by Ruby Dixon
He rolls his eyes with exaggeration. “It is so silly. How can I pretend you are not here when you are?”
Wise words from a kit. I set him down and point at the long-house. “Go. You do not want to get in trouble.”
Erevair’s small face scrunches up. “You said you would take me hunting soon, remember?”
“I remember,” I tell him, and ruffle his hair. His little horns are still not more than nubs, and I wonder if they will always be small because of his human heritage. “But many things have happened, and I cannot keep my promise yet.”
“How long do I have to wait?”
“It might be a long time,” I admit to him. I do not know how long it will take for Vektal—and the humans—to forgive my actions, especially when I am not sorry for them. I cannot pretend something I do not feel.
“How long is a long time?”
I see a glimpse of Ell-ee in the archway of the long-house, and my khui begins to purr. Hot need pours through me. “I must go.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the hunter cave I am living in,” I tell him absently, though I doubt I will go that far. I will make a camp closer, I think, so I can be close to Ell-ee. Perhaps by the dirt-beak nests…but they squawk all night long and smell terrible. Perhaps not.
“If I come to your cave, can you take me hunting?”
“Of course,” I tell him, my mind on other things. I ruffle his hair again. “But it will be a long time before your mama allows that.” I give him a gentle nudge toward the long-house. “Go surprise her. Show her how clever you are by finding her first.”
He grins at me and races back toward the long-house, pleased at the change in his game. I rub my chest, ignoring the ache in my heart—and the one in my groin—as Ell-ee pauses in the doorway, gazing out at me. She says nothing and makes no gesture that she sees me.
But I think she does. My khui sings a little louder, and I remind myself that they cannot keep us apart forever.
Patience.
8
ELLY
The stew simmering on the fire smells incredible. I can’t make myself walk away, even though I know I won’t eat a bite. Stacy’s making it for freezing in mine and Gail’s hut’s cold storage, and that means no one else will be taking a mouthful. That means it’s not safe. I’m so hungry, but I can’t make myself ask for a bowl. I wish I were braver, and then maybe my stomach wouldn’t feel as if it’s gnawing itself from the inside.
Stacy and Claire sit by the fire, nursing their younger children as they talk. Nora and an elder named Vadren sit nearby, making nets with the help of a few of the older children. Gail isn’t around—Vaza showed up with a pile of plants in his arms and said something about “No Poison” and kissing, and I left the hut fast. I think Gail likes all the attention Vaza gives her, and he treats her well. He doesn’t seem to mind that she won’t resonate.
I’m envious of Gail. She’s happy, and she doesn’t have to worry about resonating. I rub my own chest, feeling betrayed by my cootie. Did it have to pick someone out so fast? Couldn’t it have given me time? No one else has even come close to resonating—just me. The others are free to flirt and go about to their heart’s content.
My stomach knots up as I think of Bek. The moment I think of him, I get aroused. I don’t know what to do about it, and it feels like it gets worse every day. He watches me from afar when I’m in the village, but instead of making me feel weird, it makes me feel…seen.
No one else notices me, not really. Gail tries to include me, but it’s hard to include someone when they don’t speak. I’m just like a dirty shadow lingering on the sidelines. Even now, I’m in the main long-house by the fire, and there are other women here, and I don’t feel included. I know all it would take is a word or two, but I can’t make those words come out of my throat. I want to have friends, too. I just…can’t make myself say anything to them. So I lurk and smile when they smile at me, and that’s it.
But Bek sees me. He doesn’t make me feel forgotten. He makes me feel like I have a spotlight on me…and sometimes I think I hate it.
Sometimes I don’t.
I still war with feeling safe here. Even though the others reassure me that no aliens are coming back, that we’re not slaves, I feel lost. Alone. Having Bek nearby helps, strangely enough. It’s like he’s got my back. Gail’s nice, and we’re friends—as much as I have any friends—but she couldn’t protect me from the slavers.
Bek could.
