with a glass eye and a tweed suit, peddling his miracle hair growth tonic to some unwitting farmer.”
Dusty blew a raspberry. “That would be funny if he was some harmless trickster in Hammerlink, not a damn kidnapper.”
“I saw one guard, and the woman too—Brandy,” Owl said. “She yelled at someone in the back of the wagon, supposedly a ‘dog,’ and the guard took a big step back to stay out of her way. I’m guessing she’s a bitch.”
“N’ a’ kids?” Dorhn’li asked.
“I don’t know. There was a… cage in the back of the wagon. I only saw it for a second, so I don’t know if there was someone in it, but that wasn’t a dog that woman was telling to shut up, I’m sure.”
She sat next to Dusty. “Hanging in there, girlfriend?”
Dusty nodded, eyes half-lidded and face sullen. “Tired. And hungry. Dorhn’li, you want to go steal some cake for me?”
He smiled. “Yeah, pre’ pinkcoat, but nah’dunno where tah ge’it.”
She looked at Owl. “You think we could get that woman on our side? Convince her to help us free the kids?”