“Hold on, did you say a basket?” she asked Nell.
“A basket. Definitely a basket!”
Susan looked around the room. She didn’t see Liyla’s basket anywhere.
“Hey, Nell, take a closer look in the basket. You sure those aren’t plums?”
There was a long pause from below.
Then Nell, sounding sheepish: “Oh, yeah. Actually, you’re right about that.”
Max grunted.
“How about the bones?” Susan asked her.
Another pause, longer this time.
“Uh . . . yeah, I think these are eggs. Yeah, they are. Hard-boiled.”
Max sat back on his heels and blew out a long breath.
“Good work, Nell, you just found the family fridge.”
They hoisted her out and put the door and rug back in place. Nell rubbed her arms. She glanced at Susan, then quickly away.
“Well, who puts their fridge underground, anyway? Isn’t that suspicious?”
Susan shook her head. “People who don’t have refrigeration — that’s who. Why it’s under the rug is anybody’s guess. But that settles it, anyway. We’re staying, at least for now. Right?”
Nobody said a word this time. Jean sat down on one of the chairs by the empty fireplace and kicked moodily at the rungs, while outside, the chickens continued their screaming. Susan glanced at the window and wrinkled her nose. Stained feathers drifted by.
“People have different ways about them,” she said halfheartedly. “Maybe Liyla’s mother is nicer the more you get to know her.”
Not even Kate looked like she believed that. They waited in glum silence as the chickens were plucked and bled, and finally roasted.
At last, Liyla and her mother came back in, brushing feathers and bits of fat from their clothes and carrying two roast chickens on a stick.
Susan tried to find her voice.
“Would you like some help with the table?” she asked faintly.
She might have suggested diving headfirst into the well for the look Liyla’s mother gave her. Liyla wagged a finger.
“Nobody touches the food before supper,” she told Susan.
A short time later, Liyla’s father came home. He was a stringy, stoop-shouldered man with a face that looked sunburned with a recent waxing. On either side of his nose, his jaw and cheekbones jutted out as if some invisible hand had grabbed hold of his face and pulled. Liyla’s mother met him outside and must have explained the situation, because he only stared at the children as he took his place at the table.
Liyla ran and dragged in some of the dusty sawhorses from the yard.
“You all sit here,” she said.
She grinned as they perched themselves on the planks.
“Oh, me! What a party this is, right?”
No one set out any plates. Or forks or knives or napkins. The children were given a tin cup of water to share. They teetered uncomfortably on their makeshift seats as Liyla’s mother laid a wooden platter before her husband. It was piled with a large loaf of bread and the unfortunate chickens. The man sniffed at it and nodded, pleased.
As they all watched, Liyla’s father yanked the platter close to him, snatched a chicken, and thrust it into his mouth. Next to Susan, Jean’s jaw dropped. The man chewed the way the neighborhood dogs did, snapping chicken breasts in two with his teeth and tossing his head back to send the food down his throat. Crumbs of meat and marrow sprayed from the corners of his mouth. Susan slid her eyes over to Liyla’s mother, but the woman only watched with appreciation. Or maybe she was watching the chicken. After a minute, she reached for a piece that had fallen back to the platter. Her husband’s head came up. “Hey!” he snapped, flashing his teeth. “Wait your turn!”
She pulled back her hand as if slapped, raised her lip for a moment, then settled down, saying nothing. Susan stared at them, aghast. She caught sight of Max, who looked faintly green, and Nell, eyebrows so high on her face they disappeared beneath her bangs. Beside Liyla, Kate looked ready to crawl under the table, and Jean’s mouth was a perfect round O. Liyla herself only watched her father, licking her lips.
After another minute of tearing choice pieces from the chicken, loudly breaking bones, and swallowing, Liyla’s father nodded at his wife. She grabbed a chicken by one leg and plunged her face into it, ripping handfuls of bread with her free hand. Susan glanced at Liyla as the snap of chicken bones and the grunts of the diners filled the room. The girl only waited, leaning forward like a spectator at a race, eyes on her parents and the food.
Eventually, the woman gave a curt nod, and Liyla jumped at the serving dish. Susan watched her, at a loss.
“Well, go on! It’s your turn now!” Liyla said, chewing vigorously.
“Sss!” Liyla’s mother hissed. “No talking at the table!”
Looking at her siblings, Susan saw them frozen, waiting for her to tell them what to do next. Even Max looked dumbfounded. Gingerly, she reached for the bread. The loaf looked like it had been through an explosion. She pulled off a piece, then passed the loaf to Nell. Her sister did the same. It was lucky none of them wanted any chicken. Nothing was left of those two unfortunate birds but skin and some nasty-looking innards. The bread tasted like cotton in Susan’s mouth.
At last, Liyla’s father sat back, gave a table-shaking belch, and sighed happily.
“Good meal,” he said. “Issi, you’ve outdone yourself.”
The woman sniffed. “Genius doesn’t eat any better, I wager.”
“Sign of the future,” Liyla chimed in. “Useful is as useful does!”
The girl turned to Susan as if it were her turn to say something.
“Uh, the bread was very soft,” Susan stammered.
They looked at her, and Susan felt a flush creep up her neck. “Well, maybe we ought to get some sleep,” she said hastily. “It’s been a long day.”
No one said anything for a minute. Max was still staring at the table as if he’d just witnessed a natural disaster or a five-car pileup. She kneed him and he jumped.
“And the little girls are tired,” he said. “Really tired.”
Kate, who at home treated bedtime like a personal affront, immediately nodded. Second night in a row, Susan thought grimly.
Liyla’s mother jumped on the suggestion and hustled them behind the curtain. The girl’s unmade bed waited there, sheets half on the floor.
“Useful girl I’ve got, to give you her bed tonight,” she said.
“Useful?” Susan asked her.
The woman only nodded.
“Well . . . we’re very grateful,” Susan said.
She nudged Nell, who stood next to her.
“Yes,” her sister said. “Very.”
With a curt nod, the woman left them. Susan peeked around the curtain and saw Liyla’s father reach into a pile of broken chicken bones and miraculously produce an intact wishbone. He handed it to his daughter.
“Make it a good one now,” he said. “There’s never been a night better for wishing.”
Liyla grinned and snapped it in two, then stuck the larger half in her mouth, for sucking. Beside Susan, Nell grunted at the sight.
“Wonder what she’s wishing for,” she whispered.
Thinking of nothing good, Susan made no answer. Nell sighed and turned away, untying the blanket from her waist. She shook it out and spread it across Liyla’s mattress.
“Well, come on,” she said to the little girls.
They slipped off their shoes and climbed up onto it. The rest of them did the same until they were all bunched together on the bed.
“We’re closer than the chickens,” Max complained in a whisper.
“Yeah,” Nell said. “And look what happened to them.”
This time, the cry came in the night. From the window, the exile saw a crescent moon. It glimmered overhead, its grin ghastly in the dark, as if it took joy in the miserable sound.
Such punishments came at all hours now, a vicious pattern that ravaged sleep.
/> Moaning, wailing, roaring, the outcast climbed the mountain, rousing the wood, a wild thing lost amid the wild.
The small bundle of food waited by the garden wall.
Closer the sound of thrashing through leaves, the crack and pop of splintered wood.
It reached the garden and stopped.
Hesitating, the wretched one leaned to lift the bundle. Could it know? Did the lost remember? Was there yet hope of return?
The exile waited, watching the shadow of the thing in the moonlight, its silvered outline hunched and trembling.
It lifted its head and sobbed. A human sound. The exile took a step toward the door. Could such a thing be?
The sob roughened to a shriek, then bled to a howl, a lament jagged as broken glass.
The lost one raised the gift and dashed it to earth. It threw itself upon the garden, smashing the fencing and ripping plants from the dirt, tossing the new growth from the torn soil.
Then it ran, keening, from the garden.
The exile turned from the door and returned to bed, listening for a long time as the ragged voice echoed through the trees.
The Feared, they had been called in times past. It was a fitting name. For a thing full of fear is the most dangerous of all.
Sighing, the exile stared into the darkness, thinking that in the morning, the garden could be planted anew. If there was little else in exile, there was at least always time.
Arustling of the curtain woke Susan. The five of them had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, but now she jerked awake and blinked to see Liyla’s mother outlined in the flickering light of a lamp. She stepped into the alcove and toward the bed.
Susan held her breath and half closed her eyes as the woman leaned over them, smelling of chicken and sweat, searching for something. After a minute, she gave a satisfied little exhale and her hand came down on Kate. With a tug, she pried the Barbie from Kate’s sleeping hand and retreated to the main room, letting the curtain fall closed behind her.
Susan nudged Max, putting a finger over his lips as he woke. She jerked her head in the direction of the curtain. Together, they crept out of bed and prodded it aside. A small oil lamp sat on the wooden table, its flame casting rusty shadows on the walls. Liyla’s father sat beside it, fingering the doll.
“So this is what they’re supposed to look like, hmm?” he asked his wife. He examined the doll with a perplexed expression. “A little different from the old paintings, these.”
The woman snatched it from him. “The model’s the face, Toper, and the hands.” Susan watched her run her own gnarled hand along the plastic arms.
“Who do you say is best to seek out, for the reward?” she asked him.
Susan stiffened.
“You know those types in the center, always ready to gain off the hardworking,” Liyla’s mother continued. “They might just claim them themselves if we don’t speak to the right one.”
She tipped the doll upside down over the lamp. Its stiff dress opened into a frilly cone, and its hair hung above the flame, splayed in the light. Both the adults stared at it, and Liyla’s father nodded.
“That’s why we send this in, ahead. I’d go to Elot, but he’d know me and come back here looking.”
The woman frowned. “He’s good for a pass on the tax for Liyla but not something big as this. This isn’t an egg bribe, is it? No, we’ve got to find someone right at the center. And wouldn’t hurt to disguise yourself a bit, would it? Last thing I’d like is cloaks storming in here. They’d take them and more.” She looked uncomfortably toward her room. “You’ll have to be careful, Toper.”
He nodded. The flickering lamp threw the doll’s shadow across the wall, turning it into a curving giant with spidery legs.
“It’s a risk, yes, but well worth the prize,” he told her.
For a moment, they sat in silence, then he cocked his head and looked toward the curtain. Max and Susan ducked back. “Only thing I can’t figure is how they got loose. Someone’s head rolled on that mistake, you can be sure. Especially the boy. He doesn’t even look a discard. You sure both of his legs were the same length? No missing fingers or a bad eye? Maybe he’s a half-wit.”
Susan glanced at Max, whose shoulders had come up at that last.
“If he did have a bad eye, he doesn’t anymore,” Liyla’s mother said.
“That’s so. But perhaps they fixed that, too, yeah?”
He flicked the doll’s leg with a finger and pulled one of its small feet this way and that.
“Wonders,” his wife said. “That’s progress, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he agreed. “And we’re going to ride its back. They’ll pay more for those five than I could make in a lifetime selling eggs. You’ll be living in the center soon, Issi. You’ll wear one of those gems they get out of the mines, like the Genius himself.”
She chuckled. “And maybe a dress like this one!” she said.
She rubbed the sparkly fabric between her fingers, and he watched her, looking pleased.
“So tomorrow, you keep a sharp eye on those five,” he said. “Bolt the door and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll go first light.”
She agreed that would be the best thing, and they sat up a while longer, talking about the bounty the children would bring them. At last, they snuffed the lamp, took the doll, and went to bed.
Neither Susan nor Max moved until they heard the click of the bedroom door. Then Susan let out a long breath.
“Liyla might babble on too much to be dangerous, but her parents mean business,” she whispered. “They’re going to sell us! We’ve got to get out of here!”
He shifted uneasily beside her. He’d been on his knees, and now Max got to his feet with a stifled groan. “We do,” he said, nudging the girls over a little so he could sit on the edge of the bed. “But should we try to go in the dark? You saw that thing yesterday. What about that? We won’t even see it coming!”
“Maybe it’s gone now,” Susan said. She made a place for herself between Kate’s feet and Jean’s. From the window over Liyla’s bed, the moon filtered in, just enough so she could make out Max’s worried face.
“How lucky do you feel?” he asked her.
She frowned at him. Max usually didn’t believe in luck.
“Not lucky at all,” she said to him. “Not even a little.”
“Me neither.”
Alone mockingbird whistled in the dark, and the chickens dreamed in the yard as Susan and Max woke the others. It didn’t take much to convince their sisters to leave. They pulled their shoes on wearily, and Jean shoved her Barbie back into her waistband.
“Where’s mine?” Kate asked, rummaging in the bed.
They told her. She raised her head unhappily.
“She’s a burglar?” She looked from Max to Susan.
Standing next to Kate, Jean puffed up with indignation.
“A monster burglar,” she said. “A witch burglar.” For half an hour before they had fallen asleep last night, Jean had argued with Kate over which nightmare figure Liyla’s mother fit best. Apparently, Susan thought, she had decided on both.
“Hush up, you,” Nell told Jean as she collected her blanket. “Can’t you see we’re in trouble?”
Susan peeked into the main room. All was quiet, and the bedroom door remained closed. Behind her, she heard whispering.
“I said hush!” Nell snapped at the girls.
“We weren’t talking!”
Susan turned to separate them and saw a shadow flick past the window. She climbed onto the bed to look out. Nothing. The chickens glowed whitely in the moonlight, and the mockingbird sighed somewhere near the well.
“Ready?” Max asked.
She nodded. One more check of the window, just in case. Maybe the shadow had only been a cloud rolling across the moon.
Inches from her face, two hooded figures peered through the glass.
“Ahh!” She flung herself backward, landing on Nell, who elbowed her reflexively.
“Hey!”
“Shush!” Susan sputtered, pointing. There was nothing there anymore, but now they could hear a rattling at the back door. Kate clutched at her.
“Fanatics!” Susan hissed. “They’re getting in!”
Max and Nell ran to put their shoulders to the door. It shook against them a second before stopping. Susan looked out the window. The figures stood conferring in the yard.
“Can they open it?” Jean asked her, quivering.
“No, no, they can’t,” Susan told her. “Everything’s locked.”
She watched as one of the hooded figures leaned toward the other, shaking its head. They paused another second and turned their hooded faces her way. The first tugged at the second. A minute later, they disappeared into darkness.
“How do they do that?” Kate asked. “Disappear like that?”
“They’re fast,” Susan said. “That’s what Liyla’s mother said.”
“What do they want?” Nell asked. She and Max had returned from the door.
“What everybody seems to want,” Max said shakily. “Us.”
Unable to go and afraid to stay, they sat and argued as the night waned.
“Wish we had a knife,” Max said. “I wouldn’t mind one like Liyla’s.”
Nell suggested he take it, in trade for the Barbie.
“And what are you going to do with it?” Susan asked him. “Stick Liyla’s mother?”
He shrugged. “Maybe her father. This is kind of like a war, isn’t it?”
Susan looked at Kate and Jean. She sighed. “Yeah, and we’re your army. I don’t think a straight-on attack’s going to work.”
“Besides,” Kate said, “that’s yuck.”
“Yuck will be what happens if they send us to whatever those workshops are,” Max told her. “Don’t you remember Liyla asking if they had to cut us?”
Kate looked dismayed. She picked at the sagging edge of the mattress and sniffed. Outside, the window had begun to lighten, and gray, unhappy light seeped into the room.
“Can’t we push her into the oven or something?” Jean asked.
Nell snorted. “She’s not a witch! How many times do we have to tell you?”
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