In the Dancing Ferret, I went to the bar and growled, “’Eer! Wa’ ‘eer!” I don’t know if they gave me beer, or if they gave me anything at all.
It was night. Sai was escorting me out of Danceland. “I didn’t think you did this crap anymore.” Her grip was firm, but her voice was sad. As she shook her head, lush black hair swung in strands across her plump halfie features, hiding and revealing her eyes like a strobe light’s flicker.
I shook my head, too, trying to say I didn’t think I did this anymore either. Strider was escorting Leda. He wore the same emerald Danceland T-shirt that Sai did; they were on duty. I remembered that I was wearing a gold one and felt ashamed that they were throwing me out. I had no idea why they were throwing me out, no awareness that there was a reason or that there should be one.
“Screw you, Blue,” Leda told Strider. “We didn’t do a thing.”
“Yep. And you won’t.”
“’Orry,” I howled. “’I’er, I ‘orry.”
He let go of Leda and came over to me. “S’right, Wolf. We each get to do something stupid once or twice.” He threw an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t make a habit of it, hey?”
They turned to go back into Danceland. Sai paused at the door, then said, “Stop by for brunch in the next day or two, okay? Huevos rancheros, all you can eat.”
“’Ai,” I yelled. “I ‘ove ‘ou, ‘Ai!”
The rain must’ve quit while we were in Danceland. The stars were out, large and misty like will-o’-the-wisps. They sang. I leaped in the street, reaching for them. Though I fell every time, I didn’t mind. Leda followed behind me, singing something elven with an amazingly pure voice.
One last disjointed memory of that night: I lay in the dark on an old foam mattress for which I’d traded a statue of a grinning black mouse in yellow shorts and red shoes. I was still dressed. A sound had woken me. I started to sit up, then realized that someone was sleeping with his or her head on my stomach. The someone had taken all the blankets. I was not alone. I smiled and went back to sleep.
Chapter 14—Vengeance Is Mine
Another sound woke me early the next afternoon. I had a headache, just enough to keep me from appreciating the day, which was warm and bright through the thin paisley curtains I’d hung over the east windows. I heard the sound again. Someone was vomiting in my kitchen. How do you ignore that?
I stood, reeled slightly, caught my balance, and padded into the next room. Leda was in the center of the kitchen with an empty—well, previously empty—ice pail in front of her. She wiped her chin with my dish towel, threw that into the sink, and said, “How you feel?”
If I’d picked her up and spun like a shot-putter, I could probably have thrown her from the kitchen, through the central room, and out a window. If I’d roared and lunged at her, she would’ve jumped through a window by herself and run away with her heart pumping triple-time. Neither choice would have measured up to the Plan.
I just shook my head and went to the fridge. The ice pails in its bottom held cool water. The last of the milk smelled a little funny, but I chugged it.
“I don’t suppose you have any peca?”
I don’t suppose you’ll shut up, I thought.
“Alcohol? Smoke? Anything?”
I shook my head again.
“Screw it. I don’t need anything.”
Don’t deserve anything, I thought. I couldn’t remember the night and was grateful when I saw we were both still wearing yesterday’s clothes. There was half a bottle of grape juice left, so I handed that to her. She took it and smiled. “You’re all right, Wolfboy. You know how long it’s been since anyone’s been nice to me?”
Shut up, I thought. I’m setting you up. I’m setting you up good.
She shook her head, fluffing the purple-and-white hair. “Forget I said anything. I’m fine.” She sipped the grape juice, then put her hand on my arm. “I want you to know—”
I jerked my arm away and went into the central room. I knew all I needed to know.
“Head hurt?” she said, following me.
I nodded too fast, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll try to be quiet. You’ll feel better in a bit.” She returned to the kitchen while I lay on the mattress. I heard her come back but didn’t open my eyes for several minutes. When I did, she held out the last of the bread and smoked sturgeon. As I accepted the food, she smiled again, a very small and almost sisterly smile. Yeah, I thought. I’m setting her up good.
