PATCHER

by Martin Kee

  The girl tilts her head a moment, then whistles something in return.

  “What did it say?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I thought you could talk to them.”

  “I said, only my name.”

  “Oh yeah. A name. What else did they give you?”

  “What else? I don’t know—”

  Chaz’s hands close on the child and Kendal hears a strangled squeak. “What else did they give you? Weapons? Some parasite?” He laughs. “Because I know there’s no sane human on this world who wouldn’t kill one of these in a second.”

  “I told you,” Kendal says.

  “You told me a lie.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Look—just let it go.” He makes a flat-handed gesture towards the ground.

  “Why should I? Maybe I’ll just squeeze it harder until you tell me the truth.”

  Kendal feels himself shaking, but takes a step forward now, hands up. No time to be a hero, he thinks. Chaz could pop that kid’s head like a grapefruit.

  “Chaz, listen to me. The other one got away,” Kendal says, keeping his voice as calm as he can. “Probably it’s sibling. It’s going for help.”

  “Then we should go catch it too.”

  “You won’t,” Kendal says with a laugh. “You know how fast they move. It’s probably halfway to whatever town is nearby. It’s probably bringing others.”

  “You lied to me,” Chaz says. “You know all about these things. You’ve lived with them like—like a gone-native traitor?”

  “They took me in,” Kendal says. “Look, Chaz. They aren’t all bad. They aren’t all like the ones that killed Valerie. They aren’t like that. Most of them are like us, really. They farm and hunt and forage. They took care of me for months and nothing bad happened. Until now.” He takes a breath, points out into the forest. “Now look, eventually they are going to send a whole mess of people to come looking for her. We can either just be a story or we can be murderers. Personally, I’d like as few of them trying to kill us as possible until we make it to the ship.”

  He feels the knife in his sleeve, wondering if he could cut Chaz’s hand, if that would make him drop the kid. Scared, watering eyes look up at him from the gloved grip. A small whine escapes the child’s throat.

  “Tell you what,” Kendal says. “You can have all the patents. I’ll tell you all my secrets. No bullshit. But look, man. You don’t want to kill her. The ones that are actually dangerous will come after you. Do you really want that?”

  Chaz looks at the child, but he’s not really focused on her. “All the patents? You really don’t want any of it?”

  “Put her down. We walk away, alive and unharmed. We just become some sort of urban legend they pass down.”

  For several breaths, Kendal can’t tell if Chaz is going to do it, or just snap the creature’s neck. Then, as if placing a fragile vase on the ground, he lowers the child to the soft grass. “We wouldn’t have time to cook it anyway.”

  The girl’s eyes scan around her as the massive hands release her, as though she expects another of them to emerge and stomp her into the ground. Faster than he expects, she darts towards the brush, then abruptly turns, doubling back and racing to the rock where she snatches the top. Then she’s gone and all he sees are the rattling of branches.

  Chaz turns to him and he isn’t smiling. “Okay, Kendal. If that’s really your name, start talking.”

  Chapter 33

  IT’S HARD not to wonder about the farm. Bex thinks about it nightly, staring up at the sky, who they’ve replaced her with, what’s been done with the land. She knows there’s no point in worrying, no purpose in wallowing in her own spiral of failures. Veerh’s certainly told her as much, tired of the endless questions from her bored mind. Still, she just can’t help herself.

  That afternoon they reach a small, highland forest, perhaps the last of its kind. It stretches across the ridge to separate the deserts. Beyond it, she knows, is an older trail leading to the city. If they haven’t found Scoop by then, he’s probably there. Probably dead.

  To distract her worried mind, Bex asks about the farm.

  “Do you think they repurposed the land?”

  “No idea,” Veerh, says. He continues to trudge along, step by step.

  “But you overheard them.”

  “I overheard parts. I knew they wanted to take the clinic back, but I have no idea what their plans were.”

  “Surely they said something. How long had they been plotting against me?”

