The Garden of Darkness

by Gillian Murray Kendall

  “And today and tomorrow we can load the wagon with what we’ll need,” said Jem.

  Tomorrow, the real journey begins, thought Clare. Tomorrow we set out on the final road.

  That night Clare lay awake for a while. In the bed next to hers, Jem was awake, too. He propped himself up on an elbow.

  “I can’t sleep,” he said.

  “Me neither.”

  “You can come in with me. If you like.”

  Clare sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I probably would like.” She got out of bed, crossed the room and crawled in with Jem. Bear followed her and lay down at the end of the bed.

  “Chaperone,” Jem said.

  “Good night,” said Clare softly.

  “We’ll be all right,” said Jem.

  Clare woke in the middle of the night. Jem was pressed tightly against her, his head buried in her neck. She slipped carefully out of his grasp and went back to her own bed, Bear padding along with her.

  She was a little confused, but she couldn’t stay awake long enough to figure out why. Jem was her best friend, and it made sense that they would find comfort in each other. Her love for Michael would have made of the gesture something very different. She would have given it a lot of thought before climbing into Michael’s bed.

  She went back to sleep easily now. Jem had said it, and, for the moment, she believed it—everything was going to be all right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  RAMAH

  THE WAGON WAS loaded; Sheba was in the traces, and she took her first steps onto the road. Clare felt, for the first time, that they might make it to the Master’s. Always before it had seemed like a game, but now things had changed. She thought of Noah’s pale body then opened her coat and pulled down her shirt so that she could see her Pest rash. She thought of her father, unburied. And Marie. She thought of her real mother, whose death had seemed like the end of the world.

  But it hadn’t been. And Pest hadn’t ended the world, either; the world was just taking a rest.

  She touched her face and her neck. No pustules yet. If there were no cure, she might be able to get away with another year. Or two.

  “What is it?” asked Jem beside her. “Are you all right?” Before Clare could speak, he felt her forehead; he touched her throat in the places the outbreak usually began.

  “I don’t have Pest,” she said. “It’s still just a rash.”

  “Don’t scare me like that,” said Jem.

  THEY FINALLY JOINED the main highway. For the most part, they had taken back roads to avoid snarls of rotting metal.

  That day the temperature went up, and the air was heavy with water that became neither rain nor snow. Mud was everywhere. Mud on their shoes. Mud on Sheba. Mirri had managed to get mud on her face and in her hair. Any attempts to wash her just seemed to spread it around.

  Clare and Jem started arguing, and it seemed to Clare that they just couldn’t stop. She didn’t know why, but they were getting on each other’s nerves.

  “I’m telling you,” said Jem, “that the mud sucks at the horseshoes. Mud can suck horseshoes right off the horse.”

  “You’re not really an expert,” she said. She even recognized her patented high-school cheerleader snotty tone, but she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself.

  “Common sense,” said Jem. “Just putting two and two together. It’s a chess thing.”

  “Do you think it’s not my thing? Or am I not enough like that girl on the chess team—Rachel whatever—who has a face like a duck?”

  “Where did that come from?”

  Clare had no idea. She might have said she was sorry right then, but Jem’s look was cold.

  “Don’t argue,” said Mirri.

  “I can’t help it if Clare’s decided to be a cheerleader today,” said Jem.

  “I’m a cheerleader every day.”

  “Condolences.”

  “Don’t be so superior. You think cheerleaders are stupid, and that’s stupid in itself.”

  “Yes. Laura Sparks was a real Einstein. And while we’re at it, why don’t you give that jacket a rest? Or maybe a wash?”

  Fury consumed her. Clare turned and faced him, and she made every word count.

  “Right now,” she said. “I hate you.”

  He looked taken aback. “Well, I don’t hate you.”

  “Do you think that means you win?” Clare raised her voice. “Do you think I care?”

  At her tone, Bear turned towards Jem and growled softly.

  Clare was immediately horrified. It was as if she had aimed a gun at her best friend.

