A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds)

by Colegrove, Stephen

  “Why thank you, love. You, on the other hand, are more beautiful than ever.”

  “I’m covered in dirt!”

  “Just how I like it.”

  Footsteps squished in the soft earth behind them. Four hunters from Station ran up, covered in soot and mud.

  “Wilson! What’s wrong?” asked Liu.

  “Nothing. I’m going to Springs with you.”

  Carter, an older hunter, stared wide-eyed. “Founder’s boots, Wilson. You followed us?”

  “In a roundabout way.”

  With arms spread, Badger pushed Wilson and the amazed hunters to the village. “We can talk story during dinner. Right now I’m starving.”

  Kaya waited at a pair of massive wooden doors in the palisade wall, apparently the main entrance for the village. She saw the group approach and quickly tied her wet chestnut hair back with a square of yellow cloth. Villagers who had fought the fire greeted Kaya with hugs and happy, loud voices, then entered the gate.

  “Wilson savisto, are these your friends from the west?”

  Wilson nodded. “Kaya, meet Kira, Martinez, Liu, Carter, and Mansard.”

  Kaya spread the ripped skirt of her mud-covered, formerly white dress and bowed gracefully.

  Badger laughed. “You always catch the pretty ones, Will.”

  “Don’t be like that! The Lagos captured Kaya and freed her––I just happened to be going the same direction.”

  Badger grabbed his arm in mock surprise. “Of course! It must have been … destiny!”

  She waved goodbye to Kaya and led Wilson through the open gate.

  Fine gravel covered the streets and on each side lay a walkway of pine boards. In contrast to the muddy alleys of Lagos everything on display was neat and well-organized. Wilson recognized a smithy, leather workshops, and storage for grain. A pair of matrons in black stopped in mid-sentence when the group from Station walked by. Others knelt on the walkway or touched Wilson’s sleeve like it was made of gold. The men of the village wore plain brown shirts with a sewn cross. The women favored dresses with patterns in fine silver thread. Some villagers carried books and most had pistols stuck in their belts. A few men carried single-shot rifles like the one Wilson had seen earlier.

  Badger stopped at a wooden house raised half a meter above the ground while the rest of the group continued down the street. She opened the door and led Wilson to a small room that contained a narrow bed, a washbasin, and white towels.

  “This is your room,” she said.

  “Why can’t I stay with you?”

  Badger shook her head. “You can’t––only partnered couples can sleep together.”

  Wilson groaned. “More stupid rules.”

  “And here’s one from me––you need a bath. I’ll get the hot water.”

  She returned in a few minutes with two steaming pots.

  “That was fast.”

  “They have a water boiler,” Badger said. “Looks strange but it works.”

  “Ladies first.”

  “No, this is just for you.” She left one of the steaming pots with Wilson. He took a bucket of cold water in the corner and mixed it with water from the pot, then washed himself with soft yellow soap.

  A stack of folded clothing lay outside the washroom and Wilson changed into a white long-sleeved shirt and brown trousers. He ripped long strips from a towel and wrapped his arm, then covered the fading marks with his shirt sleeve.

  “How’s that lizard bite?”

  Badger stood behind him, hair washed and brushed to her shoulders. The soot was gone and her face glowed pink. She wore a yellow and white printed dress over trousers.

  “It’s better. The last few days haven’t helped.”

  Badger put her arms around his neck.

  “I’m thrilled to see you,” she said, kissing him. “But did you eat a fairy mushroom or something?”

  “I don’t feel crazy, but it’s possible. None of this seems real, especially with such a pretty girl in my arms.”

  “You don’t think I can take care of myself?”

  “I know you can. I still had to do it, Kira.”

  “But–”

  “You’re the most important person in my life right now. Why would I trust anyone else with that? The journey to Springs won’t be easy. Some of them, maybe even Reed himself, will give up. I guess it sounds crazy but as long as we’re together I don’t care.”

  “It looks like I’m the fairy mushroom,” said Badger.

  “Oh, definitely.”

  “Promise me you won’t do anything this crazy ever again.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I should have tried to change Reed’s mind, or stopped him before we left,” said Badger. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry, it’s all in the past. How are you feeling?”

  She smiled. “Better now.”

  “I forgot to ask––when did you get here?”

  “Early yesterday. Oh! That reminds me––the ceremony!”

  “What ceremony?”

  “Mina and Mast’s wedding. The alarm bells started ringing right in the middle of it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, just holding hands and silly, girly stuff.”

  “No, after the alarm bells.”

  “Oh, that. Couldn’t tell, really,” said Badger. “I smelled smoke, didn’t think anything about it, then rifles started popping off. Everyone got corralled into fighting the fire. I think whoever did it was long gone.”

  “It was Westcreeks,” said Wilson.

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw a pair of them running hell-for-leather in the fields.”

  “How did you know they were Westcreeks?”

  “Ambushed some. Yesterday.”

  Badger stared at him.

  “It’s a long story,” said Wilson. “Let’s just say I had some help.”

  “You can tell me later.”

  They walked hand-in-hand out to the street.

  “This way,” said Badger.

  “Tell me about this place,” said Wilson. “These aren’t your normal savages with pointy teeth.”

  “You’re right, they’re not,” said Badger. “This place is well-run. It’s because of that cult figure they call Teacher.”

  “The typical medicine man, I bet. Barking at the moon and covered with weeds.”

  “Not really. It’s strange––he seems more like a priest than a medicine man. The villagers treat him like a god. He’s the reason there’s a smithy in the village and hot water. And why all the young people speak English.”

  “He’s not the chief?”

  Badger shook her head.

  They walked through straight, graveled streets and eventually came to a central square bordered with two-story wooden buildings. All were painted a garish red with chains of bright flowers tied to porch railings. The white and yellow petals were scattered over the damp gravel. Citrus trees stood to one side in wheeled boxes. Across the opposite side of the square a man in a white jacket lectured a large group of boys with rifles in their hands.

  “This is the place.” Badger led Wilson to a building behind the group of boys. They overheard instructions from the white-jacket man.

  “… and you will be taking spots on the east and south …”

  Inside the building, a girl in a coffee-colored dress showed Wilson and Badger to a waiting room. Tea was served while the rest of the expedition wandered in, including the four Station hunters that Wilson had met before.

  Mast burst through the door with a raucous laugh, Mina on his arm. She wore a white dress with a pattern in silver thread. Mast was still in his Station leathers.

  He slapped Wilson on the back. “You devil! How did you get here?”

  “Sleepwalking,” said Wilson.

  “Looks like you hit a few trees on the way.” Mast looked around the room. “Who’d you bring with you?”

  “Nobody, just me.”

  “You came h
ere alone? I don’t believe it! You’d be a dog’s breakfast, in more ways than one.”

  Wilson shrugged. “How was that first meeting with Mina’s family?”

  “Her father was so happy to see her alive, he took all the gifts I offered, no discount.”

  Mina smiled. “He is practical man.”

  “You’d better watch your step,” said Wilson. “Or her father will test those new rifles on you.”

  “My father would never use gun. He use knife,” said Mina.

  Mast leaned close to Wilson. “The scary part is I can’t tell if she’s joking.”

  “The wedding is tonight?”

  “Not today. Tomorrow we continue,” said Mina. “Many people are busy after the attack. Wilson, thank you for saving my friend Kaya. I saw her today.”

  “It was nothing, but you’re welcome.”

  Mast laughed. “Look at Wilson, the hero of the day.”

  “Don’t make a joke––Kaya was a slave this morning,” said Mina. “Because of Wilson, now she’s home.”

  The fields were also burned because of him but Wilson kept that thought to himself. He slid his foot across the floor, nervously.

  “Where’s Reed?”

  Carter cleared his throat. “In a meeting with Yishai and Teacher.”

  “Who’s this Yishai?” asked Wilson.

  “My father,” said Mina. “The village leader.”

  “Does Reed know I’m here?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Mast. “But he’s going to see you at dinner. Even with that thick skull that surrounds his brain he’ll put it all together. You should find a pointed stick or a carrot and get ready for battle. Or just head for the hills.”

  “I just got here. I’m not leaving.”

  “Then apprentice, prepare for the pain you’re about to receive. Although what could be more painful than you looking in the mirror every morning.”

  “That’s the most predictable thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “No,” said Mast. “That would be–”

  “I’ll murder you both if you can’t shut up,” said Badger.

  “–a threat of death from Badger,” said Mast. “Just what I was about to add.”

