Wrangler

by Hondo Jinx

  “Correct. I don’t wish to eat these people. And you won’t eat them, either. Is that understood?”

  Shrike cast a disappointed, longing look at the sprites. “Yes, Shrike understands. Shrike will obey Man. But if Man changes his mind…”

  Shrike smiled, her beauty becoming more terrible, and suddenly Braddock remembered her snapping beak trying for his throat.

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  Shrike bowed low, stretched out her wings, and gave a controlled shiver, making the white plumage flutter rapidly in what Braddock took as ritualistic acquiescence.

  He pointed to Philia. “This is my wife, the Meadow Mother Philia.”

  Philia had overcome her lust. She nodded, icily regal as if she were welcoming a fifth handmaiden. “We met. I fed you, Shrike.”

  Shrike bowed again, this time without shaking her feathers. “Shrike will not eat Mother Philia.”

  “No, you will serve me,” Philia said.

  Shrike smiled slyly.

  “Yes, you will,” Braddock said, and gestured to the other sprites, who hung back, looking frightened. “These are Philia’s handmaidens and my mistresses: Tilly, Spinner, Esper, and Lala.”

  Each sprite gave a timid curtsey as he introduced her.

  Shrike’s response was subtle this time, more of a nod than a bow. She grinned, her huge eyes burning brightly. “They are Man’s breeding stock?”

  Braddock shrugged. “Something like that. But mostly, they are my friends.”

  Shrike studied the handmaidens with a hungry look. “They produce children for Man?”

  “Not yet, but they will.”

  “So will Shrike!” the bird woman exclaimed, a huge smile coming onto her face. “The children of Man and Shrike will be strong and fierce and will eat the tiny offspring of the breeding stock!”

  Braddock shook his head. “No, our children—if we do end up having some—will not eat my other children, my friends, my wife, my mistresses, or anyone else unless I say so.”

  Shrike bowed low with the full feather shake. “Shrike obeys Man.” She lifted her face to peer at Chundra, who had advanced to Braddock’s side. “What about the tiny one?”

  Chundra squeaked aggressively and jabbed the air between them with his spear.

  Shrike laughed, a sound reminiscent of a trickster crow’s raucous cawing. “Shrike loves the taste of fur folk!”

  “No,” Braddock said. “Chundra is also my friend. As are his people. No more eating fur folk.”

  Watching Shrike bow again, Braddock started to realize just how tough this was going to be. What all would he need to clarify to avoid catastrophe? He would have to make it clear she wasn’t allowed to kill the mustang or the cattle. What else?

  Had he made a huge mistake saving her?

  Whatever the case, it was done now.

  Braddock had made his choice. Now, he had to live with the consequences… and do his best to keep his people alive, too.

  38

  Braddock paused beside the mostly drifted in tracks of several goblins. Judging by the wind and fresh powder, these tracks had probably been made the previous night.

  He grunted and lifted his head and scanned the forest, spear at the ready.

  Something was amiss in the forest. Braddock could feel it.

  Several times over recent weeks, Braddock had run across the tracks of goblins in parties as large as ten or twelve. Once, those tracks ranged close to the meadow, which meant goblins were again studying them, hoping to spot some weakness.

  But Braddock didn’t believe the disturbance he was feeling now had anything to do with goblins.

  He sensed danger and something else. Intrusion. Something that didn’t belong in these woods. Something deadly.

  He hoped it wasn’t Sidians. According to the sprites and rat folk, Sidians were famous for their loathing of loose ends. Ragget was concerned the Sidians would send a detachment of warriors to find and finish the rat folk.

  Was that the disturbance Braddock was sensing?

  Hearing a light pattering of snow behind him, Braddock turned to see Shrike perched atop a tree branch twenty feet in the air, naked and strange and beautiful.

  No food is moving, Man.

  Braddock nodded. What do you make of these goblin tracks, darlin?

  A second later, the bird woman landed silently beside him. She blinked at the tracks, nostrils flaring.

  Hunting party. Seven goblins, six hours ago. They went that way.