  LATER, THEY MADE camp in silence. They ate; they got into their sleeping bags. And the deep night stretched out in front of Clare. She kept picturing her anger—and Bear. Bear growling at Jem. She didn’t sleep. Perhaps Jem slept, but she doubted it. He was too still, and his breathing wasn’t regular.

  Clare didn’t understand her anger. Or his.

  They broke camp in the early morning. Sarai and Mirri were already up when Jem and Clare woke.

  “It’s all right, you two,” Mirri said.

  “It’s not,” said Clare. She was, in fact, miserable. She felt locked into her mood, and it wasn’t good.

  “I have something I want to say,” Mirri said.

  “We discussed it,” said Sarai.

  “Here’s what Sarai and I discussed,” said Mirri. “Before you two got up. A long time ago, my parents had a big fight, and my mother said she wanted a divorce. My sister and I got really upset—just the way Sarai and I are upset now. But it was all okay. They went to see someone called a ‘counselor’ and told him all their problems, and then they were happy again.”

  “Tell them the rest,” said Sarai.

  “Well,” said Mirri. “We think that Sarai should be the counselor, because she’s older than I am, and you should talk it all over with her. Just pretend that she’s a grownup and that you’re married to each other.”

  To be spared that, they apologized.

  “But,” said Jem to Clare, “just to set the record straight, I was never remotely interested in Rachel Duckface. She didn’t play good chess. Unlike Angela. Who, as you know, was lovely. And she knew what the Benko Gambit was.”

  The muddy road slowly grew a crust as the temperature plummeted, and Sheba’s hooves made a crunching sound as she moved through the terrain. It began to snow.

  With a powdering of white, the surroundings looked different; trees glittered against the grey backdrop. Clare felt as if she were awakening after a long sleep. She felt—better.

  “It’s good to be on the road,” she said.

  “Yeah,” said Jem. “I was thinking that, too.”

  They settled into a rhythm of walking by Sheba and the loaded cart during the day, setting up camp at twilight, rising at dawn. They saw no one—neither delayed onset survivors nor the Cured. But the land was teeming with animals. Several deer, before scenting Bear, looked curiously at Sheba, and one of them took a step towards the horse before bounding away.

  Bear kept himself well fed, and they sometimes shared his messy meals.

  AND THEN THEY found a house that was unlike the others.

  The house was set back from the road and looked closed and lonely, yet there was no snow on the path to the door.

  “Somebody’s here,” Clare said.

  “I bet it’s not a Cured,” said Jem. “I bet it’s someone like us. I can’t see any Cured shoveling snow.”

  They knocked at the door, and there was no answer. They tried the door, but it was locked.

  “You know,” said Clare. “I think I’ve been here before. A long time ago. Or something.”

  They moved back under the trees. They gave Sheba the feed bucket, but they didn’t unload any of the camping equipment, and they didn’t take off her harness. Jem was on edge; Sarai and Mirri were clearly nervous, but Clare felt a strange lassitude, and Bear lay down under a tree.

  Ramah came out of the forest, not the house, and she looked like a figur
e out of a myth. Her hair scrolled down her back. She had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder, and she held a dead rabbit—its blood had trickled onto her hand. Bear stood up, but he didn’t growl.

  Ramah was dressed strangely. She was wrapped against the cold not only with layers of clothing, but with the skins of some kind of animal as well. She looked gaunt and tired, but she didn’t seem wary of them at all. As soon as she was close enough, she spoke.

  “I’m Ramah. You’re welcome here.” She gestured at Clare. “Lift your hair.”

  “What’s wrong with her hair?” asked Jem.

  “I’m the only one with my hair down,” said Clare. “Ramah can’t see my neck.”

  “Why should she have to see your neck?” asked Jem.

  “I have to know she’s not a Cured,” said Ramah. “I have to see that she isn’t wearing the mark.” Ramah stood, patiently, as if the world could wear down around her before she chose to move. She looked about ten years old.

  Clare pulled her hair back. Then Ramah herself turned her own head from side to side. There were no marks on her neck.

