by Jaida Jones
Bastard deserved it.
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” I asked. “It’s not enough you shit-eating weasels made me into some kind of walking divining stick, you have to have me looking over my shoulder every other second too?” I hadn’t realized just how down-in-the-gut pissed I was until I’d started yelling, and now I couldn’t quite remember how to stop. What made it worse was that Goose Egg didn’t seem to be getting worked up at all. He just looked like his head hurt, and like he wanted to be sleeping at home somewhere and not out on some rocks in the middle of the desert. And like the sound of my voice was a little bit annoying—but no more out of sorts than that.
“Our…mutual associate,” he began.
“You mean that bat-shit storage cellar rat?” I corrected, just to make sure we were on the same page.
He touched his forehead and grimaced. “If you must use such language, then yes, I suppose that’s who I’m referring to. He thought it prudent that I…ensure you don’t get any funny ideas.”
“Yeah?” I snorted. “How’s that plan working out for you?”
“I did try to tell him that, considering your reaction when he mentioned your family, you didn’t seem the type to do anything foolish,” he said.
I clenched my hands so tight they ached, and the compass pressed into my fingers, making me feel my pulse a little too keenly. It was racing pretty fast. “Don’t. You. Say. A word about my family.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” he said, easing down into a sitting position. “I don’t imagine he has much family himself, or else he’d have appreciated it.”
I took a step toward him, then halted. Much as I hated to admit it, my anger was bleeding off into confusion real fast. We weren’t trying to kill each other. He was a damn soldier, and he’d sat down instead of going for the throat. If he wanted to do away with me, then he wouldn’t have been beating around the bush about it. None of it made much sense from my experience, and I didn’t like it.
He lifted his head, arrogant enough to look fucking tired and not in the least bit scared.
“I don’t imagine you’d have heard of me, coming from such an out-of-the-way little mudhole, but I’m known in the ranks as the Ke-Han’s Wild Badger,” he said.
“Can I call you Badger?” I asked, crossing my arms. I wasn’t impressed.
The Wild Badger shrugged as though it didn’t make much of a difference to him one way or another. He looked different out of his uniform—annoyed not to be wearing it, mostly, and not any smaller, unfortunately—even if it was still blazingly clear he was a fighting man through and through.
“I only thought I should introduce myself, since it seems we’ve landed in the same boat, so to speak,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, in a tone of voice that made it perfectly clear what I thought of that. “How d’you figure?”
“You don’t imagine I volunteered for this assignment,” he pointed out. “Following a sow in woman’s clothing while she tramps across the desert is hardly my idea of fulfilling.”
“A sow?” I said.
“It is what it is,” he replied tersely, holding tight to his head.
“A sow and a badger,” I said. “Lovely image we’ve got there.”
“I’ll leave it to you to decide who’s painted in a more flattering light.”
I didn’t much hate him in particular—I should have, because of that pig comment, but I guess I did look like a crazy farm animal at that moment. And I’d been giving him the runaround, and we both had the same person to blame for it.
“What’s his name?” I asked finally. “You know who I mean, so don’t play dumb.”
“A soldier never plays dumb,” the Badger replied. “He either is dumb, or he isn’t.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to stick around long enough to find out which one you are. So what’s he got on you that’s keeping you from answering my question?”
The Badger finally, tentatively, lifted his hand from his head, and I could see in the dim light the color his bruise was turning, as well as the dark, ugly scar twisting half of his face into a pantomime mask. “A soldier still follows orders,” he pointed out. “Personal feelings about those who outrank you don’t necessarily come into play.”
“I guess there isn’t much work in the capital for soldiers these days,” I muttered, flopping down across the fire from him. After a moment of thinking things through, I took off my glove to rub at the angry skin encircling the compass. I was having some kind of weird reaction to the metal, and it felt, at times, like my whole hand was on fire. Mostly at night—so there was more than one reason lately why I hadn’t been able to sleep. “Guess you’re not enjoying your early retirement.”
The Badger crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared at me, sitting with the same precise confidence all trained members of our illustrious army did.
“After he sent you off, his attention turned toward me,” he said, in a clipped tone. “It didn’t take him very long to decide that you needed an escort. I was just lucky enough to be the only bastard left standing in the room when the thought occurred to him.”
I felt a thin tendril of sympathy curling up inside me and quickly snuffed it out. It was strange seeing him out of place, though. When soldiers sat like that, they were usually flanked by their brothers-in-arms, or whatever they were, looking like an army of dolls, all set up perfectly by someone who was real crazy about being precise. No hair out of order, no uniform mussed; that kind of thing.
“So this,” I said, waving my hand, “isn’t enough reassurance that I’m not going anywhere? Fuck, man, I want this off of me. I haven’t been keeping up with the fashions in the capital, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to become the latest craze anytime soon.”
“Precautions,” Badger said. At least he didn’t look very happy about it, but I was really scraping the bottom of the silver lining barrel on that one.