I stuffed a change of clothes, a blanket, a frying pan, a tinderbox, a quart of water, a bag of flour, a bag of wild rice, some salt, and a tin of lard into a rucksack. When I asked if she had anything to fetch, she said she had everything she needed.
On leaving, she looked at the rope ladder and said, “I climbed that last night?” I shrugged, meaning I might’ve carried her. She shook her head. “We’re both loco, Lobo.”
At Trader’s Heaven, I looked longingly at coffee beans, then sacrificed a red baby blanket with an attractive yellow “S” design for two pounds of walnuts and raisins.
•
We took the West Road out of Bordertown. Leda kept yelling over the engine’s roar about what a wild thing this was to do. I kept thinking the word she wanted was stupid. I felt better when we left the burbs behind. Bordertown has its own smell, something dirty and vital that I love. The woods have something old and pure that I forget in the city.
Leda kept the Triumph at eighty mph. Maybe she thought that if she hit a magicless current, her speed would carry us through. The accident in front of the Lantern wouldn’t contradict that; she’d probably been doing 20 or so in the city. Or maybe she figured 80 would ensure a quick death, if we lost our luck. Maybe she just liked speed.
While we rode, I tried to piece together the previous night. All I could remember were the bits I’ve told. So I tried to develop the Plan, which was simple. I’d take her far into the Borderlands, then leave her to wander helplessly through the woods and the wastes, just as she had left me to wander through B-town as a dog or a freak. I wanted my face to fill her thoughts, for her to hate me as I hated her.
If she made it back to B-town, I’d consider us even, all debts paid in full. If she made it back to B-town, she wouldn’t be the same person. The Borderlands change those who travel through them.
Leda yelled something in Elvish that I didn’t catch. The engine quit. I let go of her, ready to leap, then realized we were cruising fine. She laughed. “Sorry, Wolf. Should’ve warned you. No need for the engine noise. Doesn’t seem right out here.”
I heard a crow laugh, seconding her statement, and a nearby stream, hidden in the brush, rushing down from the hills to parallel the West Road. She had her seedybox on low. When I pointed over her shoulder at it, she said, “Mozart. I’ve got some new stuff, if you’d rather.” I shook my head. She turned her attention back to the road. It was nice, cruising along with the classical playing under the shading oaks and elms.
I began to appreciate the wheelless, too. Bordertown hasn’t the resources to keep its streets in good shape, let alone its highways to nowhere. Leda’s bike stayed close to the earth; when we passed over a pothole or jumped a fallen branch, the bike rocked or dipped like a boat meeting small waves.
Our speed whipped our clothes and our hair. Leaves and litter rustled as we passed. The sun was warm on my fur. I leaned against the pack strapped behind me and wished I’d brought grapes to eat. The ruins where I was headed were a three- to five-day hike from Bordertown, but we might make them in a few hours on the bike, with luck.
“We heading anyplace in particular?”
I nodded when she glanced back at me.
“Gonna tell me how to get there?”
I nodded again.
“Ever use being mute as an excuse not to communicate?”
I laughed, leaned forward, and traced on the back of her hand a W, then an A, an I, a T.
“Yeah,” she said. “All day, Ray.”
•
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(I don’t know how other people get around in the Borderlands. I trust my impulses. If you stay on the West Road, you’ll cruise through woods and hills until you’re bored and turn back. Sometimes I think if you continue long enough, you’ll return to Bordertown, but I’ve never felt like playing Kid Columbus to find out.)
Many smaller roads and trails intersect the West Road. I watched them without letting myself become curious. I knew where I wanted to go, so I kept our destination in mind. I didn’t let myself become obsessed with finding it. We could ride for days on the West Road, if we wanted to. We might even try to find its end. We had food and drink; we didn’t need anything. The first thing, maybe the only thing, that I learned out here is you can’t find a place in the Borderlands if you have to.
When I saw a gravel road angling toward the southern hills, something inside me said it might be fun to take. I tapped Leda’s shoulder, and we cut off. Gravel rolled in our wake. After we’d turned a bend or two, the hills became more barren. Trees were smaller and browner and more twisted than before.