I hate that I find him appealing even after all of this. I’m sure a lot of it is the cootie’s influence on me. It wants us to make babies, so it’s going to do its best to make sure that I think about making babies all the time. And boy, do I think about sex a lot. But it’s more than that, I think. It’s the way Bek walked at my side without trying to grab me. He hasn’t said anything about my dirt or tried to push me into having sex. It’s like he’s waiting for me to realize he’s right there. That it’s my call, even if my cootie’s already decided.
And that raises him a notch or two in my mind.
“I want to go see Bek, Mama,” a little voice says, and I’m drawn out of my thoughts. I look over and see it’s Erevair, holding his little spear and tugging on the hem of his mother’s tunic. “You said I could.”
“Not right now, baby,” Claire tells him, switching Relvi to her other breast and adjusting her tunic. “Mama’s busy. Go play with Anna and Elsa.” It’s clear she’s not listening to him, because her attention is focused on Stacy, who’s whispering about something in a low voice. A secret, perhaps.
“Mama,” Erevair says again. “Bek said I could see him in his cave. Can I go?”
Claire glances over at her son and smooths his messy hair. “Erevair, honey, I said go play with Anna and Elsa, okay?”
“Can I go?” he asks again.
The baby at Claire’s breast starts to cry, and her attention is drawn to it. She fusses over her daughter, even as Erevair continues to yank on her tunic.
“Mama,” he says again, a whine in his voice.
“Yes, yes, you can go,” Claire tells him absently as the baby continues to hiccup and cry. “Just go play.”
A look of delight crosses Erevair’s face, and he runs out of the long-house. I watch him go, curious. He seemed eager to see Bek—does that mean Bek likes children? Why does the thought make me feel warm inside? I can’t even imagine having a child of my own, but I like the thought of someone as big and strong—and capable of brutality—as Bek being kind and patient with little kids.
Maybe he’d be kind and patient with me, too.
Disgusted that I even entertain the thought, I get to my feet and head for my hut. Maybe I’ll see if Gail and Vaza have finished making out and I can go take a nap.
“Erevair?” Claire’s frantic voice rouses me from a restless nap.
I sit up in my furs, rubbing at my eyes, and glance around. I’m alone in the hut I share with Gail. The fire’s out, and it’s dark in here, but not so dark that it means that it’s nighttime.
“Erevair? Where are you, baby? Come out. Mama’s tired of playing.” Claire’s voice is so loud it hurts my ears. She must be standing right outside of the hut.
I slip my boots on and pull my fur wraps over my body, then head outside. There are people everywhere, which makes me shrink back a little, and everyone seems to be combing the village looking for something. Claire stands near my door, her hands cupped to her mouth, her face pale and pinched.
“Erevair?” she calls again, and then notices me. “Oh. Elly. You haven’t seen Erevair, have you?” Her lower lip wobbles. “I think he’s playing hide and seek again, but I can’t find him.”
Behind her, Georgie, Stacy, and Marlene are checking inside other huts, and I see Gail and Vaza opening the lids of baskets. Everyone’s looking for Erevair.
I shake my head at Claire, wishing I had better news for her.
She nods slowly and gives a loud sniff. “If you see him, please tell him I’m looki
ng for him.” She wanders away a little further and then cups her hands to her mouth again. “EREVAIR!”
With a sick feeling, I remember the little boy’s conversation from earlier. He wanted to find Bek. I wonder if Claire realizes this. She’d been distracted. I look around the village, searching for a familiar large blue form that always seems to be lurking a short distance away when I’m out, but Bek is nowhere to be seen.
He must be hunting.
I rack my brain, trying to recall what Erevair had said about visiting him. Something about…a cave? I should tell Claire. I hurry forward and try to get her attention. She turns to me, worry and stress stamped on her features. “What is it?”
I open my mouth to speak…but nothing comes out. The words are lodged in my throat. Oh god. I can’t do it. I want to, but I can’t. It’s like my brain is totally blocked. Nothing comes out but a squeak.
Claire bites her lip. “What is it, Elly?” She looks around, twitchy and impatient, and I know she wants nothing more than to find her child.
And I’m sitting here, mute and unhelpful. I shake my head.
“I’m sorry, but I have to find Erevair,” she tells me, already rushing past.
I’m filled with guilt. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I speak out loud to save a child? I feel like the worst person imaginable. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to speak because it’s been so long.
I need to do something to help, though. I walk away, thoughtful, trying to recall more of what Erevair said. It was all about Bek and wanting to spend time with him. There was a cave mentioned. Where is there a cave around here, then?
I find myself walking to the pulley at the far end of the canyon. I’ll just pull myself up and see if there are tracks out there. If there are, I’ll go to the others and try to sign-language it out or something. Heck, I’ll draw stick figures if I can’t spit the words out. I’ll do something to help out. But first I need to be sure I’m not just making things worse.
So I walk to the pulley, my steps quick. I must be more tired than usual, because even that short walk—no more than ten minutes—seems to sap all of my energy. I’m so incredibly weak, my feet feel like they’re sandbags. I pause and rub my neck, catching my breath, and my stomach churns. Maybe I should have eaten something.
Maybe you should have said something to Claire, my brain reminds me, instead of running off half-cocked.
I’m already here, though. The pulley’s just a short distance ahead, and I’ll see if there are footprints, and then I’ll go back to the village. Grimly determined, I ignore my fatigue and push through, moving slowly to the pulley. It’s hard to tell if anyone’s been here in the last hour or two, which means I’ll need to go up. I stand on the pulley and grab the rope, then begin to tug myself upward.
Even though I’m tired, the pulley is easy to use and requires little muscle work, so I’m at the top in no time. I step off and release the rope, and it slides back down to the ground below. Whoops. I should have secured it, and now I’m going to have to pull it back up again. My brain’s a little foggy, though. I’ll worry about that later.
I take a few steps forward into the snow. The landscape up here looks completely different than down below. The gorge is protected from the worst of the weather, but up here, the snow is thick. Sunlight glints off of it, and rolling white hills lead to distant trees and even more distant purple mountains. The skies are bright blue, and a few puffy white clouds dot the otherwise clear sky. It’s…so pretty. So open. I love it.
In this moment, I want to take up hunting, just so I can come out and enjoy this every day.
The snow here is thick, though, and at the pulley station, it’s heavily churned from many feet. It’s impossible to tell which ones are recent, so I look for small footprints instead of big ones. Sure enough, one set is of feet smaller than my own, leading off into the hills. I follow it, fatigued and dizzy.
It takes a few minutes for it to sink in that I shouldn’t be following the trail. That I should be heading back to the village to let them know that I’ve seen footprints. But…I’m this far in. What if he’s just over the next rise? I could retrieve him and bring him home and ease everyone’s worries. Turning around now seems foolish…and exhausting, too. I’m so tired.
So I walk on. I’m in over my head, I think. It seemed like such a simple thing—go to pulley, find footprints, return—but I seem to be messing everything up. It’s because I can’t think straight. There are stars at the edges of my vision, and my focus tunnels until I can see nothing but the footsteps in the snow in front of me.
Through my grogginess, I notice that there’s a second set of footprints that have appeared next to the small ones. Huh.
“Ell-ee?”
I look up, the action of lifting my head making the world tilt crazily. I really, really should have eaten something. I really should have stayed in the village. My gaze focuses slowly, and two blurry figures straighten into one lumpy one.
It’s Bek, and Erevair’s in his arms.
“Safe,” I croak out. The black tunnel creeping into my vision grows thicker, and I feel myself topple forward. The last conscious thought I have is that it looks like I haven’t forgotten to talk after all.
BEK
Out of all the things I expect to see on the trails on a quiet morning, little Erevair is not one of them. I am hunched down by one of my traps, resetting it carefully, when I hear a small, piping voice behind me. “Bek!”
I whip around in surprise, startled to see Claire’s son racing toward me as fast as he can in the thick snow. He has the little spear I made him in hand, his fur cape flapping behind him, a big grin on his face.
And I am immediately sick with fear at the sight of him. Had I not seen metlak tracks in this area just a few moons ago? And is he not the right size for a snow-cat to feast upon? A sky-claw? There are any number of predators that could pick off a small kit, not to mention the dangers of deep snow, ice-covered crevasses, and a number of other elements that a smart hunter knows to look for. “Erevair. What are you doing?” I rush to him and snatch him into my arms, holding him close. My heart thuds heavy in my chest. Luck watches over him this day.
“I came to see you,” Erevair tells me happily, throwing his arms around my neck. “Now we can hunt.”
“Where is your mama? Your papa?” I return his hug and then look him in the eye, though I want to shake sense into him. “Are they with you?”
“I came alone,” he tells me proudly, confirming my fears. “Mama said I could.”
“I doubt that very much,” I tell him with a pat on the back. My heart is still pounding, and I can only imagine how worried Claire is. “Does she know you are here?” His silence tells me everything. “I see. Let us go back to the village. You cannot hunt with me this day.”
“But why not?” he whines, disappointed. “I want to hunt with you.”
“Another time,” I tell him, and cannot resist giving him another hug. He is safe; Claire will be so thankful. “For now, we must take you back to your mama. She will be worried that you are gone.”
He protests and pouts, but when I promise we will check a few traps as we return, he ceases to complain. I hurry my steps through the valley, trying not to clutch him too close to my chest out of fear and relief. I will have to talk to Ereven about how we can keep Erevair occupied. Perhaps he needs a task given to himself that only a small kit can do. I remember when I was young, my task was to set out my father’s weapons every day and check them with him. I know Ereven does something similar with Erevair, but maybe the kit needs more to occupy him. We pass by one of my traps, and there is a fresh quill-beast caught in the snare, and Erevair is beside himself with excitement at bringing home fresh meat for his mama. I reset the trap quickly, scoop the kit up into my arms again, and continue hurrying back to the canyon.
As I do, I see a fur-covered figure up ahead. At first I think it is one of the hunters, but as I approach, I realize the form is too small, the movements too unsteady. Clair
e alone, then? What foolishness is this? I bite back my scowl and hug Erevair a little closer as I jog through the snow, rushing to get to her.
It is only when my khui begins to sing that I realize who it is staggering ahead of me. “Ell-ee?”
She looks up, and her face is as pale as the snow, her eyes bright blue and enormous in her face. “Safe,” she says, and then slumps to the ground.
I let out a hoarse shout of fear and rush to her side, setting Erevair down carefully in the snow and then cradling my mate to my chest. I brush her filthy hair back from her face, scarcely daring to breathe as I trail my fingers over her cheek. She breathes. I exhale with relief, the crushing fear in my chest easing a bit.
“Is Elly all right?” Erevair asks in a small voice. “She looks sick.”
She does look sick, and my heart hurts at how light she is. “I do not know.”
“Mama says she doesn’t eat enough.”
I have noticed this also. “I will make her eat,” I vow to him.
He holds out his freshly trapped quill-beast. “Do you want her to eat this? I can share.”
I feel a surge of love for this small kit. “You are a generous hunter,” I tell him gravely. “But let us wake Ell-ee first.” He hunches down in the snow next to me, and we watch my mate’s face, waiting. She seems to be sleeping peacefully, her breathing regular. Is she faint because she did not eat enough? Surely my khui would know she cannot mate if she is sick, and it hums in my chest as urgent as ever. I cradle her close to my chest, worried.
She moans and stirs, and I resist the urge to squeeze her tight against me. I never want to let her go. Her eyes flutter open after a moment, and she gazes up at me, our khuis humming in perfect time. And I tell her the first thing I think of. “Safe,” I whisper. “You’re safe with me.”