  Shrike pointed downhill toward the canyon.

  Braddock grunted.

  Shrike smiled hopefully, fixing him with her silver eyes.

  Man feed Shrike now?

  Philia had been right about the seed-bound Shrike. Night and day, she begged for feedings. She was ravenous for his seed and completely insatiable.

  Not now.

  Shrike’s white wings drooped. The bird woman looked utterly crestfallen.

  We need meat, darlin.

  That was the truth. Despite Esper’s heroic stretching of supplies, there wasn’t much food left. They ate sparingly, aware they were facing several weeks of winter.

  They had already eaten deeply into their stores, which had been meant to feed two humans and a handful of sprites.

  The buckskin and half-wild stock had fared well, thanks to stored feed and the green grass beneath the snow. If it came down to starvation, Braddock would slaughter cattle.

  But he hoped to avoid that. Not because of any softness of heart. Braddock had, after all, worked cattle drives over thousands of miles.

  His cattle were the start of something; he didn’t want to chase them from the meadow.

  So unless it was storming, Braddock and Shrike hunted every day.

  With the deep snow and severe cold, however, everything was lying low. Game grew scarcer every day.

  Temperatures hadn’t risen above freezing in the weeks since Shrike had joined them.

  Of late, it had grown bitterly cold. Perhaps forty below zero at midday. So cold that when Braddock spat, the spittle crackled audibly, freezing in midair.

  Three feet of snow lay upon the ground, the surface capped by a hard crust.

  Snowshoes allowed Braddock to crunch along the surface. Shrike flew overhead.

  For herd animals, however, this crusted-over deep snow was a death trap. Their hooves punched straight through the icy crust, and they floundered through deep snow like drowning animals.

  Lighter predators like wolves could run atop the thick crust, giving them a deadly speed advantage over their floundering prey.

  So herd animals laid low, living off their dwindling body fat and waiting for a break in the weather with the dim patience of herbivores.

  Accordingly, Braddock had changed his approach to hunting. Occasionally, he scaled to high ground in search of sheep. More frequently, he hunted the lowlands, favoring areas of heavy cover, like spruce hollows.

  In these places, they sometimes had luck.

  They put on short, slow drives. Shrike would stand watch at the edge of a forest. Braddock would enter the woods from the opposite side and stroll through the trees, tapping his spear against trunks, trying to push game toward the waiting bird woman.

  She was a formidable huntress.

  It was quite a sight to see Shrike shoot into the air with a deer clamped in her beak. Hovering over the treetops, she would whirl the animal in a tight circle, snap its neck, then impale it on a broken tree branch.

  Today, however, because of the bitter wind blowing in from the west, they were hunting the river valley near where they had rescued the rat folk.

  Braddock’s stomach growled.

  Like most days, they had bagged nothing.

  The hunts were about more than meat, however. They also allowed Braddock to keep a finger on the pulse of the surrounding land.

  Presently, that pulse skipped a beat.

  Uphill to the north, he heard a noise that chilled him more deeply than the coldest winter wind.

>   The mad caterwauling of the woolly dragon.

  It sounded much closer than ever before. And why was the dragon hunting at midday?

  Braddock’s stomach growled again, and he had his answer.

  The woolly dragon was hungry, too. So hungry it was on the move and hunting extra hours of the day.

  He hoped that thing didn’t come as far south as the meadow. The dragon could glide over the walls of their enclosure and smash the cabins to splinters.

  We’d best be getting back, darlin.

  Yes, Man. You fear dragon will eat friends?

  Yeah, it crossed my mind.

  Braddock headed home, moving as quickly as he could without breaking a sweat, which would have been dangerous in these frigid temperatures.

  How Shrike stood the cold, he couldn’t imagine. Where she lacked feathers, her ghostly pale flesh was spangled with purple splotches, and her nipples were blue with the cold.

  As they passed the smoking chimney jutting from the snowy mound of the fur folks’ new burrow, the woolly dragon sounded its wild cry to the north.

  It sounded like it was within a mile of the meadow. Which explained to some degree why the cattle were staying close today.

  Shrike flew over the wall and opened the gate for Braddock. He stripped off his snowshoes and went inside.

  The rat folk kept the interior of the enclosure shoveled and swept. They had proven a grateful and industrious people.

  There were several skilled workers among the rat folk, including Ragget, who had worked as a mining engineer and sapper; a carpenter named Tesh, who had fixed Elizabeth’s butter churn and spent his days making furniture; a mason, Duggle, who shared information, including how to make mortar from lime and horsehair; a teamster, Pand, who tended the buckskin and the cattle; and a talented limner, Mateeri, who expressed her gratitude by carving a beautiful sign that read Wrangler City.

  The girls loved the sign and insisted they would hang it outside come spring.

  Braddock reckoned the sign was ridiculous, but the girls loved it, so he’d let them have their fun.

  The rest of the rat folk were hardworking miners along with their wives and children.

  They lived in the root cellar and helped with cleaning, cooking, sanitation, and whatever Braddock or his sprites told them to do.

  They gathered dried cow dung for Elizabeth’s boiler stove; made soap, candles, and arrows; and shared stories about Black Harbor, which was a bustling river port with twenty thousand inhabitants.

  Of course, the rat folk worried about the boys who had left for Black Harbor, but Braddock reckoned they’d be all right. The boys were young and energetic, had been selected for a mission of great importance to their people, and were well provisioned with food, snowshoes, weapons, and clothes winterized by Spinner.

  Braddock had taught the boys what he could about fire making, sheltering during storms, and self-defense.

  As Braddock was crossing the enclosure, the door to Elizabeth’s cabin swung open.

  Elizabeth stood there for a second, looking at him.

  She had changed since Shrike’s arrival.

  Elizabeth never again mentioned any feelings for Braddock. He stayed silent on the subject, too, and gave her space and respect.

  She had never worn the spider silk dress again. Instead, she asked Spinner to make her modest gowns and blouses that downplayed her curves and covered her from ankle to throat. She buttoned the long sleeves at her wrists.

  Elizabeth remained one of them but was also removed unto herself now, independent and quietly self-assured. She was still polite, even friendly sometimes, but also distant and professional, every inch the schoolteacher, which was now her reality.

  She held classes for the younger rat children in her cabin each day, instructing them in Tardoon’s common tongue, which she now understood, thanks to Philia’s magic.

  Ever the tireless advocate of her own visions, Elizabeth had convinced Tesh to build little desks for the children. She herself, before the first snow had fallen, had stowed away pieces of slate and a supply of powdery limestone that worked like chalk.

  Through the door behind Elizabeth, Braddock saw the children at their desks, scratching diligently on their slates, save for one older boy, Gich, who stood at Elizabeth’s side, all bundled in a Spinner-made coat.

  Gich had been the wildest of the rat children, but under Elizabeth’s tutelage, he had completely changed. It was nothing short of miraculous.

  “Good morning, Mr. Braddock,” Elizabeth said, with a teacherly nod.

  As always, she ignored Shrike, who leered hungrily at her from Braddock’s side.

  “Good morning, Miss O’Boyle,” Braddock said, and tipped his fur cap.

  Elizabeth gestured past Braddock. “Go ahead, Gich. You may fetch some dung.”

  “Thank you, Miss O’Boyle,” the small boy said, beaming with pride as he raced past Braddock.

  Elizabeth rewarded positive behavior with the opportunity to do constructive errands for the classroom like fetching fuel or water or tending the fire.

  Braddock approved. So did the children. Those kids were learning more than math in there. And they would be better, happier, and more productive citizens for it.

  “Mr. Braddock,” Elizabeth said, raising her voice, “before you leave, I was hoping you would address the children.”

  “Sorry, darlin. Work to do.”

  “This won’t take more than a single minute, Mr. Braddock, and it would mean so much to the children. We were just talking about you.”

  Braddock narrowed his eyes but conceded. He was many things, but a schoolteacher was not one of them. But since the party, he had gone out of his way to appease Elizabeth.

  He liked her and wished they could be together. He did not agree with Elizabeth that fate had interceded with the arrival of Shrike; but functionally, that was the case, and he couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. Also, he felt a bit bad for Elizabeth now that he understood her side of the equation.

  Wait here a moment, he silently told Shrike.

  Shrike waits, thinking of Man’s hot seed in her mouth.

  Sounds good, darlin.

  Elizabeth ushered him inside, where eight rat children with expectant faces chorused, “Welcome to our classroom, Mr. Braddock.”

  Memorization, composure, and politeness were all part of Elizabeth’s curriculum.

  Braddock swept the hat from his head and forced a smile. “Hello, boys and girls. Now, what did you need, Miss O’Boyle?”

  “The children have a few questions about the school you will be building them this spring.”

  Braddock looked at Elizabeth and managed not to growl. He had never agreed to build the school in the spring. Merely to consider it.

  “Fennie,” Elizabeth asked a cute, gangly girl with blondish fur, “what did you want to ask Mr. Braddock?”

  Offering Braddock a nervous smile, Fennie spoke up. “I don’t really have a question, Miss O’Boyle. I just wanted to say thank you to Mr. Braddock.”

  “Oh, that’s very nice of you, Fennie,” Elizabeth said, turning a sugary smile on Braddock. “Isn’t that nice of Fennie, Mr. Braddock?”

  “It’s very nice,” Braddock said, still forcing the smile. He understood now what was happening here. Wiley and persistent as ever, Elizabeth knew that Braddock, like all frontiersmen, was sentimental by nature and had a soft spot for children.

  “All my life, I dreamed of being able to go to school,” Fennie said, seeping tears glistening in her dark eyes, “and now, thanks to Miss O’Boyle, my siblings and friends and I are getting an education. And thanks to you, Mr. Braddock, this spring, we’ll have a real school with a blackboard and desks and all sorts of things, and I just think you’re the nicest, greatest man in the whole world. Thank you, Mr. Braddock!”

  The other children cheered loudly, smiling at him like he was some kind of hero.

  “No problem,” Braddock said, raising a hand and backing out before he lost h
is ability to fake a smile.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Braddock,” Elizabeth said, smiling triumphantly. “You are a wonderful man, and these children adore you for your kindness.”

  She’s ruthless, Braddock thought, closing the door and squashing his cap atop his head.

  Shrike had her wings spread perhaps to catch what little sunlight the bleak sky offered. She was bouncing up and down on her clawed feet, making her perfect breasts wobble.

  Man feeds Shrike now?

  “No,” Braddock grumbled aloud. “Man has to work.”

  39

  Life wasn’t all work.

  Their meager dinners were fortified by Lala’s singing and dancing. The sprites, fur folk, and rat people frequently joined in. There was much laughter, and the children, in the way of children, played even when hungry and lifted everyone’s spirits considerably.

  Evenings before the fur folk and rat people went off to their subterranean spaces, everyone talked.

  The Tardoonians were curious about Earth. As Braddock and Elizabeth answered their questions, they also learned much about each other.

  Braddock also learned about Tardoon. Ragget was particularly knowledgeable and instructive, having held positions of responsibility and having traveled farther than the others.

  The river in the western valley was the Big Pate River. Just south of here, several tributaries tied into it.

  The rat folk warned Braddock of a river hag who lived at the confluence of the Big Pate and the canyon river.

  “She can be bartered with but not trusted,” Ragget said.

  The sprites concurred.

  “The river hag would love nothing more than to capture a true man,” Philia said.

  “But wouldn’t bonding break her?” Tilly guessed.

  Philia shook her head. “The river hag is old and conniving and powerful. She would protect herself through enchantment, then harvest our Meadow Master’s seed for personal power, sale, and of course the making of wicked spells and potions.”

  Several miles south, the Big Pate joined another, larger stream, the Black River, upon which sat Black Harbor.