A dirt road intersected the gravel, and we turned left. Two trails, which I ignored, crossed the road. The dirt was dry. We kicked up dust that streamed behind us like a smoking exhaust. We took a short rest under something like a yucca tree, then rode on.
The third trail was somehow promising; I didn’t suggest we leave it until late in the afternoon, when it brought us back to what looked like the West Road. I can’t say how I knew it wasn’t. This highway seemed newer, maybe, not quite as overgrown. I don’t know why I was sure, but we were close to the ruins.
We stopped on the grassy shoulder of the highway. Leda looked at me. I shrugged and pointed right. Ten or fifteen miles later, we came to a road sign in remarkably good repair: Monaghie Drive. I tried not to feel smug.
We passed a few ruined buildings, then a clump of them, then we topped a hill and came to a rusty green sign full of bullet holes: Los(something)e(something)s. Loses is a good name for these ruins. Civilization was interrupted in the World when Faerie returned, but only a few unstable places full of unstable people collapsed. Loses was one, a city that lost.
Leda said, “What’s this?”
The valley before us was filled with broken, abandoned buildings. The setting sun brought out red hints in the purple half of Leda’s hair and made the pale half gleam like white gold.
I shrugged.
“Everything’s dif—”
I put the tip of my finger near her lips.
She frowned, then smiled. “We can’t talk about—”
I shook my head and touched the finger to her lips. I pulled it away quickly, embarrassed and annoyed with myself. I’d forgotten how soft another person’s lips could be.
“Old magic,” she whispered, pleased.
I nodded.
“Anyone live here?”
I nodded again.
“Wild elves?”
I shook my head once.
“Humans.”
Nod.
“No lights. No fires. Can’t be many.”
Nod.
“Savages, then?” Her voice was cautious, a little scared. “Can we avoid ‘em?”
Shrug.
“Well, thanks a lot, Spot. If you can get by here, I can, too. Where d’you want to camp?”
We stopped at a service station at the edge of Loses, a place I’d found on my second visit. It’s back from the road and half-surrounded by the wild, disquieting woods that cover much of the Borderlands. Huge rusting machines and a pit suggest that Faerie’s return halted a construction project there. Now the land was reverting to forest. I made a quick scouting to see if anyone was in the neighborhood and found no signs.
When I returned, Leda had gathered wood to build a fire. I boiled some wild rice, then strained the rice through a clean rag. I used the lid of the frying pan to mix flour, lard, salt, and water, then added raisins, walnuts, and the cooked wild rice, then used some lard to grease the frying pan, then dumped my batter into it, cleaned the lid quickly, and covered the pan, and baked wild rice bannock over the fire. We ate hot chunks in our bare hands.
Leda said, “Hey, Wolf. This tastes better than peca!”
I took a stick and scratched in the dirt, THANKS. A HUMAN FRIEND TOLD ME WHAT PECA TASTES LIKE.
She laughed. “Hey, okay. It tastes better than peca tastes to elves.”
I nodded and tried not to feel flattered.
After dinner, I scrubbed the frying pan with dirt. As I wiped it out, then repacked my rucksack, Leda said, “Listen, Wolf, if you’d done something that hurt someone—”
I stopped her by snatching a stick to write, EVERYONE HURTS SOMEONE SOMETIME.
She shook her head. “I mean, really hurt someone. So bad you can’t fix it. So bad that saying you’re sorry’d just be a joke.”
I remembered an elven child grabbing at a rifle. YOU CD. ALWAYS KILL YR. SELF.
“Wouldn’t fix a thing. It’d just get me out of it.”
I scratched out the words KILL YR. SELF and wrote, APOLOGIZE & TAKE WHAT YOU GET.
She said, “Like that’s easy. What if—”
I didn’t need to help her find excuses. She stopped speaking to watch me write, YOU’RE AT THE BORDER. THE PAST IS PAST.
“But—”
I stood.
“Where you going?”
I pointed outward.
“For a walk?”
I nodded.
She hesitated, then said, “Yell if you want me.”
I nodded again and went.
