Wolfwater

by Alia Hess

  After setting Son of Owl on the floor, Trav tugged at his braid and sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe stay away until the retrieval party comes back? I can talk to Quietbird, but—”

  “Maybe nobody should know we are still alive,” Sasha said. “We only got out because of storm, but what if Palesun wants to punish us for it? You never know with guy like that. Or what if he punished retrieval party because we ‘escape’? He could say we did not hold up our deal.”

  “Quietbird has been really stressed out lately. I mean, we all have, but it’s more than that. Won’t tell me what it’s about, no matter how much I prod him for more information. But I think he needs to know you two are alive. He wouldn’t do anything that would make things worse. Not, y’know, on purpose, anyway.”

  Sasha sank against the headboard. Hopefully some part of this mess was being resolved. Staying away from the island until Dusty and his friends were back wasn’t appealing, but it was better than being locked up again.

  “After the detainment center was destroyed, there was a manhunt for the missing prisoners,” Trav said. “You guys weren’t the only ones unaccounted for. Dewbell and I searched for you on our own, hoping we’d find you first so we could smuggled you back to Nis without Palesun knowing.”

  “That is great thought,” Sasha said, “but nobody on Nis can keep secret. Somebody would tell him we were there.”

  “That’s probably true.” Trav’s eyes widened and his mouth parted. “Sasha, can you fly that drone and find the retrieval party?”

  “Yes. I hope, anyway. I am going to do that tomorrow. Want to make sure everybody is okay… And see my beautiful Dusty.”

  “Great. Just knowing Owl and everyone else is okay, even if I can’t see them, would be wonderful. And then we could get an estimate on how long it will take them to get home.” He put his face in his hands. “All of this is going to be over finally. Thank God.”

  Sasha smirked. “Thank Sasha.”

  Corvin frowned. “I still feel like a fugitive. I think things are far from over. But you know what? We’re not going back to that horrible beach!” He threw his arms around Sasha.

  Sasha smiled and squeezed him tight, nearly dropping the tablet. Maybe the ocean wasn’t an uncaring colossus eager to consume him. Maybe it was a baptismal font, washing away all of the awful things that had happened over the past two months. And once things were resolved, he could go home and never give those memories—the awful food, boredom, loneliness, discomfort, Sharkguts—a single second of time in his mind again.

  But how would this play out? Would Palesun punish them for being swept out to sea? For not telling him they were still alive on the Mainland? Would he punish the retrieval party? The thought of Dusty being stuck in a detainment center hut—or a prison cell—curled his stomach.

  Son of Owl reached up and tugged at Trav’s sleeve. “Mama.”

  Trav frowned. “Mama isn’t here right now, Muffin, remember?”

  “Mama!”

  “I’m sorry. She’s not here. You want me to read you a story?”

  “No. Mama!” Son of Owl yanked on Trav’s sleeve, whining.

  Trav’s brows pushed together and he glanced at the screen. “I gotta go, guys.”

  Sasha frowned. His longing for Dusty was intense, but Son of Owl was only one and a half, and without his mother. Even though he wasn’t aware of what was going on, that still had to hurt. “Hey, if I find Owl, I will record little video and can play for you and Son of Owl, okay?”

  “That would be great. Thanks.” Trav stood, then hoisted Son of Owl into his arms and walked out of view. His whine faded into the background.

  Dewbell smiled at them, and Sasha handed Corvin the tablet. “Take some time with your woman, yeah? I am going to go lay in bed in this other bedroom. You don’t need to give tablet back to me tonight. Just push this button here on screen to put drone into standby.”

  Corvin squeezed Sasha’s shoulder. “Thanks, pal.”

  Sasha waved to Dewbell, then pushed out of the bed. He limped from the room, passing the drone paintings in the hall, and entered the other bedroom. Darkness was choking out the last of evening’s light, and deep shadows lurked in the corners of the rich wood paneling. After removing his jeans, he climbed into bed and drew up the covers.

  He touched his chest, feeling for the comforting crinkle of the photo he knew wasn’t there. Wrapping his arms around one of the pillows, he hugged it to his chest and buried his face into the downy softness. Trying to imagine it as Dusty wasn’t working, but it gave him something to hold at any rate.

