A Haven in Ash

by Robert J. Crane

  The beast twitched, the way a cat did when taken off-guard by a gentle pat it had not seen coming. It turned to Alixa, twisting its neck to peer down at her. If the scourge changed its mind, it could tear her limb from limb in a moment.

  “Alixa,” Jasen warned, panic rising—

  The scourge bowed its face toward her. Alixa braced, panic washing over her determined expression. She retracted her hand, and Jasen knew in that moment that she had made a mistake, that her pride, her conviction, her desire to prove Shilara wrong in whatever way she possibly could, had done her wrong here—

  Shilara reached out to grab Alixa’s arm, to pull her clear—the spear rose in her other arm, ready to throw—

  Jasen scrambled forward, aware that he could do nothing at all to help—

  The scourge’s mouth opened—

  And before Shilara could intervene, before Jasen could, before the drop of sweat beading on his temple could drip to his eyebrow, the scourge stuck its tongue out, and licked Alixa’s hand.

  It licked her hand.

  Jasen stared, gobsmacked.

  The scourge’s greyish tongue came away, and the dried blood that had been caked to Alixa’s palm was almost gone.

  It closed its mouth—then gagged. It was a peculiar sound, not like anything Jasen had ever heard. The scourge twisted, coughing and retching in its strange way, till it spat up a lump of something black—then it smacked its mouth, the way babies did, turned back to Alixa—she was frozen in place, eyes bugging out of her head—and licked her palm again.

  Then, strangest of all, it lowered to its knees and bowed its head.

  What. The hell. Was that.

  Shilara’s reaction was much the same as Jasen’s and Alixa’s. She was tethered to the spot, and had stilled in the position she had been in before the scourge’s lick. Like a puppet, she had one arm extended, perhaps twelve inches shy of Alixa—not close enough to have been able to save her had the scourge had other intentions—and the other raised, the spear drawn back before she threw it. Only her expression had changed: her mouth hung, and she stared, looking as if the entire world had shifted.

  It had, Jasen supposed.

  “I told you,” Alixa said.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Shilara. Her voice was suddenly quiet, subdued. “It’s a scourge. There’s no thing as a good scourge.”

  “This one is. It saved us. You can’t kill it.” And Alixa turned back, wrenching her eyes from the scourge bowed before her, to give Shilara a very pointed look.

  Shilara dropped her spear arm very suddenly, as though either just remembering she held it—or more likely, Jasen thought, because she didn’t want to be seen as having been prepared to act to save Alixa.

  She watched the scourge. Jasen did too; with Alixa pivoted away like that, it was the perfect moment to dart forward and tear her open at the abdomen, carting her bloody body out into the scrub to feast. Yet all it did was sit there. Like a dog—not a person, as Jasen had seen them earlier. Just a strangely proportioned, docile, somewhat dopey dog.

  That’s gone grey with disease and lost all its hair, he thought, and smells like it died a month ago.

  Putting on a casual air, Shilara said, “Fine. You can keep it.” She ambled back to the front of the cart, not looking any longer—though by the expression on her face, it took great effort to do so. “But I’m not feeding it.” As she clambered onto the front again, throwing her spear down with a touch too much force, she added, “And it’s not riding with us, either.” And that was that.

  Jasen crouched at the rear of the cart. He edged over, peering down at the prone scourge, waiting by Alixa’s feet.

  “What does it want?” he murmured.

  Alixa shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked troubled by that.

  “Did it follow us?”

  “I don’t know. I assume so,” Alixa said.

  Shilara harrumphed from up front, but said nothing.

  “Scourge …” Alixa started. “Um. Scourgey?” She lowered a hand nervously, patting it on the head, where wisps of grey-brown hair stuck up. The scar Alixa believed allowed her to recognize this one ran across there, right down the middle of its head. It was wide, the tissue almost pinkish, the way human scars tended to be. Other animals’ scars too maybe, though Jasen hadn’t seen many chickens or horses or cows with scars in his life thus far.

  “I wonder what hurt it,” Alixa said.

  Jasen said, “Whatever it was, looks like it came close to cleaving its head in two.”