Things got quiet the closer you got to the desert. On our left—I guess you could call it the west, though my compass didn’t offer those kinds of useful directions—the Cobalt Range rose up, imposing and spooky as hell in the night. The moon just crested them, half-full and hidden by smoky clouds. Yeah, we were one hell of a pair all right.
“Guess we’d better work together, then,” I said. It didn’t even stick in my craw the way I’d thought it might. The way he talked, that creepy magician had his family under the same watch as mine. And besides, I’d seen the look on Badger’s face when we’d both been down in that cellar. If he was going to double-cross me, it wouldn’t be for a madman’s favor. “You know how to catch fish?” As far as I knew, it’d be the last time I ate fish in a good, long while.
Unless there was some kind of desert oasis-fish I didn’t have any idea about. I didn’t know much about the desert, so I wasn’t going to rule it out.
A couple of hours later and we were both pretty wet, but the Badger’d managed to both spear us some dinner and cook it. I couldn’t risk putting my hand too close to the fire in case the metal melted or something—a fucked-up thought, but one of the ones I’d been having lately. I didn’t know anything about this thing that was a part of me now, and the last thing I needed was to ruin my one clue.
“This is good,” I said. “Hope it’s not poisonous.”
“Only time will tell,” Badger said, chewing contentedly.
There wasn’t much a good, solid meal couldn’t solve—which was part of the reason poor people like me were so angry all the time. I was even feeling in a more charitable mood now myself, since I wasn’t deep-down hungry for the first time in days. You try catching fish with a stick when you can’t move your good hand, I thought darkly, but the crispy skin was delicious, and my dark mood had lifted. We ate in silence. He had two fish and I had three, but that was only fair, because I was the one who had the compass and I was the one who hadn’t volunteered to serve my country in the first place. And also, the three fish I ate were smaller than his two.
“Intriguing assessment,” Badger replied.
“Now, isn’t this better than lurking around in the shadows and sleeping all cramped up?” I asked. “Don’t you feel happier about yourself? A little less embarrassed?”
“Depends,” Badger said, “on how often you compliment my cooking.”
I laughed, near to clapping my hand on my thigh, when I realized what the action would have meant and stopped myself.
“You know, under different circumstances my situation right now would’ve made an old woman very happy,” I said. There wasn’t any good reason for my suddenly being in a sharing mood, but I guessed having a full stomach made more of a difference than I’d thought.
At least Badger had the decency to look surprised.
“Your mother?” he asked.
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “She was way too old to be my mother. I mean, probably. Had a face like a dried-up old persimmon. Same color too, now that I think about it. Met her while we were scavenging in the capital together.”
“Charming,” said Badger.
“Isn’t it just?” I said, enjoying the fact that I was getting in under his skin. “All her kids up and died in that war you’re all trying to forget, so I guess she didn’t have anyone to look after her. Took things into her own hands after the capital got all burned up, just like everyone else who saw an advantage to get while the getting was good. Not bad for an old broad, really. She even had a tiger-skin rug she said came from one of the menagerie tigers, but I wasn’t buying that one.”
“She sounds like a fascinating character,” Badger said, which could’ve been something I agreed with if he hadn’t had that edge in his voice.
I shrugged. I didn’t have to explain anything to him. Least of all the old woman and me. “We were traveling together until you showed up,” I said. “Made her feel good to have someone to boss around.”
“I see,” Badger said. “Forgive me, but I still don’t understand exactly how this scenario in particular would be pleasing.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling a little stupid now that I had to come out and say it. “Well. She was always telling me I should find a nice soldier and settle down. Figure this is about as close as I’m ever going to get, so it would’ve been nice if she’d known. That’s all.”
“Sounds like my mother,” Badger muttered darkly.
“Probably not,” I reassured him, the fish in my belly making me bold. “Her kids never would’ve let me hit them in the head with rocks. You develop reflexes after so many beatings.”
“Doubtless,” Badger said, looking nonplussed.
“She really walloped me good last time,” I said, miming the action and instantly regretting it when the blight in my palm flared up.
“Does it hurt?” Badger asked.
I looked down at the compass, staring glumly at the hands. They hadn’t moved much in the past two days—pointing furiously in the same direction, then suddenly giving me nothing to go on at all. It was like they were trying to drive me crazy. “It does and it doesn’t,” I answered at length. “I mean, it’s fucking weird. And sometimes it throbs, I guess.”
“You probably can’t put it in cold water, can you?” Badger said thoughtfully.
“Don’t particularly want to see what’d happen if I try,” I said.
After looking ugly and thoughtful in the firelight for a moment, Badger held up his hands. “Truce,” he said. “For long enough to let me look at it, at least.”
“Why, are you some kind of magician?” I was skeptical, but I guess I also was a little bit lonely. It wasn’t nice not having anyone to talk to, even the old woman, who spoke to me only to tell me exactly what I was doing wrong. “Sure, let’s make peace. You can look at it all you want, but all you’ll get is nightmares.”
“Probably.” He came toward me with the easy movements of a trained panther and took my hand in his.