  “You can stay with us, if you like,” said Ramah. “I don’t have much food. This rabbit. Some cornmeal.”

  Mirri stared at the goatskins on Ramah’s legs.

  “Is that fur?” she asked.

  Ramah smiled for the first time. “It’s goat hair. Let’s go in. You need to meet Bird Boy.”

  Ramah took them into the house. Coals in the fireplace were burning a hot deep red, and the over-all temperature was almost warm.

  Clare sniffed at the air.

  “You can probably smell the goat,” said Ramah. “At least it isn’t raining anymore—when the goat’s wet, the house stinks.”

  “It’s pretty strong now,” said Mirri.

  “Bird Boy?” Ramah called up the stairs. “We have visitors.”

  A moment later a boy came down the staircase. He had pheasant feathers in his hair and what looked like a necklace of crow feathers around his neck. His arms were raised as if he imagined they were wings, but he was making a considerable clumping noise as he descended. Even though Bear reacted with only mild curiosity, Jem pushed Clare roughly behind him. Sarai and Mirri were already near the front door.

  “Hello,” said the boy. As he lowered his arms, he looked much smaller. As Clare looked on in disbelief, Bird Boy knelt down and embraced Bear, who not only tolerated the attention, but licked the boy’s face. Then Bear began the deep grumbling sound that to Clare meant he was utterly content. She didn’t know what to make of it.

  “It’s just the two of us living here,” said Ramah. “There are two Cureds somewhere nearby—they’re very unstable.”

  “Very unstable,” said Bird Boy, nodding and standing up.

  “My dog,” said Clare. “He’s—he’s not tame.”

  “Oh,” said Bird Boy, and he got down and hugged Bear some more, until Bear was on his back, and Bird Boy was scratching his stomach.

  “I guess Bird Boy’s all right,” said Jem.

  Clare just watched. Bear had let no one but her touch him like that. She might have been jealous, but she sensed then, and she later knew it to be true, that Bird Boy communicated with Bear on an entirely different level than the rest of them. Their conversation took place on a wavelength that only the two of them could hear.

  RAMAH HAD FALLEN in with Bird Boy when she was travelling. Where to, she didn’t say, where from, she didn’t say either.

  “A Cured was going to hurt me,” she said. “Bird Boy scared him. We ended up here.”

  “Not much food here anymore,” said Bird Boy, looking away from them.

  “We have goat milk,” said Ramah. “But I have to leave some food out every day for the two Cured.”

  “Or they try to get into the house.” Bird Boy nodded seriously. “I want to show the goat,” he added.

  Bird Boy went deeper into the house and returned with a small brown and white goat that looked at them with its strange goat eyes.

  “The goat stays inside unless I’m here,” said Ramah. “Bird Boy used to act as goatherd, but he gets distracted.”

  “I do,” said Bird Boy sadly.

  Ramah looked around at them. “I’ll cook the rabbit,” she said.

  Clare went out to the wagon and came back with ham and cold yams.

  “Thank you. We’re always hungry,” said Ramah.

  “Always,” said Bird Boy. He filled his mouth with food.

  “How old are you?” asked Clare.

  “Ten,” said Ramah. “I don’t know how old Bird Boy is.”

  “I don’t know how old Bird Boy is either,” said Bird Boy.

  “I would guess you’re fourteen or fifteen,” said Clare.

  There was something oddly formal about Ramah. But Clare knew deep down to her core that Ramah would be straight with them. She was nothing like Darian, with his over-familiarity. If anything, Ramah had an air of being a little aloof.

  Clare liked her.

  Bird Boy, it seemed to Clare, was strange—but Clare trusted Bear’s judgment absolutely. Something seemed to have happened to Bird Boy, but then something had happened to them all. There was no question in her mind as to whether or not he and Ramah would travel together. Pest created some bonds that couldn’t be broken.

  Clare’s thoughts wandered as she and Ramah sat on the stoop and watched the goat pawing through the mud and snow for withered grass.

  “Did you ever run across a boy named Darian?” Clare asked.