  The scourge looked up then, dark eyes on Jasen. He felt another squeeze of terror at that, sweat breaking out on his forehead again as it rose, its huge head level with Jasen’s—

  It leaned forward, and he flinched back—

  The scourge nuzzled him.

  It pulled away, and regarded him blankly.

  “Uhh …”

  “I think it likes you,” said Alixa.

  Jasen thought its brains had got scrambled, the way it was acting. Maybe it had been a dog once, and this was all the dog-ness coming out, instead of the wolf-ness that made the rest of the scourge the vicious hunters that they were.

  “Get back in the cart, children,” Shilara ordered. “Can’t sit out here all day, or its ungelded mates might come along and make a meal out of you two.”

  Alixa rolled her eyes but said, “Coming.” She looked at the scourge—Scourgey, Jasen amended—”Follow along, okay? She won’t let you ride. Plus, you’ll stink up our bread.”

  When she was sitting aboard the cart, they began to move once again. The scourge hadn’t given any indication it understood Alixa’s command—and perhaps it hadn’t—but it did follow along, taking lumbering footsteps. Though larger than a dog, its proportions gave it longer strides, so it had only to lope along in that unpleasant-to-watch way to keep up with the cart. Its mouth hung open as it followed, tongue bobbing up and down as if tasting the air.

  The false breeze generated by the cart’s movement flowed from Milo to Scourgey. Not entirely effective at dispelling the rotten stench from the beast, it at least did have some effect.

  Jasen watched it. Sitting on the opposite side of the cart, Alixa did too.

  She frowned. “Why is this one different?”

  Jasen shrugged. “Beats me.”

  Shilara half-turned. But if she had any thoughts on the matter, she did not provide them; instead, she told Alixa, “Cover your hand with blood from the bucket again. I don’t want even an inch of skin more of those monsters could smell.”

  Alixa was not pleased. But she did it, neither gagging nor retching this time. Then she settled back against the edge of the cart, and watched the scourge follow in their wake.

  21

  Last night, they’d slept in the back of the cart, but only for a few hours at a time; Shilara kept watch, but then Jasen and Alixa were instructed to take over in turn.

  “Not that you could do much if any of those things happen upon us,” Shilara had said. “But you see one, or hear one, or even think one might be lurking, come back and wake me, you hear?”

  Jasen and Alixa agreed they would.

  “And that thing isn’t sleeping anywhere near us,” Shilara added of Scourgey before striding away to empty her bladder.

  Scourgey must’ve understood, because it stalked away from their camp—no fire, for that would only provide a beacon for the scourge to find them—disappearing somewhere in the dark. Only the next morning did it return, and only then after they’d finished their breakfast of hard cheese and salt pork and the cart had set off again.

  “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” Alixa had asked.

  “Uhm … maybe a girl,” said Jasen.

  “Definitely female,” said Shilara. “The males have balls.”

  Alixa’s cheeks colored. “Oh. Well, I didn’t look to see.”

  “Can hardly miss them,” said Shilara. “Pendulous great things.”

  The flame burning Alixa’s face grew hotter. She mumbled so
me response, but no more.

  The morning passed largely without incident. Except for the run-in yesterday, plus Scourgey tagging along behind the cart, they saw neither hide nor hair of the creatures. They’d not seen much of anything, in fact. Bird calls rang out, but rarely. Shilara remarked that it was a sad thing, as there had been much more birdsong in the days before the scourge. Jasen wondered if their population had been fractioned by the scourge’s presence too—or if perhaps birds had learned that safety meant silence. He didn’t ask; Shilara had started drinking before he awoke this morning, and she was growing irritable as the day dragged on. Engaging her, especially over something that might set her off on another tirade about the scourge, did not seem wise.

  Midday passed, and they stopped to eat. Alixa was hungrier today, and she did eat a sandwich, except for the crusts, which darkened with dried blood. These she gave to Scourgey when Shilara was not looking. The scourge wolfed them down, hacking a few times, but bringing up nothing.

