Unnaturals

by Merrill, Lynna

  She missed, but the creature's fangs missed, too—barely. Instead, the rattlers caught Mel's leg, and she knew she must be bleeding, though she didn't feel it.

  She swung again and this time caught its tail. The creature hissed, rattled, then slithered quickly away.

  Mom moaned out there in the grass. Mel knelt by her, her heart still thumping in her ears. Mom wouldn't talk, and her forehead was burning.

  It hadn't bitten Mom. It had been smart enough to avoid the helpless human and aim for the dangerous one. It had been too smart. Mel had recalled feeds about snakes after she'd seen that snake with Stella. The rattling ones weren't that smart. They weren't that big. They didn't like to attack, either.

  Mom moaned again. "Oh, Julian," she said. "I'll meet you soon, my love."

  "You won't meet him yet! Wake up!"

  She did, for a moment.

  "Mel, I am hungry," she whispered, then closed her eyes again.

  The witch's cottage was hours away. Mom wouldn't make it. And even if she did, the witch had said she wouldn't help any more. As for the City of Life, the gods only knew how far it was.

  "Fine," Mel whispered back. "I'll get you food. Nature's way."

  The rope Stella had given her was long. Mel hugged Mom under the shoulders and carried her to the middle of the path and let her lie there, then went to work cutting the rope.

  Stella had made a trap for rabbits, but that was not the only type of trap the old feeds described.

  When she was done, Meliora gripped her axe tightly and moved back, just behind the trees. Out in the path, Mom looked utterly alone—and helpless.

  Seconds, minutes later—a whole damn eternity later—Mel heard rattling. Weak, sad rattling, as if from a tail partly cut.

  "I knew you were close," Mel whispered under her breath.

  This time it couldn't torpedo itself forward. It was still fast, though, fast enough to slide over the system of ropes around the helpless human and find itself swinging from the branch of a tree, a tight knot cutting through the middle of its body.

  It was rattling and hissing in the air. Its yellow eyes left Mom and fixed Mel the moment Mel ran from the trees with her axe.

  Mel raised the axe, then hesitated. The monster was still swinging, and its hisses weren't as frightening now. It could do nothing—and unlike the cute, silly bunnies, it looked at Mel as if it knew what was coming.

  "I am sorry." The axe swung, and the cut was not at all the clean, precise ribbon on the neck of an already unconscious creature.

  Mel built a fire on the path, the way the witch had shown her. She skinned and dressed the monster and cut its meat into pieces. She kept the head—in a separate bag, under heavy stones. The old feeds said that a monster's head could still bite.

  When she fed Mom the snakelike, bite by bite, Mom opened her eyes.

  "Delicious." Mom smiled. "Where is the monster, Mel? We shouldn't be lingering in a place with monsters, should we?"

  "No," Mel said, "we shouldn't."

  Mom drifted away but breathed better. Let her sleep for a moment.

  Mel climbed a tree to get her ropes back, then they walked. Mel stumbled with a bag of meat and a monster's head on her back, supporting her mom with one arm, an axe raised in her other hand. She didn't walk on the path. She walked straight to where the monster had last come from, following the bloody trail its cut tail had left.

  Up, from a tree, she'd seen a stone cave at the other end of the trees, and the river behind that cave.

  Mel and Mom crawled through the cave. It had the trail of blood, smelled of rot, and was full of small bones.

  On the other side of the monster's den there was another cave entrance and, just like she'd seen from the tree, a boat.

  The witch had told her that the river was safer.

  At first, Mom wouldn't let Meliora on the boat.

  "You should not be coming!"

  Later, she lay on the bottom and hummed and talked nonsense as Meliora rowed as well as she could through darkness and a night full of croakers.

  "Oh, Julian."

  Mom whispered Dad's name many times as Mel rowed. She kept whispering it as they reached a low bank where another boat was tied; she repeated the name like a chant as Mel fed her fruit from a bush and led her uphill along a winding path.

  Julian. Mel hated the name already. It was her father's name—but she barely remembered her father. He was gone. He was never coming back to them.

  Mel looked down once they had mounted the hill. There was a city in the valley on the other side of the hill. Or, perhaps city wasn't the word, since it looked nothing like Lucasta but was rather a haphazard conglomeration of cottages like Stella's. Whatever it was, Mel carried her mom to it.

  The first people to meet them were children dressed in rough, homespun clothes. They shouted excitedly, asking Mel and Mom who they were and where they had come from. Then one of the children sped away.

  Soon adults came to meet them as well, dressed in the same rough clothes. A tall, broad-shouldered man was leading them.

  "Oh, Julian," Mom whispered again, her voice no more than a croak.

  But this time she was right.

  The leader was Dad.

  Village

  Mel woke up when the chipped moon was still shining through a kitchen window like Stella's. She lay in a similar bed with scratchy sheets, covered with blankets made of sheep.

  Mel got up and walked to the door to the only other room. The door was closed, and she didn't like this. She didn't remember a time when a door had stood between her and Mom in their own home. She put her hand on the handle and opened the door slightly—and then she did remember such times.

  Long, long ago, she'd woken up in the middle of softlights to find the door between her room and Mom and Dad's closed. It had something to do with Mom and Dad being mates, but this time it was different. Usually there were sounds when that happened, but this time silence had crept into the house. The little girl toddled to the door and opened it slightly.

  Even the computers were silent. They lay on the little bedside table with their screens dark, their keyboards still and soundless. Mom and Dad weren't watching the screens. They were sitting at the edge of the bed, watching each other's eyes. They watched them for so long that it hurt the little girl's eyes just to look at them.

  "You won't come, then," Dad said at last, so softly that Mel hardly heard him.

  "You're not going anywhere, you know that as well as I do," Mom replied. Her voice sounded as if she'd been crying. "There is nowhere to go, Julian."

  Dad shook his head. "There is, and I will find it. I must know. People must know. People can't really be such sheep, Erika."

  "You keep talking about sheep, but I have never even seen sheep! Never even read about them in the feeds!"

  "Because you won't read the feeds I tell you to read!"

  "Be quiet." Mom's voice was low. "You will wake the child."

  "She is my child. She should hear and she should know—"

  "She is a child—and she is natural. She is staying with me."

  "You're right, of course. The unknown is no place for a little girl. I will come back for you, for both of you."

  "You will come back for us—to us—in a week, as you always do. Make sure you don't irritate Doctor Elias too much this time, I don't like it when you can't write for hours."

  Mom pulled her hand from his and took her computer. Her eyes were moving again as she started typing. But they weren't moving normally. They were moving, the little girl thought, like eyes that tried to be fast but right now wanted to be slow. Dad gripped her hand—strongly, like children sometimes gripped other children and had adults chastise them for it. He pulled Mom to himself and kissed her in a way that made Mel cover her eyes.

  This was the last time she saw Dad—until last night.

  She hadn't even been certain it was him. The chief of the City of Life wore a face older than the face of the father she remembered—and it was mar
red by the brown spots dancing before Mel's eyes, anyway. The spots had been there for hours, and so had the weakness in Mel's hands. He'd squeezed her hand, but she'd been unable to squeeze his back. She'd only given him a smile—or tried to—and all the time she'd been afraid, so afraid, that it wasn't truly him, and that Mom's sickness had finally gotten to her.

  It was him. The face she now saw through the door was older, but it was his face. Years ago he'd had blue hair streaked with red, while now he had brown hair streaked with gray, but it was his hair. Mom was sleeping, murmuring something in her sleep, while he sat at the edge of her bed, holding her hand. His head was bent and his eyes were closed. Just like years ago, Mel suddenly felt out of place.

  "And just what do you think you're doing?"

  The words came in a harsh whisper in her ear, and a wrinkled, bony arm reached past her. The door was softly closed, and Mel found herself face-to-face with an old woman like Stella. Mel could tell this woman hadn't grown old under a city's artificial air and lights. Her rough, brown face and hands bore witness to years spent out here in nature's world.

  "You leave them alone, girl. Don't they teach you anything in those gods-forgotten cities?"

  The tone of voice would have been jarring—to someone who had not killed medstats and monsters. Someone like this could have shouted back, or cried.

  Meliora said nothing. She walked to the fireplace and took the metal rod leaning on the wall. Then she turned and looked at the old woman. The old woman stepped back. Something in her eyes reminded Mel of Stella's eyes when Mel had faced her with an axe.

  This old woman reached towards something leaning on the other wall.

  Mel paid no attention to it. She turned again and started poking the embers like Stella had taught her. A moment later, sparks came alive from the ashes. Another moment later, Mel added new wood from a pile by the wall to the now glowing pile before her. The flames rose higher, wood crackling. Mel realized there had been tears on her face only when the flames dried them.

  "So you know about work, at least." Another harsh whisper in her ear, perhaps a bit milder that before, this time accompanied by a gnarled hand on her shoulder. "Come on—now that they have warmth, you'll cook their breakfast on my fire. Dress up! Quickly!"

  Tap, tap, tap. The woman's thick stick barely made a sound as she hobbled towards the outer door. She was leaning on the stick. Earlier, she must have held it high, ready to meet Mel's fire poker.

  "I never intended to hurt you," Mel said when they were both out of the cottage. Those were her first words, and her voice sounded rough and strange in the chilly morning air.

  "And you'd better never intend such a thing," was the woman's only grunted response. "This is not a place for hurting."

  ***

  "A grown daughter must cook for her parents," the woman—old Codes—told Mel as she ushered her into another cottage's kitchen and pushed a heavy-bottomed pan like Stella's into her hands.

  The snake head that Mel had brought was hanging from the ceiling at the far side of the room.

  The old woman noticed Mel's look.

  "Right," she grunted. "It's good to have it. I've taken the venom out of those fangs—and that kind of rattler venom can sometimes save a new mother's life, and her baby's if mixed with ground Fairy Eyes."

  "A new mother's? How about an old mother's?"

  Old Codes shook her head. "No. That why you came?" She gave Mel a meaningful look. "Anyway, chasing monsters is not for women and girls."

  Just then the door opened, and another girl Mel's age entered, carrying firewood. Her cheeks were as pink as if she'd had special pinkness treatment—but the only treatment this girl had had today was crisp morning air.

  "Women and girls," the old woman said, loudly, with a stern look at the girl, "have more important duties than chasing monsters. Killing animals is a hunter's task, and even the hunters don't go into the Gloomy Wood and they don't chase monsters if they can avoid it. Regular big game, and the monsters that come near the village, are hard enough."

  The new girl had carefully placed her wood on the pile by the wall and had taken another pan and some strange elongated ball. Then, suddenly, the ball slipped from the girl's fingers. Mel had dropped a potato in Stella's home, which had made a soft thud onto the floor, earning an exasperated sigh from Stella, who'd then told Mel to go wash it in the creek. The ball here cracked, and whatever was inside it splattered yellow on old Codes' floor.

  Old Codes slapped the girl. "How many times do I have to tell you, city girl!?" she shouted. "One takes care! One doesn't waste food!"

  She'd have slapped the girl again if Mel hadn't jumped and caught her hand.

  "You said this wasn't a place for hurting," Mel said softly.

  The old woman raised a hand again as if to slap Mel. Then she let it drop.

  "No, this is not a hurting place," she said slowly and with much controlled effort. "This is your first day, which is the only reason I... We don't hurt, girl. We educate."

  Hands still trembling, old Codes showed Mel how to crack and cook eggs.

  Mel and the other girl cooked them in silence, while old Codes fried bread slices in another pan and poured cold milk into glasses, then the three arranged everything on a tray for Mel's Mom and Dad.

  "Thank you for your help," Meliora told the girl. "Do you make breakfast for your parents, too? May I help you?"

  The old woman's eyes narrowed and the girl cringed as if slapped again, though no one had touched her. A long moment of uncomfortable silence followed.

  "You did nothing wrong," the girl said five minutes later. A tight-lipped old Codes had ushered them both outside with the tray, telling the girl to help Meliora this morning. "It's all my fault—or, my parents'. They were both women, you see."

  "So? What about it? My name is Meliora, by the way. My interweb address... " She grew silent. It didn't matter. The interweb was too far for it to matter.

  "My name is Elizabeth—Lizzy. And the answer is decay."

  "Lizzy, there's nothing wrong with having two women as parents. I'm a Doctor, I know how everything works—do you want me to explain?"

  "You can't think like this, Meliora!" Lizzy grabbed Mel's hand. "You are better than I am! You knew you should work, even though you're new. Old Codes was impressed with you! She told you something about healing, and she doesn't even tell Belinda much, though Belle is her apprentice! You know, many years ago old Codes had an apprentice who ran away, and now she doesn't tell... But I talk so much. You don't. You should understand everything much better than I do. We all carry decay. We are designed to carry decay by those evil devils of cities and corporations, no matter who our parents were—but such as me are even more decayed. You can't say there is nothing wrong, Meliora, you just can't!"

  Can't? She had just said it. Months or years ago, she'd have explained Lizzy's erroneous statement with people's tendency to forget what had happened a second ago. But not here. Not now. Lizzy did remember.

  "So, in this city, people forbid you to say certain things," Mel said.

  "Oh, Mel, please, don't let old Codes or the chief hear you say this. It is not up to people to forbid or allow. Those who are wise only interpret the holy scripture and advise us. No, Mel—forbidding can be, and is, only done by the gods. Besides, this is not a city. This is the village, the only good and right place for people in the world."

  ***

  Meliora had read an old article about gods. It said that the gods had temples, places that people built for them. People went there to talk to the gods, though the gods didn't truly live there. She'd not been surprised. It was on old article, after all, perhaps it was old enough that there hadn't been any personal or portable computers yet. There must be common computer terminals in the temples, young Meliora had reckoned, a means for everyone to exchange messages with the gods.

  There were only two computers in the temple of the Village of Life, and they were both portable, almost as small as Mel's own. Both were scrat
ched and dusty and would have been thrown out long ago in Lucasta. The screen of one of them was cracked, and both screens were dark and lifeless.

  Lizzy grabbed Mel's hand when Mel reached to take one of them.

  "No, Mel! Please, take your tray to the blessing's table." She'd brought Mel for the gods' blessing of the food, she'd said. Mel's mom was supposed to say a prayer over the family's food, but she wouldn't yet know how, so Lizzy thought Mel should ask the gods to forgive Mom and bless the food themselves.

  There was a small table by one of the temple's walls, across from the wall beside which the gods-communication terminals were located.

  "That is the food for the gods themselves," Lizzy said. "You put yours on the empty table... No Mel!"

  Meliora had started towards the computers again. There would be a way to start them, of course, a Doctor of Computers could...

  "No, Mel! That side of the temple is the devils' side! Those things are devils! We don't go there! We just remember."

  Devils? Mel had read about them, too. They were the enemies of the gods and lived under the ground with bubbling cauldrons and such, while the gods lived in the sky.

  Lizzy had Mel turn her back to the computers. Mel felt foolish. How could you talk without a computer? She repeated the words of Lizzy's prayer, but the gods must have heard none of it. At least, they didn't answer.

  As for the devils, according to the old article they had eyes of fire that could burn through you. Old Codes must be a devil, Mel thought when she and Lizzy finally opened the door to the chief's kitchen and found her waiting for them.

  Old Codes tried to hit Lizzy with the broom in her hands. Meliora caught one of her elbows, saving Lizzy but earning a smack for herself.

  Old Codes ordered Lizzy to go out in the fields and work until sundown, without breakfast and without stopping for lunch.

  "The chief has already gone, Elizabeth!" old Codes snapped. "He couldn't wait for you, you should have come straight here as I told you! When will you learn? Now, if the chief will go without breakfast because of your negligence, and him being a man and all, this is the least you can do to understand your fault and make amends!"