Silver on the Road

by Laura Anne Gilman

  Except, of course, the only weapon Isobel had was the small knife. Hardly effective at a distance, and the carbine was so far out of reach, it might as well be back in Flood.

  The woman was wearing an oilcloth coat that came to her knees, her boots rising almost that high, mud-splashed even though there hadn’t been enough rain to wet the dust in days. She didn’t bother with a skirt for modesty, her legs long and unashamed in trousers, and Izzy felt a curl of envy in her stomach that overrode her fear. The woman’s face was round and sun-browned, her hair long, pale brown and braided over one shoulder like Izzy’s own, and as Izzy watched, the woman lifted her hands away from her body, palms forward and fingers up in the sign for peaceful intent.

  “My name’s Devorah,” the woman said. “I left my beasts tethered over there”—she jerked her head to the left, where a yellow horse and a brown-and-black jenny with ridiculously long ears were contentedly munching on the grass. “There’s a patch of sweetgrass there; your mule might like it too. Helps their digestion.” She grimaced. “Mules need all the help they can get.”

  Something itched against Isobel’s neck again, but this time, she didn’t try to brush it away. Her palm tingled, and her fingers twitched. Caution, they seemed to whisper. Caution. Where was Gabriel?

  “Cautious girl. But there comes a time, caution turns to pure inhospitality.” Devorah took a step forward and turned slightly, as though to show she carried nothing behind her back, either. “I only thought a girl traveling alone might welcome some company on the road.”

  “She’s not alone.”

  Devorah turned, and her face went from stillness to surprise and then delight. “Kasun? I will be washed by the Jordan, who knew you were still alive?”

  “Devorah.” He was standing a few yards off, and while Izzy noted he knew the woman, he didn’t seem anywhere near as pleased to see her. “I’ve been here and there. Still alive, yes.” He sighed and took off his hat, flapping it at her in vague welcome. “Enter and be welcome at our fire, although we haven’t quite gotten it going yet.”

  “The offer is as good as the action,” she responded, stepping over the charred line. “And who’s your companion?”

  “That’s Isobel. First year on the road.”

  “You’re mentoring?” That seemed to amuse Devorah, and Izzy felt her hackles rise. Gabriel met the woman’s laugh with a stone-still face until her amusement faded, and that made Izzy feel slightly better. “Well. Welcome to the road, Isobel.” She made a gesture to the mule. “I’ve a fresh-caught rabbit to add to your pot, if you’re in need of meat.”

  Izzy’s mouth started to water, and she hoped Gabriel said yes. She was awfully tired of beans, dried pork, and charqui.

  “We wouldn’t say no,” Gabriel said. “Isobel, if you’ve the need, there’s a patch thataway. . . .” And he jerked his head toward the trees where he’d disappeared to.

  She nodded her understanding and headed away from the campsite, curiosity about the newcomer losing to the need to empty her bladder in private, and the awareness that he wanted her away for a reason. After relieving herself, Izzy took her hair down from its braid and finger-combed it out, scraping her nails along her scalp, and then rebraided it, wishing again for a mirror and a comb. “And while you’re at it, a warm bath and fresh-milled soap?” she mocked herself.

  She would settle for rabbit.

  Judging enough time had passed, she went back to the camp. If they’d exchanged words, it wasn’t clear, or it had been settled peaceably. A small campfire was crackling, deep red flames licking at the cow chips, the coalstone a sullen black glow in its center. Devorah was cross-legged in front of it, preparing the rabbit for cooking, a pile of bones on a piece of leather at her side. The knife in her hand was small, with a wicked curve that slid through flesh easily, and her movements reminded Izzy of Ree’s, that same casual comfort dismembering things.

  She was a rider, Izzy thought. Like Gabriel. Only a woman. Like the woman she’d seen back in Patch Junction, the one with the leathers, and the silvery hair?

  Gabriel was knelt down, unloading items from his pack. He frowned at the leather packets and replaced two of them, keeping one out. She studied the newcomer, then walked—practicing her steps to see if she could move as silently as the native—to stand next to him.

  “Devorah. You are friends?” She spoke quietly, pitched only for his ears.

  “Not so much friends as two people who have known each other for a very long time,” he said dryly. “There’s a difference.” He stood, brushing dirt from his knees. “I trust her at our fire. And I’m not about to turn away fresh meat I didn’t have to hunt.”

  Izzy hesitated, then plunged on. “What did she mean about you still being alive?”

  “Nothing. An old scar she feels the need to pick at, to see if I will flinch.”

  It wasn’t nothing. Izzy had learned to read men in the smoke-filled interior of the saloon, to judge their words and actions. Something bothered Gabriel about those words. But she had risked pushing, and he had refused. She dared not push again.

  Whatever else Devorah might be, Izzy admitted that she was good company. Hearing a third voice with new stories—and the willingness to share them—had been a pleasure added to the fresh rabbit.

  The last of the bones had been salted and cast into the fire, the grease wiped off hands and mouths, and they were down to the last dregs of the bitter black coffee. Things called out in the darkness, and there was the occasional rustling in the grasses, but whatever was moving in the night saw their fire sparking and avoided it. Devorah pulled out a flask when the coffee was done, and Gabriel had taken a long pull, but Izzy shook her head; she’d had whiskey before and not liked it.

  “Been down south the past year, myself. Led settlers in, dropped them off at their site, then wandered for a bit.” Devorah’s voice was casual, almost too casual, and Izzy lowered her mug and listened intently.

  They’d been exchanging stories about the road—or rather, Gabriel and Devorah had, with Izzy silently listening. For the most part, it had been minor things, of new boardinghouses like the one they’d stayed in earlier, or a road washed out by rains. But this was different.

  “De Marquina still trying to poke holes in the border?”

  “Not so’s they’ll admit, no more than usual.” Devorah sounded disgusted. “But the folk along the border are skittish, keeping watch on everything that moves and no little that doesn’t.”

  De Marquina, Izzy knew, was the viceroy of Nueva España. He ruled the territory to the south and along the western flank, holding it in the name of the faraway king of Spain, whose name she could not remember. Spain, who thought the Territory evil.

  “But what of the Agreement?” she asked. “Does Spain wish to cause trouble?” The boss had stopped them years before; he would have to ride out and remind them if they pushed, same as he’d done to the north.

  “Spain wants nothing that will cost money,” Devorah said. “But I doubt her king pays overmuch attention to the push and shove of borders, so long as nothing official occurs. And if a farmstead or three is consumed along the way? Eventually, it’ll be like the land was always theirs, no cost to them. Everyone wins.”

  “Except the people along the border,” Izzy said.

  “Most people don’t care overmuch whose rules they live under,” Devorah said. “At least, not until it inconveniences them.”

  “Still, a few border incursions shouldn’t be making them skittish,” Gabriel said, frowning at her. “They know how this game is played, a push here and a push back, and a formal apology when the devil turns his eye on them.”

  “You wouldn’t think so, would you? The fact is, they don’t know why they’re upset, only that they are, and that’s what makes me nervous. You know me, Kasun; I see no reason to staying where things are unpleasant. I’m heading northeast, far north as I can get before
I have to deal with the damn Métis and the British. At least they know enough to keep out of our way.”

  “They were a bit distracted by the colonists in recent years,” Gabriel said dryly.

  “You would know, wouldn’t you?” Devorah looked sly in the firelight. “So, what do you think; are these United States going to survive?”

  “The boss thinks so,” Izzy said, finally having something to add to the conversation.

  “Does he, now.” Devorah didn’t sound disbelieving so much as wanting to be convinced, and Izzy felt her fingers clench into a fist, a sudden spurt of irritation flooding her thoughts. She didn’t like it, and forced her fingers to ease, straighten. As she did so, the irritation also faded, and she could hear the insects chirping and trilling again beyond the fire. Had they halted, or had she merely been unable to hear them in that heartbeat?

  Devorah was still waiting for an answer, Gabriel staring into the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, but from the tilt of his head, she knew he was listening too. “Yes.” She thought of the conver­sations she’d overheard, the scattering of rumors and fact brought by travelers and the boss’s messengers. Nearly twenty-five years since the colonial rebellion, longer than Izzy had been alive, and the original lands had expanded to press against the River, press and stop—for now. Because the boss had said thus far and no farther.

  “And does he think that they, too, will test our boundaries and steal lands?” Devorah asked.

  Izzy allowed a faint smile to curl her lip, not of amusement but superiority that she knew this and the older woman did not. “Why do you think they haven’t already tried?”

  Both Devorah and Gabriel grunted at her comment but asked no further questions, which was as well, because that was all she knew. She hadn’t paid the messengers all that much attention then, and she cursed herself for that now. But the fact that she knew more than they did, she admitted to herself, made her feel a little better.

  Soon after that, they turned in for the night, wrapping themselves in their bedrolls, far enough apart for privacy but close enough for comfort. The coalstone still glimmered in the ashes of the fire, but the rest of the night was pitch, the stars muffled behind clouds, the moon a faint, hazy sliver. Izzy could still taste the bitterness of the coffee in her mouth, clinging to her teeth. Her tongue felt fuzzy, her eyelids gritty, and there was a rock under her bedroll despite her having cleared the ground before she laid it out. To her left, Gabriel snored lightly, barely a dark breath against the darker rustle of air. Devorah, on the other side of the ashes, slept silently.

  Izzy sighed and shifted, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep, when something moved, just at eye level.

  Her entire body tensed, although she managed to keep her breathing steady, pretending she were still unaware, half-asleep. It could be anything—a badger or skunk looking for its evening meal, or . . .

  “Sissssssster.”

  Or a snake.

  Izzy exhaled, no longer pretending to sleep, and opened her eyes as wide as she could to find the shape in the shadows. An arm’s length from her face it uncoiled, the body rising up from the ground to nose height. Whatever colors its scales might be were turned to muted shadows, but the vertical-slitted eyes seemed to glow from within, and the shape of the tail, pointed toward the sky behind it, was clear.

  Thankfully, the rattle remained silent. Whatever the snake wanted, it did not see her as a threat.

  There was movement behind her, the reassuring pressure of Gabriel’s hand on her shoulder, and then his calming words—but he was not speaking to her.

  “Good evening.” His whisper somehow managed to sound polite as well. “Are we in your way, elder cousin?”

  Always be polite to a rattlesnake was the first lesson every child learned. Elsewhere, they might be vermin; within the Territory, the wise knew better. While they might make people jump for their own amusement, rattlers, like owls, also carried wisdom.

  The snake’s tongue touched the air, then it spoke again. “Curios­ssssssss. Ssssssstopping by to sssssseee the devilsssss toy.”

  Izzy started, only the hand on her shoulder keeping her from doing something drastic and startling the snake into an unfortunate reaction. Its tongue flickered out a second time, testing the still night air. In the distance an owl hooted, and something rustled in the trees, but the snake didn’t seem to notice.

  “I am no toy,” Izzy said hotly, her shock knocked aside by irritation, milder than what she’d felt before, but sharp and hurtful inside to be dismissed so.

  “Who saysssss I sssssspeak of you?” The snake’s wedge-shaped head turned to her, the tongue flickering out again, and she could hear the amusement in its tone. “Little sssssssissssster. You do not yet play a role in thisssss sssscene.”

  “And now you have seen us,” Gabriel said, his voice still a whisper, still polite, but backed with more authority than before, as though he felt himself on firmer ground despite the snake’s mocking.

  “Be wary and beware,” the snake said, its eyes still on Izzy. “Your enemiessssss are not who you think.” It hissed what might have been a laugh, and flicked its gaze to Gabriel. “But then, neither are your friendssssss. The land twistsssssss.”

  Izzy wanted to ask what it meant by that, but its dismissal of her still stung, and her pride kept her mouth shut. The snake hissed again, in amusement or maybe approval or something else entirely, Izzy didn’t know. Animals that gave warnings . . . that was a medicine for natives and magicians, not . . .

  Well, she stopped that thought dead. Why not her? If Gabriel could speak to it, get answers, why couldn’t she?

  But by the time she thought of what she’d ask, the snake was gone, the space in front of her empty save for some crushed grasses and the cool, now-silent air. Gabriel’s hand lifted from her shoulder, but his presence remained behind her.

  “It called me sister,” she said quietly, grasping that one thing. “Not little cousin. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Gabriel said, his hand still warm on her shoulder. “Likely it smelled the devil’s touch on you. Puts you one ahead of the rest of us mere mortals.”

  He was joshing her. Or mayhap not. “You think it meant . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t look over her shoulder to where Devorah still slept, but he took her meaning nonetheless.

  “I don’t know,” Gabriel said again. “But when you hear warnings, even if they don’t make much sense at the time, you tuck ’em away until they do. And you play it cautious until then.”

  “I—I wanted to ask it—” and she was horrified to feel hot tears forcing their way past her eyelids, the feeling of having worked up her courage only to be denied making her want to yell, to make exactly the kind of fuss Marie would have frowned at. Biting her lower lip until the tears stopped, Izzy shook her head as though to say it didn’t matter.

  “It’s gone. Go to sleep, Isobel,” Gabriel said, rising to move away. He didn’t understand. Izzy sank back down into her bedroll, ignoring the rock still digging into her, and closed her eyes.

  The tears flowed then, silently, until she fell asleep.

  Izzy felt the sunrise under her lids even before she opened them to see the stretch of morning light reaching into the sky. Her head ached, and her lashes were sticky with sleep, but her body, for the first time, didn’t immediately remind her of every ache and bruise. She stretched cautiously, and there was a faint burn in her arms and calves, but that was the kind that would ease as the day went on, not get worse.

  Before she could celebrate, she turned her head to where the snake had been the night before. The ground was bare, no sign that anything had occurred, but the memory of it—of being dismissed by the snake—still rankled. But . . . had the snake done something to make her feel better? Could it do such a thing?

  No, she decided. It was coincidence.

  Then she heard the rust
ling noises that meant someone was already awake, and she pushed away the doubts of the night before. The snake had called her sister. Any warning it had to deliver had been aimed at Gabriel, not her. Nothing was going to go wrong.

  When she pushed her blanket aside and sat up, she almost believed it herself.

  “There’s water for washing,” Devorah said, seeing she was awake.

  Izzy rubbed at her eyes, pulling the sleep from her lashes, and gave the other woman a polite smile in thanks, a smile that turned into something brighter when she tested the water in the pan, and realized that it had been warmed just enough to counteract the morning chill, something Gabriel never bothered to do. She washed her face, then used the face cloth to scrub her arms, legs, and feet until she felt clean again.

  Izzy was still uncomfortable being half-dressed outside, and she quickly buttoned her skirt and blouse over her chemise, and pulled on woolen stockings before checking her boots for anything that might have crawled into them overnight, and lacing them up. She felt a moment’s regret for clean linens, but the scent of dried lavender they used in the drawers was a near-lost memory now, under every day’s horseflesh, smoke, and sweat.

  “Coffee’ll be ready in a span,” Devorah said. “Himself’s already awake and grumbling like a bear.”

  Gabriel woke early, but he didn’t wake easy. She wondered if Devorah had tried to speak with him, or if she knew better. She wondered how well they knew each other, and for how long, and what wound had scabbed over that the other woman tried to pick at. Izzy wondered those things, but she didn’t ask. It was enough that they were here, sharing the road and the predawn silence.