by K. C. Lannon
James nodded; some color was coming back into his cheeks as he talked. “They used to just be up there, but they and other Winter Court creatures have been coming farther and farther down south. I think the Court sends them. I heard my father talking about it once.” He shivered. “Should we… What are we going to do?”
“Well”—she pointed a shaking finger—“the campsite is opposite where the… whatever it was, was headed. I think we’ll stick with our plan and go there.”
“Really? What if it comes back?”
“The campsite was elevated, right? Up on a hill? We’d see it coming, and since we’re sleeping on the ground, we’d hear it coming. And besides,” she continued with more confidence than she felt, “it didn’t seem all that interested in us. I don’t think we need to worry about it!”
James seemed skeptical but assured by her confidence. He continued to ramble about Winter Court-related creatures as they started to walk, though he kept his voice low.
In a matter of minutes they reached the campsite. It was a raised area near thick, short rows of trees to the west and a cliff to the east. The ground was not rocky, but there was no high, tall grass or other insect-attracting greenery.
Below the cliff was a wide, recently abandoned field with only a rusty tractor remaining standing like the last sentinel of the land. In one corner, James spotted an old well; Deirdre sent him to investigate while she began to prepare their bedding. She collected pine needles from the nearby line of trees and cut up moss to use as padding and extra insulation, if needed. She also began to stock up a pile for kindling for a fire.
James came back just as she was clearing and scooping out a shallow fire pit. “Was there any water down it?” she asked, looking up at him.
He held up a full bucket as an answer. She stood up and took it; it looked clear, so she tasted it quickly. It was delicious and cold, almost identical to the well water near the orphanage in mineral and taste.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
“No, it’s great! And it tastes just like the water from the orphanage. We’ll use it tonight and tomorrow. We really are close, aren’t we?”
He nodded, then looked past her, his eyes lighting up like it was Christmas morning. “Are you building a fire? Can I do it? I’ve read all about it!”
She hesitated. “I guess so, but do you have matches?”
He shook his head and immediately began to explain (once again) everything he knew about starting a fire using a hand drill. She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes.
“Just use this.” She went to her pack and pulled out the flint and handed him her steel fire starter. “I’ll get the bedding ready while you do that, okay?”
She barely took her eyes off James as he proceeded to follow the guidelines in his book to prepare a fire in the slowest and most complicated way possible. Once she spoke up with a suggestion, only for him to snap that he knew what he was doing. So she kept her mouth shut, watching to make sure he didn’t somehow set the campsite ablaze.
About ten minutes in, Deirdre could tell he was panicking. His choice of tinder was poor and, after losing the third spark, turned his anger toward the book, throwing it onto the ground.
Giggling at his outburst, Deirdre picked up the book and felt the paper. It was rough, not very good quality, similar to a newspaper. She tore out a page, the sound catching James’s attention. Although he had previously slammed the book on the ground, the act of desecrating it in that way clearly horrified him, stunning him into silence as she helped him grow the next spark into a flame, shuffling out his poor tinder and adding the rough pages.
Within minutes they had a fire started, with kindling added, growing up into a strong flame. They sat back, watching it for a moment. She handed James a dry twig from her pile, and he carefully tossed it in.
“Well.” She held up the book, which was much thinner than earlier. “And here I thought this book was rubbish, but I was wrong. It really is useful!”
James unexpectedly snort-laughed, which made her burst into giggles. She kept laughing, loudly, all her nerves that had been bundled up immediately loosening. James was laughing too, though she kept chuckling uncontrollably long after he stopped.
James was sitting cross-legged on the ground, flipping through one of his books while Deirdre scoured the area for edible mushrooms (finding none), when he asked with an edge to his voice, “Say, Deirdre, you didn’t happen to use any other books for kindling, did you?”
“No. Just the one,” Deirdre said, giggling again. She tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the title of the book he was holding. It looked quite old.
James did not seem to hear her. He began leafing through the pages more and more frantically. “It… it wasn’t like this before. There are pages missing. Torn out. How did—” He halted, his mouth forming a hard line. He looked up from the book calmly. “He must have ripped the pages out.”
“Who?” Deirdre asked. “Your brother?”
James shook his head. “My father. He found it in my room.” He glanced at the ground, lowering his voice. “He doesn’t think anyone should be allowed to read books on faeries or magic or anything interesting, really.”
Deirdre frowned. She had not heard James mention his father before. “Why is that? The nuns allowed us to read all kinds of books that referenced faeries and elves and magic. They thought it was mostly harmless.”
James did not answer for a while, his expression pinched in concentration. “There must have been something he didn’t want me to read,” James said faintly, more to himself than to her. “But what?”
“Oh. Like something improper?” Deirdre asked, wide-eyed.
“No. The nymph page is still here. I checked.” When Deirdre opened her mouth to ask what he meant, James said hurriedly, “Forget it.”
Suddenly perking his head up, James flipped to the first few pages. He growled in frustration. “Of course he took the table of contents as well, so I can’t know what I don’t know!”
“What?” Deirdre blinked.
“It probably wouldn’t have helped me anyway.” James tossed the book aside. When she tried to press James further about his father, he began only replying in shrugs or vague grunts. She eventually gave up.
After a while, they began to work on their sleeping arrangements, one on each side of the fire. Deirdre took the slightly sloped spot that would be unsettling for first-time campers.
“This doesn’t look so bad.” James spoke up, looking down proudly at his arranged bedding of pine needles, moss, and a thin towel he had brought with him.
“It won’t be nearly as comfortable as a bed,” Deirdre warned.
“Well, yes, of course.” His tone implied that that was obvious.
She didn’t reply that, no matter how well-informed the girls she took out camping were or how many times she warned them they would be uncomfortable at some point in the night, they always sat up from their blankets or sleeping bags at least once and whined at her, “This isn’t anything like my bed!”
She wiped a bit of dirt from the moss she was going to cover and use as a pillow, feeling the soft texture on her fingers. Remembering how hot her hands got when the tires were ruined, the teacup broke, and the twig snapped, she let the moss go.
Maybe it’s all some big mistake, she thought, biting down hard on her bottom lip. And if it wasn’t… Mother Superior should have answers tomorrow. And if she doesn’t know…
“Is something wrong?”
Realizing she was glaring down at her moss pillow, Deirdre met James’s eye and smiled. “Just thinking that… if I can’t find out what I need to tomorrow, it’d be interesting to find my parents, get some answers about everything that’s ever been weird about me.” She laughed, wiping the dirt off her hands. “That’ll take a while to sort out!”
“You’re not weird,” James said kindly, though he hesitated a second before saying so. “I think I can relate a little. But, uh, maybe everyone feels that way sometimes
.”
“Oh, no, I am weird. I never really fit in with the other girls, especially once they started growing up and becoming teenagers. I don’t know why. But again, maybe it’s something that runs in my family or something.”
After looking at the fire for a moment, his expression serious, James looked up at her again, saying, “I understand. See”—he gulped—“I’m not out here to just explore. I mean, that’s part of it, but I also want to find my mother.”
“Your mother?”
“Yeah. She left years ago, maybe to go be with her family, but… we never heard from her again.”
“Oh…” Even though the news about his mother was awful, Deirdre felt extremely relieved. He wasn’t just out here wandering and searching, trying to find learning experiences. He actually had a solid goal in mind.
“I figured out where Mum’s family settled based on where she said she was going when she left. If I can find her family, maybe I can find where she went from there.”
“So you DO have family outside the city!” She pointed at him. “You said you didn’t earlier!”
“Well, we haven’t really met them.” James looked at the fire. “Iain always said we’d go and find her, but…” He shook his head, his voice a bit bitter as he continued, “I guess he changed his mind. But I didn’t. I still want to find her, find out what happened. And also… just see her again.”
“I see.” The unknown monster from earlier flitting back into her mind, she continued, “I’ll come with you, James! Even if I don’t need to find my family… even if I find what I need at the orphanage tomorrow, I’ll help you find your mum!”
James looked at her and smiled. “And I’ll help you find yours if you decide you want to. I swear it.”
Deirdre smiled back at him. She settled down on her makeshift bed, relaxed, her hands behind her head. “Why haven’t you ever met your family?”
“Well,” James said, “they’ve never wanted to know us. It’s complicated.”
“Why is that?”
“My mum said it was because she married a gazho my father. Bit of a poor trade-off, if you ask me.”
Deirdre thought about scolding him, unused to hearing anyone disrespect his or her parents before, but decided to let him keep speaking instead. After all, she reflected with a sad sinking of her heart, she really didn’t know that much about what it was really like to be in a family.
James sat up a little, his brow creasing. “I guess I am running away from home. I just didn’t realize it until now. Huh.” This realization seemed to trouble him. He looked to Deirdre as if for confirmation or answers, trying to figure out what he was feeling. “I think I should feel bad, but I don’t. I’m just glad I did it.”
“Was it really all that bad? Your father and brother?” she couldn’t help but ask, sitting back up. “Was your home really that bad?”
James shrugged, then reclined on his elbows and glanced up at the sky. “No,” he said quickly. Then he admitted, “Yeah. Sometimes. But it isn’t about that. I don’t want to be stuck like they are. I don’t want to accept things how they are or ignore everything. I’m not… like my brother and father at all. I used to want to be like my brother. I thought he was so cool, and I thought he was going to get out or something. But he just takes crap from everyone. Nothing changes.” James’s smile was faint and wry. “I think I’m meant for more, is all.”
“Like your life’s calling? You think you’re meant to live and work outside the city?”
He nodded slowly. “Something like that, I guess. More like… um, destiny or fate or something like that.”
“Hmmm.” Deirdre settled back down. “I’ve never thought much about all that sort of thing. Is it like, why did the monster today not attack us? Why are we still alive, for what purpose? That sort of thing?”
Looking a bit sick at the reminder of the unknown creature, James just shrugged.
“Well, monsters or not, we’ll just keep on moving. And we’ll find your mother!”
“Yeah,” James agreed with a smile. “And whatever else is out there waiting for us to find it.”
* * *
The air had grown cooler as evening loomed closer. The sky was beginning to yellow and bleed slowly into orange when Philip decided they would camp for the night and pick up the trail at dawn. Iain had wanted to protest and keep pushing through until they found James, but he did not want to risk being accused of misconduct or defying orders. As open and practically chummy as Philip had been earlier, Iain suspected that the hierarchy was back in place, and formality was to be respected. And he had to admit he was glad of that.
Iain deftly set up camp that fit the guidelines for a situation such as this: simplistic sleeping arrangements on the ground, adequate coverage and camouflage, and no fire. Fire was known to attract certain kinds of Fae. If they needed a light, they would simply use a small headlamp with a red lens.
Philip sat with his back against one of the only trees in the clearing, watching Iain and occasionally making helpful comments as Iain finished setting up camp. When Iain stopped to take a drink from his canteen, Philip said, “You never let on.”
Iain wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Never let on what, Commander?”
“That anything got to you.” He glanced down at the radio in his lap, fiddling for a moment with the antenna absently. Then he set the radio aside and stood to his feet. “It always seemed, no matter what Boyd said or did to you, you couldn’t have cared less. You never let on otherwise.”
Philip’s face told Iain everything he needed to know. He was feeling guilty, for whatever reason. It was baffling to Iain as to why, now, this seemed to matter so much to him. They were both adults now.
Iain wanted to explain that it wouldn’t have made a difference if he had let on, that it would only have made him an easier target. Perhaps if he had shown weakness or if he’d complained, Philip might’ve stepped in, but it would’ve given Boyd satisfaction. He’d rather have the Prance brothers think of him as something inhuman, incapable of feeling hurt, than give them any satisfaction from him. Eventually he began to believe the same of himself. Eventually he really didn’t care. And it was better that way, easier.
“Nothing gets to me.” Iain met Philip’s gaze evenly.
Philip nodded once like he understood, and his posture relaxed with visible ease. Assuaging his guilt felt like the right thing to do. For some reason Iain didn’t want Philip to feel guilty.
It will also get him off my back.
Iain began opening their military approved, ready-to-eat meals with great disdain. Apparently he had been grumbling quite a bit under his breath, because Philip scoffed at him. “Never met anyone as picky about food as you, Callaghan. You fussy, fussy man.”
“This isn’t food. Food has flavor.”
“I like my food bland and boiled like every other Irishman.” Philip laughed. “I can always tell when you’ve been cooking, aye? My eyes burn when I walk in your house from all the flavor.”
Iain held back a grin with difficulty. He prepared the meals in silence (waiting awkwardly while the heating pack warmed their food) and handed Philip his meal first, wanting to delay the inevitable.
“What d’you think? Pork?” Philip asked quizzically, chewing on one piece of meat for a solid minute.
“Your guess is as good as mine. But check out the sauce.” He made a show of holding the bag upside down and acting like he was performing a feat of magic when the sluggish liquid didn’t slide out of the bag, but remained plastered to it like concrete.
“Think they’re trying to kill us?” Philip asked.
“Could be.”
Minutes passed without another word as they finished their meals and cleaned up. Iain became aware of the rising and falling chorus from insects all around them and the stars that began to appear faintly in the darkening sky. It had been rainy every night he’d been camping out for basic training, so he’d never seen the stars as numerous and clear as they were now. It
was quite beautiful.
“I can take first watch, if you like,” Philip said.
Iain suppressed a shudder as the image of the sheep flashed into his mind again, and he remembered why they needed to keep watch in the first place. “What do you think ripped apart that sheep like that?” he asked.
Philip shook his head. “It could’ve been a number of things. Lots of animals or Fae creatures like to tear things up. There’s been a rise in monster sightings and incidents in the country near Neo-London in recent years. Bloody devils.”
“Like the wolf outside of the walls.” Iain leaned back on his elbows, letting out a breathy laugh. “Boyd took that monster out all by himself, did he?”
“Tall tales.” Philip chuckled, in on the joke. “It took at least three units to bring it down.” Philip added, “Could’ve been you out there too, you know. I thought you were going to join up with the infantry. Then you wouldn’t be stuck working under me, eh?”
Iain stretched out on his back. The ground was cool and slightly damp against his back and smelled of rich earth. “Well, when you put it that way…”
“Why’d you change your mind anyway?”
He merely shrugged in response (which was surprisingly difficult to do while lying down). It wasn’t any of Philip’s business why he’d made the choices he had, and there wasn’t any great mystery to it either. The answer was simple.
I had more to think about than what I wanted. That’s all.
If being around to look out for his brother meant struggling through a job he disliked, staying in a city that raised him rough, and letting go of childish ambitions, then it was worth it. If James could have a place to stay, then putting up with the Prance brothers and everything else was worth it. If James didn’t have to let go of childish ambitions, if he didn’t have to put up with anything, and if Iain was there to make sure of it, then it would all be worth it.
In the silence, he tried to focus on nothing. He imagined only swirling blackness in his mind, devoid of everything, but the events of the day kept seeping through the cracks of his mind. He saw the burst of smoke. He heard the screams like shattering glass. He saw the military trucks lining the empty streets afterward and felt the silence that followed. The city had changed in an instant, and there was no denying that it would be forever changed.