  Ramah looked at Clare for a moment, as if sizing her up, then spoke.

  “Darian was here,” she said. “He killed two of our goats when we wouldn’t let him in the house. We didn’t dare go outside to get the bodies; we thought he’d left, but we weren’t sure. The goats stank by the time we got to them.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “He was afraid of Bird Boy. And...” she considered. “And I think he was afraid of me. So, no, he didn’t try to hurt us.”

  “We welcomed him in with open arms,” said Clare.

  “He fooled me, too,” said Ramah. “Until he slaughtered the goats. I would have let him in when he first got here, but Bird Boy wouldn’t let me.”

  “Darian’s dead now,” said Clare.

  Ramah said nothing.

  Clare went indoors to find Jem. Mirri passed her on the way out, and Clare heard Ramah speaking to her.

  “They’re very close,” said Ramah. “Clare and the boy.”

  “Of course,” said Mirri. “Anyone can see that. And his name is Jem.”

  Clare found Jem in the living room. He was sitting on the stairs alone, and he looked unhappy.

  “What is it?” asked Clare.

  “I was just thinking—“

  “What?”

  “You seem so much older than I am these days. I’m never going to catch up.”

  “Really? I was thinking of how different fourteen is from thirteen.”

  “Yeah,” said Jem. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  RAMAH INVITED THEM to bring Sheba into the house for the night, in case the Cured came, but the horse refused to go near the door. Sheba was gentle and mild and soft-eyed, but she would not move. So, while Sarai and Mirri settled into Ramah’s guest room, Clare and Jem, with Bear, made camp in the muddy snow.

  Once Sheba was tethered and the tent was pitched, Jem and Clare looked at each other awkwardly. It felt odd without Mirri and Sarai there.

  “You sleep first,” Clare said to Jem. “I’ll keep watch.”

  “Clare?”

  “What is it?” she asked, but Jem was quiet for a long moment.

  “Nothing,” he said finally. “Let’s check on Sheba.”

  The mare was asleep on her feet in the moonlight. Clare could see a star between her ears, and silver light seemed to run down her sides and pool around her hooves.

  “It’s as if she were made of light,” said Clare.

  “It’s some kind of optical illusion,” said Jem
.

  “You would say that,” said Clare.

  “No bickering.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve never hated you, either. Ever.”

  Jem looked at her, and the moonlight was in his hair too. Then Sheba moved a foreleg in her sleep, and more light seemed to pour down her in a steady rivulet.

  So Clare was taken off guard when the attack began.

  The faces of the two Cureds, a man and a woman, seemed to rush up into the firelight, but the light that made Sheba glow did not touch them.

  “Go away,” yelled Jem. As he scrambled to find the heavy flashlight, the man grabbed at Sheba. The woman laughed. Then she had Clare by the arm and was twisting it.

  Bear took her down.

  Clare grabbed Bear’s back, not wanting to see her dog kill the woman, but then the man turned away from Sheba and attacked her. Clare fought back, and she was strong, but the man was stronger. He managed to get his hands around her throat.

  It was all happening so fast, too fast. She saw Sheba, wide awake now, pulling back on her tether; she heard Jem shouting something; behind him, the door to the house opened and Ramah came running towards her; Bear was turning away from the woman, but it all seemed too late, too late. Clare pulled at the hands around her throat, but the man was strong and there were now large black patches swimming through her vision. Then there was more and more black and all the light seemed to be pouring away.

  Jem reached her even before Bear did. She was so lightheaded that the thought seemed to register from far away: Jem was coming for her. And then she was breathing again and the black patches began to recede as Jem tore the Cured away from her. The Cured ran into the night. The woman Cured lay, unmoving, on the ground. And then Jem’s arms were around Clare, and Clare was embarrassed because the tears were streaking down her face, and the moonlight was on Jem’s face, just like the light that had made Sheba glow. Clare didn’t hear Ramah, although she could see she was speaking.

  “Jem,” Clare said. And then the darkness took her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE