Wolfwater

by Alia Hess

  Sasha slid his arms around Owl, pressing his face into her neck. “Thank you.”

  Owl hugged him as he sniffled and clutched her tightly. “Of course.”

  The council members looked more than satisfied, even the man on the end. He chewed the end of his pencil, his brows furrowed, then said, “Thank you, Owl. Sasha, will you please give your statement now?”

  Pulling back and wiping his hands on his slacks, his eyes darted nervously from Owl to the council members. “Um… Okay.”

  “You can do it.” Owl squeezed his hand, then walked toward the chair in the back of the room.

  Sasha stood awkwardly, his face pale. “Do you think… would it be okay if Owl stay up here with me while I talk?”

  The woman with the notepad nodded. “Yes, as long as she doesn’t try to influence your story in any way. We want to hear your thoughts.”

  Poor Sasha. Having to hear what went on with Dusty, and now having to tell what he and Corvin went through.

  Owl picked up the chair and brought it to the front, setting it beside Sasha’s. He sat and tugged at the collar of his shirt.

  “Can I take off this bow tie? I am feeling like I don’t get enough air right now.”

  “Yes, of course,” the councilwoman said.

  Sasha pulled off the tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, then blew out a breath. Owl sat next to him, then laced her fingers through his, squeezing his clammy palm.

  He pulled in a deep breath and began his account of his time in the Tam detention center with Corvin. Much of this Owl had already heard, but it didn’t make it sting any less.

  He paused and bit his lip, his eyes growing glossy. “I—I need to tell this next part because it is important, but… is very hard for me, and I don’t know if I can do it in front of everybody.”

  “Why don’t you just look at me while you say it?”Owl said. “Pretend you’re only telling me.”

  The councilmembers nodded. Sasha turned his chair to face Owl, and she took his hands.

  “So, me and Corvin promised not to talk about what happened, but he kind of accidentally tell Trav and Dewbell already. And he tell me before this trial that if it helps to get Palesun punishment, I should tell all of it.”

  Sasha wiped his nose and glanced at the councilmembers.

  Owl rubbed his hand. “Sasha… just tell me.”

  I can handle it. I’m strong, and I need the truth as much as the councilmembers. I don’t want Sasha and Corvin miring through things alone.

  He looked back at Owl, face pained. “I was asleep in hut one night, and I wake up to… to guy pushing knife against my neck. I couldn’t move; I could not get away. He—” Sasha’s mouth wavered. “He touched me, Owl. And take off my—my—”

  A tear ran down Owl’s face. “Did he—”

  “No. Thank God, Corvin was there. He killed that guy and stop him from raping me. If he had not been there…”

  Owl put a hand over her mouth, stifling a sob.

  “And I don’t know what is worst part—that this almost happen to me, or that Corvin had to see, because—because same thing happen to him with highwaymen, only he don’t have any friend there to stop it.”

  Oh, Corvin.

  Owl twisted her hand into Sasha’s shirt and pulled him forward, crying into his neck.

  My poor brother. No wonder he’s had so much anxiety.

  He’d been so determined at sixteen. Although it was their father who ultimately made Corvin want to run away, her brother was so full of hope and ambition. He said the East was “progressive” and he was excited to get out of their farming town. She could still see his face plainly as he climbed out his bedroom window and smiled at her.

  And then the same thing almost happened to Sasha. Like their stay in that hut wasn’t bad enough.

  Bart dragging Owl away from the campfire had been terrifying, and he hadn’t even tried to take her clothes off.

  “I’m so sorry, Sasha.”

  He stroked her hair and sniffled. “Do I need to say more? Other stuff happen too; there was that big storm—”

  The councilwoman said, “No. Thank you, Sasha. We have more than enough to go on, now. We appreciate you sharing your story. I know it was hard for you. You and Owl may go now. When we make our decision, we’ll let Quietbird know.”

  Sasha helped Owl stand and they walked to the door. Beyond the room was a dim hall, crowded in shadow. Their footsteps echoed on the polished wood floor.

  An older Islander sat on a bench facing the councilroom doors. Thick bead necklaces bedecked his throat, and his silky shirt stretched taut over a protruding belly.

  Beside her, Sasha trembled, his gaze glued to the man. The Islander glanced at Sasha, then folded his arms and stared harder at the door.

  Owl tugged Sasha’s sleeve. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Sasha’s nostrils flared and he pulled from her grip. He walked to the bench, drawing his skinny frame up as tall as he could. His arm shot from his side, his fist slamming into the man’s jaw.

  Frozen, mouth agape, Owl stared as Sasha ripped a bead necklace from the man’s collar and flogged him with it, the beads and broken cord lashing the man’s face and defensive hands.

  She snapped from her shock and shouted, “Sasha! What are you doing?”

  He wasn’t a fighter. For him to act out so—

  “Bastard!” Sasha voice broke as he whipped the cord against the man’s arm. Beads flew from the end, bouncing down the hallway. “My wife was kidnapped! She is pregnant! Zhri govno i sdokhni!”

  Owl put a hand over her mouth. Palesun. She stood paralyzed as Sasha screamed in Russian and beat the man with his own necklace. Every whine of the cord through the air, the crack of it against Palesun’s skin and the red mark left in its wake, made her flinch, guiltily satisfied.

  She hadn’t gotten that satisfaction from kicking Merriweather’s corpse.

  Two men sprinted down the hall toward the altercation, their sandals thudding. A bead ricocheted off the wall, pinging against Owl’s leg. She broke from her fixation and lunged to Sasha’s side, jerking him back by the arm just as the men reached them.

  Sasha dropped the necklace and threw up his hands. One of the men snatched his arm and twisted it behind his back. Sasha grimaced, but didn’t resist.

  Palesun uncurled, scarlet marks crisscrossing his cheeks. He thrust a finger at Sasha. “I want him detained! Now!”

  The council room doors hung open, one of the council women soaking in the scene without expression. She nudged a bead with her toe, then glanced at the man holding Sasha’s arm.

  “Steward, you were supposed to take Elder Palesun to the side doors so nothing like this would happen.”

  The man frowned. “No one told me—”

  “Let Sasha go.”

  Palesun’s nostrils flared. “Are you insane? Did you see what he did to me? He needs to be locked up!”

  “He was.” The woman crossed her arms. “Your doing, remember? Now come inside, Elder, so you may give your testimony. Sasha, Owl, please leave now. My apologies. Elder Palesun wasn’t supposed to be here when you exited, and the steward should have been with him at any rate, to prevent something like this. I’ll be filing a full report.”

  Palesun gaped, then shot from the bench. “This is outrageous!”

  The woman leaned to Owl. “Go now.”

  She blinked. “Sasha’s not in trouble? I mean, I’m not going to argue with you, but—”

  Shooting the steward a pointed gaze, the council woman said, “Victims are often very vulnerable after their testimony, which is why we have separate doors for them to leave through, so we don’t end up with confrontations like this one. My apologies.”

  Hair stuck to Sasha’s sweaty brow, his chest heaving. Owl gently took his arm and led him down the hall. Sasha glanced back, ice in his eyes, then followed Owl from the building.

  Outside, she squinted in the bright sunlight. Gauzy clouds floated above, the jumbled slum shacks on P
earlolla’s coast peeking up above tiled rooftops of the wealthier sector. Square houses in red and turquoise clustered in disorganized arrangements, and palm fronds flapped in the warm breeze. Bushes and trees crowded a walkway leading away from the council building.

  “This is going to sound perverse, but I kinda liked watching you do that,” she said.

  A smirk cracked through Sasha’s stormy expression, then disappeared. “Can’t even make dirty reply to that right now. Too full of anger and nerves. You think I am going to get in trouble?”

  “Doesn’t sound like it. If they wanted to arrest you, they would have done it already.”

  “I should not have done. Hopefully it don’t make my testimony look bad. I just… I see him there and think of all things he put me through. Put Dusty through—” He blew out a breath and rubbed his face with shaking hands.

  “I know how it feels. I suppose it wasn’t right, but I don’t blame you for doing it. Why don’t we get out of here?”

  Sasha started down the cobblestone path, looking at the sky. Birdsong drifted. “Does America got ice cream cone?”

  “I don’t know what that is. So, I guess not.”

  “Too bad. I was going to buy you one. How come America don’t got good stuff like ice cream and pizza?”

  “Dewbell makes you pizza all the time.”

  “Yeah, but you guys didn’t know what it was until I tell you.”

  “I guess you’ll have to show us how to make ‘ice cream cone.’”

  “I don’t know how.” He gave her a tentative smile. “How about pastry? I buy you pastry?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  Sasha held out his hand and Owl took it.

  Dragging her foot across the sand, Owl’s toes made tiny furrows in the soft grains. She swatted at a gnat hovering around her face and turned her attention back to Corvin and Trav. They stood at the lagoon’s edge, fishing lines in hand. Shadows rippled across the surface and a waterfall gurgled beyond. Rainbows danced in the white mist. Thick vegetation clung to the rocks, coating the cliff in jewel-green, like flocking on the armchair in Corvin’s teenage hideout.

  Despite the overcast sky, the air was muggy, and sweat stained the back of Corvin’s red button-up shirt. Sand coated his loafers and the hems of his trousers. Trav had cast his cloak and shirt aside. His blond braid hung between broad, pale shoulders, and tiny seashells dangled from the tie.

  Dewbell was probably spoiling Son of Owl rotten right now. If Corvin had his way, they would be at the lagoon too, and probably everyone else he could think of so he didn’t have to be alone with Trav. It was good they were trying to get along, and Owl didn’t mind being here as moral support, but judging by Corvin’s stiff posture, learning to fish was anything but relaxing.

  When Trav had taught Owl to fish in this same lagoon, he’d stood behind her, his big hands wrapped over hers and breath on her neck. At the moment, he was unsuccessfully trying to tell Corvin how to bob the hook in the water. Trav’s brow was creased and his mouth pinched—he always looked that way when he was frustrated.

  Trav put a hand over Corvin’s, and Corvin jerked and dropped the line in the water. Trav retrieved it, his lips tighter than before. Pushing from the sand, Owl walked between them and took the line.

  “Brother, can I help you?”

  “I don’t think I’m any good at this.”

  “It takes practice, like anything else.” She handed him the line and he wound the slack around his hand as Trav instructed, then tossed the shell hook into the water. It sank to the bottom, pink and blue iridescence glinting.

  Corvin threw Trav an uncertain glance, then looked back at the water. “Now what?”

  “Jiggle the line a little. The fish are attracted to the shimmer,” Trav said.

  “Can… can I put my hands over yours? To show you?” Owl asked.

  Corvin paused, then nodded. Owl took his hands and shook the line. The hook flashed on the lagoon’s sandy bottom, and slim silhouettes darted around it.

  “Look, you can see the fish. Do it again,” she said.

  Corvin bobbed the line a bit too roughly and the fish scattered. He blew out a breath. “Pretty sure this isn’t my forte. Isn’t there another part to fishing? The drinking and sitting around part? I think I’ll be better at that.”

  Trav chuckled. “Sure. You look really uncomfortable, though. Maybe you should take your shoes and shirt off. I never wear them fishing.”

  Corvin blanched and glanced at Owl. “I’m fine.”

  Owl leaned closer to him. “No, you’re not. It’s okay. I know about the scars. You don’t have to hide them.”

  “Did Sasha—”

  “Dusty told me on accident. I have scars too—inside and out. Just like you.” She pointed to her forehead. “Only I can’t hide mine.”

  “I’m sorry I never told you. I wish I would have, so you didn’t have to learn through other people. I promised to share more things with you.”

  “You have.”

  His voice took on a nervous tremble, and he gave her a bad facsimile of a smile. “I’m dying in this shirt. And I feel pretty silly in these city clothes. I’m an Island man now. One who stinks at fishing, but at least I can dress properly for the occasion, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Corvin unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.

  I’m prepared. Dusty told me what the scars look like. I won’t make a big deal of it. If I do, Corvin won’t be comfortable to do things like this again. I want him to relax and have a good time.

  “That’s one thing I haven’t gotten used to here—the humidity. It’s awful. When I don’t have my hair in a ponytail, it gets frizzy.” He undid another button.

  Trav poured moonshine into a wooden cup. “When it gets longer, you can braid it and look like a real Island man.”

  The edge of a raised white scar peeked out from Corvin’s shirt.

  I can do this. I have a big scar on my chest that looks just like that.

  Corvin took off his shirt. Numerous winding scars scored his chest and shoulders, puckering pink burns occupying the skin in between. He bent and pulled off his shoes. More scars ran across his back, creases and ridges and pockmarks, like a wrinkled piece of stationary.

  Owl’s lips parted. Tears stung her eyes. Her brother was crumpled paper—something precious and valuable, abused and thrown aside like garbage. How could someone do that to another person? Some of the scars were systematic, cuts of equal length and spacing, running down his shoulder blades.

  Why?

  Corvin as a baby-faced teen with a wide, optimistic grin swam in her mind. The day he left home, they’d talked about paper—something dear to both of them—and she had imagined the East full of reams of blank paper, just waiting to be filled with beautiful images and words. Not crumpled up and marred.

  “What do you think, sis?” Corvin pulled off his socks and straightened. “Would I look good with a braid?”

  Owl stared at his chest and a tear ran down her cheek. Corvin’s face fell. He reached for his shirt. She stopped his hand. “Don’t.”

  Corvin looked at the sand, mouth tight. “I bet I’d look better with a braid than the goatee I had for a while in Hammerlink. I looked liked a damn comic book villain. Although, thinking about it, maybe that was appropriate, since I was such an asshole back then. It’s so easy to get sucked into what your peers are doing when—”

  Owl put her arms around him. Corvin squeezed her tightly and didn’t try to fill the silence with more nervous small talk. Her hands pressed against the imperfections on his back.

  “I could have had them lasered off in Hammerlink,” Corvin said. “It was expensive, but I had the money. I considered it for a while, and had consultations and everything. But I decided against it. You know what I did instead? I got my teeth straightened and whitened.”

  “You wanted to keep the scars?”

  “Well, getting rid of them wasn’t going to fix me on the inside. And it was proo
f I’d survived a horrible part of my life. Battle scars, sis. Battle scars and perfect teeth.”

  Trav stood next to them, his crows feet creasing as he smiled. “Just like a true Island man.”

  “I need to sit down now. My leg is bothering me.” Corvin sank into the sand and Trav handed him a cup of moonshine.

  Slivers of sunlight pierced the clouds, spreading over the lagoon like gold paint. She leaned on Corvin and he put an arm around her.

  Trav pointed to the winding purple scar over the bridge of his nose. “Not as impressive as yours, but I got this from highwaymen too.”

  “I bet you made short work of them,” Corvin replied.

  “Everyone likes to overestimate my abilities because I look imposing. There were three of them and they messed me up pretty good before I killed them. Now you, on the other hand, don’t look imposing. But you’re not someone I would ever want to cross.”

  Corvin frowned and flicked sand from the knee of his trousers.

  “Uh, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. You were there for Sasha—saved his life. That was quick acting and pretty heroic, if you ask me… How did you escape the highwaymen? Did you kill some of them?”

  “It’s a long story, but yes, I killed a few. Saved my friend too—Campbell. I wasn’t able to save anyone else.”

  Owl gave Corvin a squeeze. “Would you share that story with me someday?”

  “Sure, if you want to hear it. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I don’t want to hide things from you. And… and you know something? I’m not heroic or admirable. I’ve done a lot of bad things. Things I’m really sorry for. But I have so many friends and family here who love me. Real friends, not like the posers in Hammerlink who just wanted things from me.” He rolled up his trousers and dipped his feet in the water, then leaned back and tilted his face to the sky; soft light played on his serene features.

  Owl’s heart swelled. “I think I’m going to go now, so you two can drink and tell dirty jokes, or whatever it is guys do when they fish together.”