  A hand on his shoulder startled him awake, the gentle multicolored glow from his tablet washing the room with weak light. Corvin sat on the edge of the bed and set the tablet on an end table.

  Sasha rubbed his eye. “What’s up?”

  Corvin shrugged, looking at the floor. “Just thought I’d give this back to you.”

  “You did not have to come in here for that. It was fine to stay in your room.” Sasha frowned, studying the light playing on Corvin’s sullen face. “Has… has Dewbell been hurting herself or something?”

  “No. Thank God. I didn’t ask her what she did when she found out the detainment center was destroyed, because I was afraid she wouldn’t tell me the truth. I asked Trav instead. He said she was there, at his place, when Quietbird came over and told them you and I were missing.” Corvin clenched his jaw. “Uh… Trav and Quietbird had to restrain her because she was hysterical.”

  Sasha sank back into the pillows. Poor Dewbell.

  “She spent a lot of time in bed, apparently, not wanting to do anything. And somebody has been spending pretty much every minute of the day with her—Seasalt, mostly. Trav wouldn’t even let her use the bathroom with the door shut all the way.” Corvin blew out a breath.

  “Damn. Is she okay now, though? You think she still want to hurt herself?”

  “No. She was still pretty overwhelmed when I was talking to her, but she seemed okay. We had a lovely chat. My chat with Trav after went downhill pretty fast, though.”

  “How come?”

  Corvin studied his fingernails. “Well, I guess he thought it was a good time to get to know me better, since we were already talking, but I don’t think he liked the things he learned.”

  Sasha sat up. “What did you tell him?”

  “He wanted to know more about my time in Hammerlink. Things I did and how I treated the orphans who worked in my factory. I wanted to be honest, so I told him. I think he was happy I didn’t beat them or treat them inhumanely. And he liked that I set them all up in a nice boarding school before deciding to move to Nis.

  “But then he asked me about my time with the highwaymen.” Corvin jostled his leg anxiously. “He wouldn’t have wanted to hear the details even if I was capable of telling them. But the things I did tell him—being sold to them, tortured, forced to torture and kill innocent people—he was less than understanding.”

  “I know you did not want to do that stuff. Trav think you liked being highwayman or something?”

  “No, but he said if it were him, he would have done the ‘noble’ thing and fought back, even if it meant losing his life in the process. He said he never would have tortured or killed an innocent person, no matter what someone did to him.” Corvin balled a fist, his face contorting. “Well, that’s all well and good, but he wasn’t there! I was already confused about myself as a person, scared, and naïve at only sixteen years old. Doing the ‘noble’ thing never crossed my mind. All I thought about from day to day while I was there was ‘survive.’ Whatever it takes, just survive.”

  “You tell him that?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t want to talk anymore. I guess, to his credit, he didn’t yell or call me a creep. But I could see that anger under the surface. …He’s never going to let me hold Son of Owl.”

  Sasha pushed the sheets and pillows aside and sat on the edge of the bed next to Corvin. “Well, sounds like he is trying, though. Not everybody can be so unde
rstanding like Dewbell. It took me long time to be friends with you, remember? You give Trav some time, maybe he will decide he likes you.”

  Corvin huffed. “He’ll probably invite me fishing and then I won’t come back.”

  “Trav would not do that. I think he is very happy we are both alive.”

  The tablet went into sleep-mode, sucking the colored lights from the room and reducing everything to silhouettes. Mice skittered through the wall nearby, and a cow lowed from outside.

  Corvin drummed his fingers against the bed. “Y’know, this church is pretty big. We have real beds, separate rooms… It’s great.”

  “Yeah. More back to normal, huh?”

  “Yeah…” He stood and hitched the crutch under one arm. After taking a step, he paused. “You don’t have to listen to me snore, and I don’t have to listen to you whisper dirty things to your picture of Dusty. It’s great that we don’t have to share sleeping space in some tiny little hut anymore, right?”

  Sasha stood, grabbing the tablet. “Come on.”

  Corvin followed Sasha to the door. They walked through the hall and entered the other bedroom. Corvin climbed back into his bed and Sasha took the one next to it.

  “Good night, Corvin.”

  “Night, Sasha.”

  18

  ~ Dandelions and Drones ~

  “Eat it, Dusty,” Owl hissed, thrusting a piece of pilfered jerky into Dusty’s duct-taped hands. They sat on a wooden beam from a broken fence, Jon’kin beside them. Water from the spongy marsh was soaking into Owl’s boots. The cart Merriweather had snatched from a nearby farm sagged under the weight of crates and bags, the wheels deep in the grass. Maybe it would sink a little more and be impossible for Bart to pull out. Any little setback would help close the distance between them and Gentlewave—she hoped.

  Bart stood nearby but out of earshot, his attention on Merriweather. The merchant stood in the road beyond the treeline, arguing with Brandy. He slapped her.

  Owl winced, memories of her ex-husband fists surfacing in her mind. Brandy had returned this morning, much to Owl’s dismay. Although she wasn’t exactly licking Merriweather’s boots, her apologies were loud enough to hear. Apparently, the fact the merchant wasn’t dead yet proved Sasha and his cult were nothing but made-up nonsense.

  Owl prodded Dusty again. Dusty scowled, but tore off a chunk of the jerky and chewed. Owl offered the other piece to Jon’kin. He eagerly grabbed it and ripped off a bite.

  Dusty swallowed. “What about you?”

  Owl’s stomach cramped, but she shook her head. “I’m fine. Not hungry.”

  “You’re a bad liar.”

  “Don’t care. You need it more than me.”

  Dusty’s eye was less swollen today, but had deepened to a dark purple. Dried blood still colored her nostrils and lip, and her auburn hair hung in dirty tangles around her face.

  Owl’s head throbbed, but the sensation wasn’t as strong as her gurgling stomach. She wasn’t able to grab any more than two pieces of jerky from Bart’s bag earlier, but even if she had, she would have given the extra pieces to Dusty too.

  Dusty took another bite. “I’ve gone without food lots of times, Owl. Split this with me.”

  “No. You need it for the baby. I’ll be fine. Eat it quick before Bart turns around.”

  Merriweather had let them go without duct tape the night before, and given them some water, but only he and Bart ate anything. Merriweather relished every bite, murmuring with exaggerated pleasure as he stuffed slices of steak in his mouth. Owl, Dusty, and Jon’kin had sat on the other side of the campfire, forced to watch him. He’d said it was hard to stay angry about the cows being dead when they were so damn delicious.

  She hadn’t slept well—lying on the ground with only a thin blanket, thoughts of what Bart might do to her running through her mind. She’d catch him staring, his gaze cutting through her clothes. Did thoughts about her motivate him to pull that heavy wagon? Did he picture her as the prize at the end? A carrot on a stick?

  Her mind had been occupied this morning with fantasies of that metal cage bar and Merriweather’s face. If only she could beat him until his smug expression was wiped away for good.

  Where’s Gentlewave? Can Dorhn’li track us without the wagon?

  As much as Owl wanted to fix this problem on her own—to be strong in the way Trav was convinced she could be—she was praying a bullet would come from the trees at any moment and go straight through that wolfman’s head.

  “Dusty, you sure you don’t know how to command Irina to shoot Merriweather? …Or Bart?” Owl asked.

  “I wish. I know how to say ‘shoot,’ but not specific things. Sasha has it programed with a bunch of stock targets, but these guys don’t fit the bill. He told me you can command it by indicating where the target is, like ‘asshole wolfman at ten o’clock,’ but I had the list of words on the tablet.”

  Bart turned in their direction, and Dusty stuffed the rest of the jerky in her mouth.

  He narrowed his gaze. “What you eatin’?”

  “Dandelion,” Dusty replied immediately, her mouth full. “I’m hungry.”

  A large beetle landed on Jon’kin’s bony knee and he snatched it, shoving it in his mouth. He stared at Bart as he chewed, one twitching black leg protruding from his lips.

  Bart grimaced, then looked toward Merriweather. “Max, I think we need to feed these guys. They’re over here eating bugs and weeds.”

  “Let them. If the kid gets too skinny, we can fatten him up a little once we’re close to Hammerlink.”

  Owl scanned the mushy grass, spotted a dandelion, and leaned over, plucking it and taking a bite. She looked to Bart, hoping that was pity in his eyes as she chewed the bitter leaves.

  He turned back to Merriweather. “Are we gonna go, or what?”

  The merchant stomped over, and Owl delighted in the deep bruising under his eyes and the split across the bridge of his nose. She ripped off the head of the dandelion with her teeth as Brandy walked toward them.

  Merriweather stopped, hands on his hips as his swollen gaze went from Owl to Dusty. “Boy, you ladies have looks that could peel the paint off a building. Hungry, ain’tcha?”

  Jon’kin bared his black, filed teeth. “Ah’m go’ ble’ ya like a deer.”

  Merriweather barked a laugh and nudged Bart. “You ever hear such things from a kid?” He cocked his head and took a step toward the Maralti boy. “With what, Jon’kin? You got a big ol’ knife somewhere I don’t know about? You going to stab me like Auth’ni did to Angus? And then get shot in the back?”

  Jon’kin dropped his gaze to the grass.

  Owl clenched her taped, aching hands into fists. “You’re the worst excuse for a human being I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh! Is there an award that comes with that, Snarky?”

  “Ya tebya lyublyu, Sasha.” Dusty had her eyes shut, whispering. “Ya tebya lyublyu, moya medvezhonok.”

  Merriweather stiffened, his gaze flitting around the area.

  Brandy’s eyes widened. “W-what’s she doing?”

  Telling Sasha she loves him. “Praying.”

  The wolfman grabbed Dusty by the arm and yanked her up. “You cut that out. You’re scaring Brandy with your nonsense.”

  Looked to me like you were a little bit scared yourself.

  Merriweather pushed Dusty forward, marching her and Owl through the marsh. Wet plants squelched under their boots.

  Maybe I should be leaving a trail of something for Dorhn’li to find. But what? I don’t have anything on me. If I’d had the foresight, I could have grabbed some things from the wagon, like hard candies or pen nibs, and dropped them along the way.

  What would Trav do right now? Certainly not just wait around for someone to rescue him. But her ideas so far hadn’t been any good. Shooting the cows with the drone didn’t delay their traveling. Beating Merriweather with the cage bar didn’t kill him. Playing up Sasha’s cult didn’t scare the wolfmen enough to let them go.


  Tears needled her eyes and she sniffled. If she could gain Bart’s sympathy, that might be something. But if she tried to get more friendly with him, it would probably just backfire too.

  Let’s face it—I don’t know what I’m doing.

  “You okay, Owl?” Dusty stared at her, frowning.

  Owl didn’t realize the tears behind her eyes were now running down her cheeks. She wiped her face on her coat and nodded. Bart eyed her, but she was unsure what thoughts were running behind his big, tanned forehead. Maybe he pitied her, or maybe he just thought she was weak.

  She scowled. “The hell you lookin’ at?”

  He smirked, wetting his lips, and turned his gaze back to the road.

  “Okay, Anise, you understand now? I am going to send you test message so you can try it.”

  Sasha sat at the table, tablet in hand, Anise next to him. She held her own tablet, staring uncertainly at the screen, her long black hair hanging in her face.

  Corvin lay in bed, occupied with an in-progress digital painting. Sasha had shown him how to access the holographic canvas and use the stylus as a simulated brush. Corvin cycled through brush types and paint colors in the palette, his face carved with concentration.

  Sasha opened a new email, then typed: He followed it with several candy emojis and hit send.

  A hovering envelope popped up on Anise’s tablet.

  “Okay. See that? You touch it to read message,” Sasha said.

  “How? It’s just light. I can’t touch it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It will still open. But I can turn up… er, I don’t know what is American word. Maybe there is not one because America don’t got this technology. You want to feel it? To touch it? Just give me minute to adjust. You want harder or softer?”

  “Sasha, stop being dirty with her,” Corvin said, his eyes on his painting.

  A pink flush climbed Anise’s neck and she swallowed.

  “I’m not—you guys are ones with dirty minds. I only want to change tablet setting. Here, Anise, let me see.” He took the tablet, accessing the setting for dermal resistance. “Hard or soft?”