by Moira Young
That does sound nice, says Em.
Best moment of my life an I didn’t even know it, he says. Sometimes that’s the way it goes. Okay, grub’s up. One line, no shovin.
There’s a rush of feet, muttered thanks, then nuthin but the scrape of spoons on metal as we shovel in Slim’s tasty food. I try to remember the last time I et. I cain’t. My belly groans with relief. When we’re done, we swipe our tins clean with our fingers. Emmi lifts hers an starts to lick it with little snufflin noises.
Emmi, fer shame! says Lugh. Yer a girl, not a beast, so don’t eat like one. Good grief.
Slim was jest about to lick his too. He froze when Lugh barked at Em. He winks at her an they share a guilty grin. We all put our tins on the ground. Tracker goes around, polishin ’em with his long pink tongue.
Nero caught hisself a mouse earlier. A swoop, a squeak an a swallow. He’s already fast to sleep in the branches above, his head tucked unner his wing.
Thanks fer the meal, I says. It’s decent of you, considerin.
Even hijackers git hungry, says Slim. He stretches out his legs, settles more comfortable in his low slingchair an starts pickin his teeth with a twig.
You git hijacked much, Slim? says Emmi.
This is my first time, he says. It ain’t half bad, neether. I’m glad of the company, Moses don’t give much conversation. Nope, despitin our rocky start, this foolish old man is perfectly content.
Is that what you are? I says. A foolish old man?
His one eye gazes at me. Watery. Mild. Not too foolish to know that you don’t want this young fella comin to the notice of the Tonton, he says. He nods at Tommo. A boy who cain’t hear ain’t safe. If they got hold of him, they’d kill him.
Tommo’s flushed. His jaw set.
Nobody’s gittin hold of Tommo, says Emmi. I’d kill ’em if they even laid a finger on him! She collects the eatin tins to clean.
That’s the spirit, he says. You got a fierce champeen here, son.
I ain’t yer son, he says. An I can take care of myself.
I’m sure you can. Now . . . I can tell that you three’s kin. Slim points his finger at me, Emmi an Lugh. An Red here, well . . . it ’ud be plain to a blind man how the land lies between you two. You cain’t stop lookin at each other. He glances between Lugh an Maev. Oh, don’t sit there blushin, he says, git on with it. Life’s too short. Take her off in the bushes, my friend, an make her yer own. If you don’t, somebody else will. Hell, I might jest make a play fer her myself. That ’ud put a rocket in yer pocket. Ha ha! How’s about it, Red? You an me.
Shut yer mouth! Lugh glares murder at Slim. Hot colour scorches his cheeks.
Slim jest cackles an slaps his knees. Oh, I hit the mark there! Naw, you ain’t my type, Red. I like a hefty hen, a gal with a bit of meat on her. Slim turns to Tommo. As fer you . . . I gotta tell you, you innerest me very much indeed. You ain’t no kin to these, you ain’t got the look of ’em. Still, yer a helluva handsome boy. Gonna be a real heartbreaker. The moment I laid eyes on you, you put me strongly in mind of somebody. Who spawned you?
Emmi calls over from where she’s scourin the eatin tins with pine needles. His pa’s dead, she says. His ma too. It was a long time ago, but he don’t like to talk about it.
Slim leans in, peers at Tommo by the firelight. I never fergit a face, he says. Cain’t afford to in my line of work. Gotta remember who I deal straight with an who I deal crooked. Ha! I see a person once an I remember. The shape of the face, the set of the jaw, noses, eyes. Yuh, I’m sure I seen somebody. Not one of my customers but somewhere on my travels—
Tommo leaps to his feet. My pa’s dead! He flings hisself on the ground at the foot of a tree. He curls up, his back to us, his jacket bunched unner his head. Emmi goes over. She lays down facin him. The quiet murmur of her voice starts to drift our way.
Slim shakes his head. Didn’t mean to upset the lad. Still – nope, it’s gone. Never mind, it’ll come to me. He heaves hisself to his feet. Well, think I’ll have a little zizz. He waddles over to the Cosmic an squeezes into the back. Then it’s jest me an Lugh an Maev. Light from the full orange moon spills down into the clearin.
Maev sits in a copper pool of moonlight, gazin at the fire. She glows. She gleams. Her skin, her eyes, her hair. She looks like she slid down to earth on a moonbeam. She don’t look real. I glance at Lugh. He’s watchin her. An . . . oh my. . .
His face.
The look on his face makes my breath catch in my throat.
The hopeless longin.
The helpless yearnin.
He might as well lay at her feet an bare his throat.
Maev turns her head. Their eyes meet. Their eyes hold. The air goes still.
I know it ain’t right that I should watch ’em. But I do. I ain’t never seen Lugh like this before. Heart open. Nuthin hidden.
He’s the first to look away. He catches me watchin him an his face closes down. There’s a sharp pain inside me. I feel it in my gut. In my chest, I feel it. In my head. The pain you feel from a knife.
We’re bein cut asunder, Lugh an me.
Bit.
By bit.
An it makes me think.
It makes me wonder.
Is this how he feels when he sees me with Jack? Do I look at Jack the way Lugh looks at Maev?
Helpless.
Throat bared.
Hopeless.
I’m runnin. Down a long, dark corridor. Torches light the way. Their jagged shadows dart an hiss an somebody whispers my name.
Saba.
Saba.
It brushes my skin. On a gust of cold air. The voice so dark an deep. The heartstone’s warm in my hand. That means Jack ain’t far away.
Then I’m climbin the staircase. Up the stone steps.
Saba, Saba, Saba.
The voice agin, strokin my spine. I know it. So well. It settles inside me. Deep inside.
I clutch the heartstone. Wait fer me, Jack. As the stones whisper, Saba, I run up the stairs. Then I’m at the top. At the wood door, old an scarred.
With the heartstone hot in my hand.
I turn the handle. I open the door. I step inside the room. It’s near empty. Near dark.
Jack, I says.
Rushlights. A candle. A high-backed chair. Turned to the fire in the hearth. He gits up from the chair. He turns to face me.
Turns to—
Turns to—
Then it’s gone. All gone.
It’s jest darkness. An I’m fallin.
Down, down, down to the deep, vast dark.
I wake with a gasp.
It’s a star-filled night. A mellow moon night. A breeze blows sweet in the trees. By the sweet, mellow light of the late summer moon, I see Lugh an Maev by the fire. They’re kneelin. Facin each other. She touches his hair. His face. His lips. With gentle, tender care.
She moves towards him. She goes to kiss him.
He turns his head away.
She waits a long, long moment. At last she gits to her feet. She goes an lays herself down. On the ground beside Tommo an Em.
Lugh sits on watch.
I pretend to sleep. But I’m thinkin about what I jest seen. He’s drawn to her. He feels fer her. I read it in his face. I know. So why did he turn away?
I sleep shallow, driftin in an out on half-thoughts an almost-dreams. I crave the oblivion of deep sleep, but my brain’s too busy.
A rustle an a whisper weave their way into my head. Unner heavy eyelids, I half-see Slim relieve Lugh on the watch, settle his bulk into his slingchair. Then I’m pulled down into a fevered muddle, of snakes an skulls an yellow medicine wagons.
An one dream, more real than the rest. Where Slim’s openin the rear door of the Cosmic an takin out a bulky sack. He hushes Tracker, who’s doggin his heels with keen innerest. Wit
h a glance around the sleepin camp, Slim slips off into the woods. Tracker follows. Then it’s rope bridges an lightnin storms an meet-me-at-the-Lost-Cause-by-the-full-moon.
When I come to agin, it’s becuz Slim’s touched my shoulder to wake me. Then everybody’s stirrin. As we break camp in silence, my head starts to clear. So strange, the visions that take hold of you in the night. Essept there’s fresh mud on Slim’s boots. An I could swear it warn’t there when we went to sleep.
We’re back on the road agin while it’s still dark. We head east. Always east. We’ll be drivin into the dawn. Same as yesterday, I ride up front with Slim. Lugh an Emmi ride Hermes. Maev an Tommo’s inside the Cosmic. Tracker sprawls over my feet. Nero flies above, swoopin down every now an then to see what’s what.
Slim natters away, tellin me how there’s a curfew between sundown an sunup. The Tonton don’t permit no travel durin the hours of darkness. But we’re on a mission, says Slim. The Lost Cause or bust. He’s stickin to the main trail as long as we can to make better time. We’ll jest hafta dodge off-road before we git to Maryville Drift. That should be some time around sunup. They got a guardpost there, so we’ll take one of his little detours onto a side road.
Time an distance rattle away unner the wheels of the Cosmic. The landscape changes. We start to see the shadows of soft, folded hills. Stands of birch make thin silver ghosts in the darkness. Not long now till dawn.
Slim sits taller. His hands tighten on the reins. He ain’t so cool about travellin these roads as he makes out. It ain’t far to Maryville, he says. We need to start lookin out fer—
Fer what? I says.
He curses unner his breath. It warn’t like this last time I passed, he says.
Jest ahead of us, to the left of the trail, there’s signs of new settlement. A raw, razed parcel of birch forest. The felled trees, cut an stacked neat around the edges. The site’s bin almost cleared of stumps. The thick chain an horse yoke lie ready to be used. An there’s the horses. Two sturdy, shaggy mustangs. They’re tied to a stake next to a tent.
A tent. Somebody’s here.
I hold my bolt shooter on Slim. Take us outta here, I says. Fast.
Slim slaps the reins. Moses picks up the pace. Slim slaps agin an the camel really starts to fly. As we race by the clearin, we turn our heads to look. Somebody’s comin outta the tent. They bin roused by the rumble of our wheels. It’s a young guy. Short hair. Tall with broad shoulders. He’s pullin on his shirt.
He calls, Long life to the— Hey! Hey, come back here! It’s still curfew! Stop! Lemme see yer marks!
I press the shooter to Slim’s temple. Don’t even think about it, I says.
No fear of that, he says. Heeya, Moses! Heeya!
I grab the side of the Cosmic an look back. The fella’s runnin fer the horses, shoutin. A girl, maybe my age, comes dashin outta the tent with two firesticks. She throws him one.
They’re comin after us, I says. There’s a girl too.
Damn, he says.
Hermes gallops up alongside us, Lugh an Emmi lookin over.
What now? says Lugh.
Take the child outta harm’s way! Slim shouts. There’s a hill comin up! Once yer past it, peel off to the right. Wait fer us at the long stone wall. You cain’t miss it. Go!
Lugh’s eyes meet mine. Don’t do nuthin stupid, he says.
I won’t, I says.
Hold tight, Em! He heels Hermes an they race off.
I stand up on the seat. Hang onto the edge of the roof as I peer back over it. The guy’s on horseback. He’s movin fast. The girl ain’t far behind.
I slide back down on to the seat. They’re gainin on us, I says. What’ll we do?
You’ll hafta kill ’em, says Slim. If you don’t, they’ll report that I broke curfew, that I didn’t stop. Everybody knows the Cosmic. The Tonton’ll be on the lookout fer us. His voice sounds matter-of-fact. Like he’s talkin about the weather.
I blow out a quick breath. Hold her steady, I says.
I stand on the seat agin. I shove my bolt shooter into the back of my belt. Pull myself onto the roof of the Cosmic. I lay flat on my stummick. The rig bumps an jolts. We hit a hole. I fly up. Land hard. If I don’t crack a rib or git thrown off, it’ll be a small miracle. I got a feelin Lugh might consider this stupid. But it’s lucky fer me the Cosmic’s such a wreck. Slim’s wrapped ropes an chains around to keep her from fallin apart. I jam my feet unner one of the ropes. Make sure I’m well an truly braced. I pull out the shooter an lean on my elbows.
The homesteader’s comin up fast behind us. The girl too. She draws level with him. Now she pulls ahead. I gotta wait till they’re in range.
Nero swoops overhead, screamin. Git away, I shout.
They gallop closer. Closer still. Now I got a clear view of their faces.
Her smooth cheeks. Her round chin. Her hair flyin behind her, long an fair. She ain’t seen more’n fourteen summers. An him. Despite his man’s body, he ain’t much older’n Tommo. A couple of youngsters.
I’ll take her out first. I aim at the quartered circle brand in the middle of her forehead. Cold sweat beads my forehead. My upper lip. Wets my palms.
She grips hard with her knees. She’s raisin her firestick.
Now. Now! Shoot her now!
Epona. On the roof. She smiles at me. She nods.
She starts to run towards me.
I cain’t do it. I cain’t shoot her.
Suddenly, the girl flies backwards. Arrow to her heart. She lands in a heap on the road. The boy opens his mouth. No chance to yell. A arrow zings into his throat. He tumbles offa his horse. They lie in the dirt. Neether of ’em moves. Their horses turn an race off together.
I peer over the edge of the Cosmic. At the far end, Maev swings into view. She hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, her bow held in th’other. She throws me a look. A what’s-the-matter-with-you? look. She gives a little shake of her head. Then she swings back outta sight. No, Maev sure ain’t lost her edge.
I free myself from the ropes. I slide offa the roof an back onto the seat beside Slim.
You do it? he says.
Yeah, I says.
We cain’t leave the bodies there, he says. We gotta go back.
I shake my head. Drive on, I says.
But you don’t—
I said, drive on! I yell it at him.
Tracker lays his head on my lap, whinin. I stroke his ears. A couple of kids, I says. I don’t think he’d even started shavin.
I look at Slim, but he don’t look at me. He keeps his face forwards. I cain’t tell what he’s thinkin.
I couldn’t shoot the girl. My hands didn’t shake, but still . . . I couldn’t kill her. I lost my nerve. Without Maev, I might be dead right now. She saved my skin once more.
We find Lugh an Emmi at the long stone wall. They don’t ask no questions. They don’t hafta. They can see on our faces how it played out.
Slim’s bloody detour. It takes us through such rough terrain, everybody’s gotta pile out an walk while he leads Moses. Nero hitches a ride on Moses’ hump. Tracker sticks with me.
Pushin an pullin, shovin an heavin, we coax Moses an the Cosmic along. Over hummocky prairie. Up an down an around hills thick with shad-bush an honeysuckle. We’re caught out by a sudden patch of suck-mud. Somehow Slim manages to keep Moses goin, but the Cosmic’s another thing. She sinks down a good foot an it takes us ferever to haul her free. In all of the shabibble, Emmi parts company with both her boots.
Where’s this damn road? I says.
Not far, says Slim. Mind you, this ain’t my usual detour. Guess you’d call it the detour of the detour. If I’m readin the runes right, we oughta run into another trail in a bit. That’ll take us back to the road, then it’s straight over the causeway into the storm belt an hey presto, welcome to the Lost Cause.
Less
chat, more pace, I says. C’mon! Let’s move it!
I urge us on. The sun beats down on our heads. I keep lookin up, checkin its path. By middle day, I’m wound up tighter’n a spinnin top. I march back to Slim. He’s wet through with sweat. Red in the face. I grab a handful of pink dress an yank him to me.
What kind of a gawdamn detour is this? I says. Where’s the gawdamn road? If we ain’t at the Lost Cause by nightfall, I swear, yer gonna be one dead fat man in a frock.
His one good eye stares at me. I never seen nobody so anxious to git to a hooch joint, he says. There must be a party I don’t know about.
My bolt shooter’s up. Pressed to his forehead. Don’t be smart with me, I says.
It ain’t a party, says Emmi, we’re meetin—
Nobody, I says.
We need to push on, says Maev, that’s all. Once we git there, we still got a long ways to travel.
Let the man go, Lugh tells me. We’re all doin our best.
I let Slim go. You better not be leadin us wrong, I says.
Slim wafts his dress to cool down. My word’s my bond, sister, he says. We’ll be at the Lost Cause by dark.
C’mon, then, I says.
We keep on keepin on. An Lugh keeps on glancin at Maev. He makes sure he’s beside her when we’re haulin the Cosmic. At one point, she loses her footin an he dives to stop her from fallin. But the next moment, when she goes to thank him, he drops her arm like he’s bin scalded an then completely ignores her. I see her frownin to herself. Givin him puzzled looks. An no wonder.
The Cosmic bumps an jolts. Her lanterns swing wildly. Slim winces at the rattle of glass from inside. If she don’t fall apart before we git there, it’ll be a miracle, he says.
Hey, Slim, says Emmi, what’s the Lost Cause like?
It’s what you’d call a lively establishment, he says. Hard hooch, rough grub an wicked wimmin.
You mean whores, says Emmi.
No, he don’t, says Tommo.
Yes, he does, she says. Anyways, I know plenty of ’em.