“Well, there it is,” I said. “Glorious, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer me—probably because he thought I was being flippant, which I was, but the reason wasn’t that I was some ignorant backwater mudraker. Sure, I’d raked some mud in my time, but I had thoughts and ideas and plans for the future; I was smart and I made investments. Plans had gone a little awry, but they were still in the realm of a little bit fixable.
“Skin’s red here,” Badger said. “Has it always been like that?”
“Yeah,” I told him, and then, “Well, no. Not always. I figured it was just angry at first, what with having a big metal compass jammed in there. But really, it’s anyone’s guess. Just figured the coincidence was a little too…coincidental.”
“Understandable,” Badger conceded, but he still didn’t look entirely satisfied, which I took as my cue to keep talking. Or maybe I was just feeling twitchy ’cause a strange soldier was holding my hand and I still wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t gonna cut it off and run away with it.
“Afterward it even started getting itchy, like it was healing,” I said. “Only it’s been getting worse instead of better. Damn thing drives me nuts when I’m trying to sleep. Not that having you breathing down my neck helped me any with that, either.”
“My apologies,” said Badger, only he said it like he was talking to my hand, turning it this way and that in the firelight. I didn’t know what he thought he was gonna find, or why he’d even suggested this in the first place. Maybe he was just that bored.
I was feeling a lot more charitable with cooked fish in my belly, but I’d still never been what anyone could call patient. The only thing that’d ever shut me up for long had been the old woman and her stick, and she was leagues away now, if not more. I let my friend the Badger carry out his examination in relative silence—since it was obvious that was what he wanted—for as long as I could before I had to start talking again. Things were getting too quiet.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” I piped up. “Dragon fever? Am I a medical miracle?”
“You’re certainly…something,” Badger said. It was one of those things that sounded like a compliment only it really wasn’t, and I had to give him credit for not being a big, dumb lug like I’d thought at first. He was quicker than your average grunt, even if he wasn’t that talkative. “I never claimed to be a doctor, though I might have an idea as to your complaint about the itching.”
“Share the wealth, then,” I said, trying to hide my sudden interest.
“Wait here,” he said, and released my hand. Without another word—like maybe giving me a hint as to where he was fucking going—he stood up and walked off into the rocks, back held straight like a soldier’s.
I was going to have to talk to him about that. If he was meant to be traveling disguised as common folk, then I was going to have to teach him how to walk like he’d been carrying the heavy burden of poverty all his life. Soldiers worked themselves just about as hard as poor people, except they had the muscles and the instinctive self-importance to hold their bodies rigid.
We didn’t.
I leaned myself back against one of the large, flat rocks littering the area. The problem with nearing desert country was that it was too hot to spit during the day and cold enough to freeze your tits off at night. I didn’t like a country that couldn’t make up its mind one way or another. At least the rocks held the heat well enough—they could make a pretty decent bed if you weren’t soft, which I wasn’t. The skin around my compass-hand was looking angry again; too much attention getting it excited, or maybe I was just thinking about it too much. I rubbed at it, gingerly, trying not to feel like I was rapidly approaching my wits’ end.
The heat from the fire had only made it worse, and I wasn’t feeling very good about having shown it to the Badger right off the bat like that. Something about the look on his face when he saw it had pissed me righ
t off. It was the same way most people looked at an old man with a cane or a three-legged dog, and I wasn’t either of those. Never would be. That was something I could be thankful for.
But I damned sure didn’t need any pity from a man too stupid to follow the likes of me without getting nabbed. Sure enough, I could hear his footsteps coming back, like he wasn’t even trying to hide them anymore. I guessed he probably wasn’t, now that the jig was up.
“Take this,” Badger said, kneeling on the dirt beside me. His sleeves were rolled up and the front of his shirt was covered in rock dust like he’d taken a tumble, or maybe had to squeeze through something real narrow. In his hand was some kind of plant: a bunch of green, spiky stalks that looked like they were oozing a little.
“Gee, thanks,” I said. “Just what a girl always dreams of. Should I keep it in water? I don’t have a vase on me, but I’m sure I could find a hollow rock—”
“Aloe,” he said, breaking one of the stalks in half and squeezing out some kind of goo. If that was supposed to encourage me, then he was way off base. “It grows in hot, sandy climates. Soothes bug bites better than anything, so I assumed it would help your problem as well.”
I blinked. “That plant’s gonna cure my compass problem?”
“Give me your hand,” Badger answered, reaching forward to take it.
I let him. I probably could’ve gotten one good smack in with the compass, but I figured I’d done enough damage to his head for now. And besides, we’d called a truce. He turned my palm up and squeezed the goo around where it was red, using the plant to spread it on top of the angriest spots and rub it into my skin. The crawling itch in my hand began to fade. I would’ve cried with the relief of it if I’d been alone, but I wasn’t, so I pursed my lips and scowled instead.
Badger picked up another leaf and squeezed it on, being real thorough about the whole thing. I closed my eyes, luxuriating in the feeling of a hand that was a little cold and sticky but no longer driving me fucking batty.
“Guess soldiers know a thing or two after all,” I murmured, more comfortable than I’d ever dared to imagine I might be.