  “I have no idea.” He looks at her. “I do have other duties, you realize. Duties that don’t put me within earshot of the Mayor all day—every day.”

  She stares out over the valley as it creeps into view. “All those animals. Do you think they spared any?”

  “Depends on how hungry they were. I guess some. Maybe none. I don’t know.”

  “What are people going to do without a Patcher, though?”

  “Does it matter?” he asks. “Does any of it really matter in the end? Do you honestly think you’re going to want to go back there?”

  “But the animals—”

  “They’re dead by now,” Veerh states. There’s no anger in his voice, no sympathy. Simply stating facts. “You were a subject of the politics there, not a participant. You came in as an outsider. There have been merchant lords trying to gain access to Vin’s livestock long before you took over. Patchers are a dying profession, Bex. Most all people want now is a quick graft or a replaced limb, and food in their bellies.”

  “Vin?” She tries to hide the shock in her voice. “He never mentioned that.”

  The soldier clears his throat before continuing. “I used to catch people trying to steal livestock all the time from Vin’s farm. He’d tell me every time that he had just fixed the fences, that he took proper precautions. Fact was, Vin didn’t really care what people did. He knew he was getting old, knew that the townsfolk all wanted what he had but didn’t outright demand it out of respect. He had clout, Bex, something which, as a newcomer, you did not. I’m not telling you this to lay blame or to somehow make you feel that any of this was your fault. It had been building for a while. You simply showed up just before the dam broke, that’s all.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. “All this time. I had months I could have prepared an argument, stood up to the matriarch.”

  “The Lady of Meat and Bone had been planning to bring this up to the mayor for a while, before you had even arrived.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I hear things,” he says. “Rumors, people talking below the watchtower. Everyone talks. They just didn’t talk to you.”

  The thought makes her stomach knot. All this time, they made me think I was starting to fit in, nodding with their politeness, their small-town manners. They made me think I was welcome there, made me think I would eventually fit in. Bex wishes she’d never found that town. Should have just kept on walking, headed to the Guild Hall. She snorts. But even that wasn’t what I thought it would be.

  “Everyone has a price,” she says. “Don’t they?”

  “No,” he says. “Everything has a price, though. That’s the nature of markets. They provide where there is need. Currently there is an abundance of need—”

  He freezes in place, holding up a hand for her to stop as well and remain silent.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Shhh!”

  She clamps her mouth shut. There’s something in the bushes up ahead, a rustling in the leaves. Bex whispers, “Is it Scoop?”

  “Shhh!”

  Her hand tightens on the reins, Bindo pulling stubbornly. She waits. Another crack, then more rustling before something shoots through the bushes, spooking Bindo and almost knocking her over. She tries to dodge, and only manages to keep her balance by holding onto the reins as Bindo bucks. The child trips, rolls over and stares at her with wide, terrified eyes. For a moment, the young boy seems haunted, not quite seeing her or Veerh.
>
  Veerh steps into the child’s field of vision. “It’s okay, kid. It’s just us.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Just a couple of travelers,” Bex says. She glances at Veerh to see if he’ll be as reserved with information. Who knows where this kid is from or what village he belongs to. Either way, he’s out in the middle of nowhere with them. “Are you okay?”

  Realizing he’s among other people, the child starts to cry, running up to her and taking her clothes in his fists. “Xeril.”

  “Who?” Bex asks.

  “My sister—she—” He starts to blubber again, his eyes wide and scared. “Can you help? They took her.”

  “Who took her?” Veerh asks.

  “I—I don’t… I just ran.”

  “Who?” Veerh asks. He bristles, stepping towards the kid again, but the child backs away from him, clearly new to the sight of a Preserver so heavily grafted. It cringes, sinking further into Bex’s vest.

  She glares at the Preserver. “Veerh. Step away a second. You’re scaring him.”

  “We need to know what’s going on.”

  “And you aren’t going to find out by terrorizing a small child. He’s clearly never seen someone like you, so stop scaring him.”

  With a frown, he steps back towards the tree line, fiddling with the branches and brush like he’s trying to keep busy with something else, but she can see him turning one ear their direction as she looks down at the scared boy.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Noz.”

  “Okay Noz,” she says. “My name is Bex. This is Veerh. We’re just travelers here, but we want to help. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “They grabbed her.”

  “Your sister.” The child nods. “Who grabbed her?”

  “They—I don’t know what they were. They were big.”

  She sees the expression on Veerh’s face. She isn’t sure if it’s vindication or worry. Maybe both. She looks back down at Noz.

  “You said two of them?”

  “Yeah. They were… huge. I never saw anything like them. Giants.” He’s shaking so much she pulls him closer to her chest, stroking the back of his head.

  “It’s okay, Noz. What did they look like? Did they talk?”

  The boy takes a breath and begins to describe Scoop in vivid detail. It isn’t until he says the name that she knows for sure.

  “What about the one that didn’t talk?”

  “I—I don’t know. It just grabbed her. I heard Xeril scream, then—I should go back.” He stares guiltily into the trees.

  “It’s all right, Noz,” she says. “I know one of them.”

  Noz scrunches his face, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. “You said—”

  “It’s not a lie,” she says. “We are travelers. But I do know one of them. Can you take us to them?”

  The kid, clearly terrified, freezes. “Do you think she’s dead?”

  “She might be if we don’t hurry,” Veerh snarls, but Bex glares at him and he turns back to the trees.

  “Show us, Noz. You don’t have to go all the way, just get us close. Can you do that?”

  The kid nods and leads them into the dense forest. The clearing is empty, but Veerh sees signs and tracks, broken branches and footprints that are unmistakably giant feet. Two sets of tracks, something Bex doesn’t know how to account for.

  “There are two,” she says.

  Veerh gives her a bemused look. “You thought I was lying?”

  “No, just—” She turns away from Veerh, inspecting another patch of trampled grass. “There’s no blood, no fire.”

  “Fire?” Noz says, stricken.

  “It’s okay.” She squeezes his hand. “If it’s Scoop, she’s fine. He’s very nice.”

  “What about the other one?”

  She sees Veerh putting the pieces together. He looks at her. “It could have been the other one.”

  “You mean…”

  “It could be feral, might even have poached around the villages in the area. Or it could be they’re a mated pair.”

  “You really think so?” She turns to Noz. “Was the other one bigger?”

  He nods. “And hairier.”

  “A bull?” She asks Veerh who just shrugs.

  “Does it matter?” He asks. “At least we’re closer than before.”

  “What about Xeril?” Noz asks. “What about my sister?”

  Veerh points to where the tracks lead towards the center of the forest. Bex encourages Noz to follow him as the Preserver hacks away at the branches with powerful bone blades. Veerh uses broad sweeping gestures, and the branches split like straw under his weapons. Bex keeps close, keeping the boy at her side, taking his hand.

  Noz must be a farmer’s kid, judging from the equipment he’s been grafted with. So young, thinks Bex. The family must be poor, putting the kids to work so young. She asks and her suspicions are confirmed.

  “My sister and I plow this time of year. It’s the best for when the soil is still moist from the dew. We were taking a break in our secret spot. We didn’t think anyone would find us, but they did.”

  “We’ll find her. Don’t worry.”

  They cut through the trees as flowers explode under Veerh’s heavy forearms. Pedals drift through the air, some catching on her clothes. Bindo tries to eat some before following. So much beauty here, she thinks. And here we are, homeless, looking for a giant and a dead girl.

  Veerh slashes at a wall of trees and they fold, revealing a thin path. Gray pebbles against green and pink. He turns to the boy. “You know this path?”

  “This is the road to our house,” Noz says. He looks up at her and the worry is clear. “Do you think they went to our house?”

  “There are tracks,” Veerh says. He points a spike at the small tracks. They could be a girls, Bex supposes. The tiny footprints form a line straight up to a small wooden farmhouse in the center of a yard. The edges of the property forged in an endless battle with the encroaching forest. Out the back is a long, wide field, with small plants growing, too new for Bex to identify.

  “This is your house?” she asks him.

  Before Noz can answer, the doors burst open. A woman, armed with a handheld axe along with her raised farming augments, charges out from the door. Veerh bristles, and extends his augments to their full length. The woman sees him, freezes, swaps the weapon to an auxiliary hand, running instead to Noz, who has raced out to embrace her.

  The reunion is a brief one. The woman scolds the child in a high, shrill voice.

  “You had me worried sick! Your sister told me what happened.”

  The boy’s face lights up, impervious to the admonishments. “She’s alive?”

  “Of course she is! She thought you were the one hurt after she got away.” She looks up suddenly. “Are these them?”

  She begins to pull the boy away, her eyes focused on Bex and Veerh.

  “No. They found me. They aren’t the giants.”

  “Giants!” The woman spits on the ground. “You go in and find your sister. You aren’t leaving the house for the rest of the day.” She waits until the boy leaves before speaking more calmly, but her face remains the same—suspicious. Bex has seen the look before. “Xeril said people burst through their little hiding place. Bandits or soldiers or some such. Was that you scaring my children?”

  “It’s alright,” Bex says, assuming this is an apology for coming at them with an axe. “Anyone would have thought the same.”

  “Who are you? You come to make the king’s offer?”

  “We’re here looking for—” Bex begins, but Veerh interjects.

  “Looking for anything unusual,” he says. “There haven’t been any strange animals?”

  “Like giants?” the woman laughs. “Nothing more than tall tales from a couple of bored children.”

  The woman sizes them up a minute, her features softened, her skin tan and leathery. Her clothes hang from her in patches and stitches, and Bex wonders
if the drought has reached this far into the hills.

  “I’m Fell’al,” the woman says. “I should at least let you come in, offer you food.”

  “We’re in a rush,” Veerh says, but Bex pulls him close.

  “Would you mind if we asked your daughter what she saw?”

  “Fine with me, Fell’al says with a chuckle. “If you don’t mind listening to a bunch of children’s stories.”

  Inside the cabin it’s warm and smells like broth and hides. Fell’al gestures for them to sit at a table in the center of the room before calling the children out. A pot in the back boils over a slow fire, and Bex wonders if this is the only meal they’ll eat.

  “I could offer you some food,” Fell’al says.

  “No, thank you,” Bex says. “We’ve got our own.”

  “That’s a nice looking plainsteer you’ve got outside,” the woman says. “It for sale?”

  “No,” Bex states flatly, and she can see the disappointment in the woman’s eyes.

  “Well, no harm in asking I suppose. The Ameer is sending people out into these parts, making offers for land and scrap. The King’s Offer, people are calling it. I thought maybe you two were here on his behalf.”

  “Does that happen often?” Bex asks.

  “Once a year or so. Apparently the war is heating up in the west. Lots of talk from the other neighbors of sending their oldest off to help fight. Mine are too young.”

  There’s a shuffle of footsteps, then the two children emerge from the back room, looking nervous and sheepish. When Xeril moves, there’s a hint of a limp. They stand next to one another, glancing from Bex to Veerh. Xeril, not having seen Veerh before—Or probably any preserver for that matter, thinks Bex—stares with huge eyes at the hooked and bladed creature before taking a step behind her brother. Bex smiles at her.

  “He won’t bite,” Bex says.

  Wide eyes stare at Veerh, fascinated by his blades and grafted weapons, but the girl makes no effort to approach any further.

  “Well,” says Fell’al. “Do you have something to tell these people? An apology perhaps for making them take time from their travels to see you all the way home?”