  The afternoon slipped by. Open green gave way again to woods, which grew thicker and thicker. A trail had been cut through, but undergrowth had spread over it. Saplings sprang up in places. The cart rolled right over them, firming down two ruts in the foliage that would spring back up again before long; one solitary back-and-forth cart ride would not be enough to turn this trail back to exposed earth.

  Then they ran into a problem.

  A river spilled over the trail, running across it like a crossroads. The surface glittered in the sun, flashing like a mirror’s reflection up at them.

  “How deep is it?” Jasen asked.

  Shilara squinted. “Deep as the cart, maybe a little less.”

  “Will we be able to get across?”

  Shilara didn’t answer.

  “Have you been this way before?” Alixa asked.

  “Yes. But the river isn’t usually this deep. Or fast. A foot or two, yes, but this … the winter’s snows must be melting.” She cursed, then fell again into silence.

  Jasen eyed the flowing water. It made him nervous. A small creek ran through Terreas, and from it splintered off a handful of very shallow stretches, meandering along the side of a lane at a snail’s pace. Those were only as deep as the distance from knuckle to fingernail. The creek, maybe eighteen inches at most, was easy enough to wade through.

  This river, though, was a different story. The bottom was rendered invisible by a furious current, churning the water’s surface as it rushed past, traveling somewhere south-east.

  If the river were calm, he might’ve wondered if it fed directly out to the ocean. Warily watching the torrent now, though, he couldn’t care less where it went.

  “I feared this would be the case,” Shilara muttered. “Warm spring, early summer … ice melts and has to go somewhere. Just our damned luck it went this path.”

  She dismounted the cart and approached the water’s edge. It had overflowed its banks to encroach on the trail, a dangerous rush of water that soaked Shilara’s toes as she stepped closer to it.

  She moved back. “Too perilous. We ought to turn back.”

  “No!” said Jasen quickly.

  Shilara glanced to him.

  “We can’t. We need to get the seed from Wayforth.”

  “And if the current washes us away?”

  “It … it won’t do that. Right?”

  Shilara pursed her lips. “Perhaps. We’re weighty enough that …” She frowned, pondering.

  “I think we should go on,” said Alixa. “We’ve come so far. We’re almost there. How many hours more, after this?”

  Shilara thought. “Perhaps four.”

  “We’re so close.”

  Shilara shook her head. “If we come later in the year, when the melt has finished—”

  “If we come later in the year, Terreas will have torn itself apart already,” said Jasen. “My home was burned down—that’s before we’ve even started to see insufficient harvests. We have to go on.”

  Shilara considered him, looking somewhat dubious.

  Her gaze shifted to Scourgey.

  Then she shook her head again fiercely. “Why would I ask you?” Sighing, she said, “Right. We’ll cross. You might want to invite that thing up onto the cart. Blighters can’t swim.” She clambered on herself, taking up Milo’s reins.

  “They can’t?” asked Alixa.

  “Nope. Watched many a few drown with my own eyes.” And enjoyed it, by the sound of her voice. Still, that she was inviting this scourge up was a good sign—she was coming around. Perhaps.

  Scourgey had held back. Now Jasen and Alixa turned to her, they saw Shilara’s words were true. Scourgey padded nervously, legs lifting and dropping without moving it anywhere. Its mouth hung open, its tongue lolling out. Its breaths were heavier than the usual wheezing the scourge produced.

  Seeing the children turn, it produced a low whine.

  “Come up here,” said Alixa, scooting back. She shoved the sacks aside to open a clear spot for Scourgey to sit.

  “Get it centered,” said Shilara. “Its weight will help hold us down.”

  Oh. So that was the cause of Shilara’s charity.

  Jasen helped, shunting empty sacks into piles to either side of the cart’s floor. The bucket of viscera he stowed in the very corner, near the rear—as far from them as possible. It teemed with flies. Maggots would appear soon, and the act of smearing bloody guts all over themselves would be even worse than it had that first time.

  Alixa patted the cleared space. “Up here, Scourgey. You’ll be safe.”

  Scourgey whined again. But it obeyed, treading carefully to the edge of the cart. Rising, it reached over with one leg. Three enormous claws splayed, reminding Jasen of just how easily this beast could rip them apart.

  Its other front leg followed, and the cart tilted back a fraction, rear wheels taking much of the load. Then its hind legs were over, and it lowered into something between a sit and a crouch—the best it could manage, Jasen supposed, with its awkward anatomy—and the whole cart felt as though it had sunk into the earth a good two inches.

  Shilara made a noise of disgust. “Foul-smelling thing. Make sure it doesn’t touch the food.”

  Scourgey whined softly.

  “There, there,” said Alixa. She gently patted the leg closest to her. The joint there appeared to be too high. It protruded, a wrinkled knob, a small number of thick, dark hairs surrounding it.

  “Treating it like a dog,” Shilara said, shaking her head. “Thought I’d seen it all.”

  She urged Milo forward.

  The horse began to move—then a surge of water spilled the river’s edge close to its hooves. Milo whinnied, trying to turn back. He was held in place though, between the two leading beams of wood enclosing him at the front of the cart.

  “It’s only water,” Shilara complained. “Get!”

  The shake of the reins Shilara gave was enough to start Milo moving again. He was not very happy about it though, and whinnied again as he stepped into the flow.

  Scourgey joined with a sad moan of her own.

  “They’re scared,” Alixa said.

  “Too bad. We’re crossing.” The cart’s first pair of wheels had met the water’s edge now. “Besides, Milo’s done this before. Not as deep, but he’ll manage.”

  “What about Scourgey?”

  Shilara shrugged. “No choice if you want it coming along.”

  “Her.”

  “Him, her, whatever.” Shilara leaned over the side, peering backward. “We’re in. Hold tight.”

  At first, it was smooth. But as Milo descended deeper, and the wagon followed him, the increasing depth gave a larger surface area for the cart to feel the push of the current. By the time the first wheel was half-submerged, the torrent of water cascading at them was strong enough that Jasen felt the cart being pushed.

  Milo brayed. He was forced sideways, pushed against the wooden beam on his right. Shilara was dragged in that direction too, reins threatening to go taut. She’
d looped them about her hands to keep the leather from dropping below the water’s surface.

  “Milo! Go!” she roared.

  The volume of the river was louder now they were in it, a dull roar in Jasen’s ears. With an obstacle to beat against, the already churning surface of the water was split into distinct flows. Water flooded between the wheels’ spokes. It splashed under the cart, around its edges. Not quite high enough to reach the sides yet—but as Jasen squinted down the side of the cart and watched Milo push uneasily onward, he realized it would quickly come to meet them.

  Opposite him, Alixa looked panicked.

  Scourgey whined again. She seemed desperate to avoid looking at the rising waters.

  “How much deeper?” Jasen yelled.

  “Not sure,” Shilara answered. She glanced over her shoulder. “We’re not quite halfway, so I’d venture a bit.”

  Jasen looked back. “Not quite halfway” was an understatement; he’d be surprised if they’d forded even a quarter of the distance yet.

  Milo fought on, yet the water buffeted, hard and fast and unceasing, and the horse’s progress was slowed.

  All at once, the sound of roaring water erupted from behind Alixa with a thunderous clap. She yelped, scrabbling away. Scourgey shrieked, a high-pitched, throaty noise Jasen would never have believed the scourge were capable of.

  The water had hit the cart’s side panelling.

  And still it rose.

  Alixa clutched Jasen’s wrist, pressed close at his side. The spray opposite was unrelenting, and it sloshed over edge, filling the cart in at the bottom.

  Jasen felt wetness seep across his backside.

  “Ancestors,” said Shilara. “Milo! Double-time!”

  The horse whinnied a vicious response, one Jasen took to mean, I’m doing the best I can, here!

  Scourgey quivered. She had begun a ceaseless noise now, and it went on and on, underlining the cacophony of the crashing waters around them. Her legs moved back and forth, claws scratching gouges in the base of the cart. Her rotten scent had gotten worse, whether from fear or the presence of water amplifying the smell, and Jasen could barely keep himself from gagging. Bile threatened low in his throat. He kept it back only by huffing long breaths, reminding himself with every one that if the cart should be swept away, or worse, overturn, the only real hope he had for surviving was the air in his lungs.