I had no real purpose other than a desire to be away from her. I strolled for an hour or so, but it didn’t help. I thought about leaving her on the outskirts of Loses. There was nothing in the rucksack that I couldn’t replace. I could even go back to the camp, take the sack, and leave while she watched me. While she begged me to explain why I was doing this. While she cried, then swore at me. She wouldn’t know how hard returning to Bordertown would be. She wouldn’t really appreciate what I’d done until she set out alone on her bike and learned how completely lost she was.
Two things argued against that:
One. She was a magician. I was already carrying one of her curses; I didn’t need another. I’d rather be Wolfboy than Ratboy, Roachboy, or Great-spreading-pool-of-mucus-boy.
Two. It was too soon. I wanted to get her into the heart of the ruins, surrounded by monuments to failure and dead dreams. I could leave her there when she didn’t expect it, and she’d never have a chance to try her magic on me.
I stood by a live oak and looked out over the dark valley. I thought about Leda, and I thought about Russian nesting dolls sitting side by side, ready to be dropped inside each other.
Here’s the first. This Leda leads a gang of elves, humans, and halfies called the Strange Pupae, who’ve given a place to stay to a kid who’s new in B-town. Runaway Ron has a crush on her.
Drop that Leda into the next. This Leda drinks Dragon’s Milk and laughs while her lieutenants fight over the future of Castle Pup, their home. Drop Runaway Ron into Just Ron, who pities her.
Drop those Ledas into a third. This Leda is a Dragon’s Tooth Hill princess. Drop Just Ron into a Wharf Rat called Gone, who only feels contempt for her. He dares to make fun of her, and she turns him into a monster.
Drop that Leda into the fourth and final shell, a Dead Warlock who does not remember that she created a mute monster. Drop Gone into Wolfboy, who hates her.
I listened to the night, and I smelled it for messages. It told me nothing but what I knew: I could take my revenge whenever I wished. It would not restore me. It would not bring back Florida. But it would be sweeter than Sai’s baklava.
I hit the tree trunk hard with the heel of my fist. It didn’t hurt enough, but I turned and went back to camp. When I came near, I heard something sad playing on the seedybox, then smelled our dying fire, then smelled Leda. She was leaning against her bike, facing the fire and hugging herself. The rucksack was near her, not quite
where I’d left it. The top flap was open.
I stepped into the light. Leda gasped slightly, then said, “Wolf. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming—” She saw where I looked and said, “Oh. I thought maybe you had a beer or something in there. I don’t feel so good. Some peca would be nice.”
I held my hands open before me and despised her.
“You don’t mind, do you? I figured if you had something that’d make me feel a little better...” Her voice trailed off as I shook my head. “Yeah. Oh, well.” I stared at her until she looked away. “I think...I think maybe I’d better get some sleep.”
She zipped her coveralls up to her throat, lay down near the fire, thrust her hands into her pockets, and closed her eyes. After a minute or two, she rolled over, facing into the dark woods. She shivered slightly but said nothing. I don’t know how quickly she fell asleep.
I squatted by the fire and listened to the night. It told me nothing. I went to my rucksack and donned my black denim jacket. After standing there for a long minute, staring into the rucksack, I took out my blanket, spread it over Leda, and slept on the opposite side of the fire.
•
I woke to a sound that was becoming too familiar. Someone was vomiting. It was still dark, though it was late in the night—our fire was out. It took a second or two to tell that this was Leda again, not some late-night visitors with delicate digestions. I might’ve sworn at her, if I could’ve spoken. Instead, I sat up, angry, annoyed, not yet thinking clearly.
She lay on her side, propped up on one elbow. After a second attack of heaving brought up almost nothing, she said, “Wolf? Sorry. I... I’m feelin’ ill, Bill.”
I put my hand on her forehead. Her brow was slick with sweat. I growled softly in what I hoped was a comforting tone.
“Help me up. I gotta go...in...”
I put my arm around her waist to steady her, and we walked away from our campsite. I started to leave to give her some privacy, but she reeled, then caught herself before I caught her. She said reluctantly, almost amused, “Stick around, okay?” So I held her shoulders, then helped her clean herself and walked her back to the fire. “You’re a good nurse,” she said, and then, more quietly, “I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
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