  The girl in the coffee-colored dress led them to another room. Red porcelain dishes sat on tan cloth atop a long table. Ivory and blue flowers were arranged around three candles in the center. To the side stood a group of three men: Father Reed in a green priest’s jumpsuit, a tall man in a brown tunic, and a blonde-bearded man in a white robe. The blonde man wore a silver cross around his neck.

  A conversation between the three faded to silence as Wilson and his friends entered. Father Reed dropped a cup to the floor.

  “Wilson!”

  “Good evening, Father.”

  The priest rushed up and pulled him out of the room.

  “What on God’s green earth are you doing here?”

  Wilson sniffed. “I couldn’t wait at home like an old maid. I want to help.”

  “Help? You’re only causing more problems. Station doesn’t have a priest or anyone who understands the machines!”

  “Give them some credit. You act like they’ll hang themselves with bedsheets if we’re not there.”

  Reed stared with a shocked expression, as if Wilson had turned into a talking squirrel.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Ensign, but you’re going to head back to Station immediately. I’ll send a hunter to watch you.”

  “No. That won’t happen.”

  Reed’s voice pitched higher and he craned his head forward like a near-sighted hen. “Not … going … to happen?”

  “No. Get a different plan.”

  “You’re a quitter just like your father,” spat Reed. He immediately looked like he regretted it.

  Wilson turned red. “Don’t you speak about my father.”

  He walked back into the room with Reed at his heels. The man in the brown tunic spread his hands wide.

  “Father, who is this?” he asked in the dialect.

  “Leader Yishai, this is Wilson,” said Reed. “A boy with little discipline and too much independence. Wilson, meet Yishai, Mina’s father and leader of the village council.”

  “Greetings, Leader Yishai.”

  Father Reed waved dismissively to the man in white. “And the Teacher.”

  Wilson and the tall man bowed to each other.

  “He’s from the West?” Teacher asked in perfect English. “But why didn’t I meet him before?

  The tone of his voice made Wilson uncomfortable.

  “I only arrived today,” he said.

  “Mina de savisto,” said a servant girl.

  The faces of both Yishai and Teacher immediately brightened. They stepped forward to shake Wilson’s hand and slap him on the back.

  “Many thanks, savisto!” Yishai said. “We searched for my daughter many days but had no luck. I am in your debt, more than you can realize.”

  He rubbed Wilson on the shoulders and hugged him.

  Covered dishes were brought out. Everyone followed Yishai’s example and surrounded the table to pray. Despite protests from Father Reed, Yishai had Wilson sit beside him at the head. Fermented drinks and a fish soup were served. After the momentary chaos of the arriving dishes, the threads of conversation unspooled once more.

  “Wilson savisto, excuse my English,” said Yishai. “Tell us in your words how you rescued my daughter.”

  “My friend Airman Chen deserves your praise, not me. I was only there by chance. A few tribals wandered onto our land with a young girl and we freed her. We brought her to our village for treatment and discovered her story.”

  “You’re not only brave, but modest,” said Teacher. “Mina gave us details on how you fought her captors. But I have a question––why did you come here alone?”

  “I … wasn’t allowed to travel with the rest. For certain reasons, I should have stayed in our village, but I decided to follow the expedition.”

  “What were those ‘certain reasons’?”

  “It’s not important,” said Reed.

  Teacher smiled. “I’ll tell you why. He was the only priest left in the village.”

  “How did you know that?” asked Wilson.

  Teacher pointed to the crosses around their necks. “The symbol of priests.”

  “That’s right,” said Wilson. “But why do your people wear it too?”

  “Sign of God,” said Yishai.

  Teacher folded his hands. “The white cross over the heart is the mark of our spirit-home and our beliefs. It separates us from the savages who worship idols and false gods. They bow to the moon, the sun, animals, and all types of things that creep and crawl upon the earth. The sign marks us as children of God.”

  Wilson watched the blonde man carefully. “You’re not from around here are you?”

  Teacher smiled. “Like you, I’m from the West. My people were powerful and could do amazing feats. They lived high in the mountains in a village probably like your own. However, their own selfish squabbles destroyed the village in a massive fire. And so I left. My journey took me through many trials and dangers. In the grasslands I found a peaceful tribe and told them stories of the old gods, how the jar opened and the madness escaped.”

  “Talk about madness,” murmured Father Reed.

  Wilson ignored him. “The story of Adith and Lute?”

  “Yes, Wilson––I see Kaya has told you. But these stories, these empty words are like a saddle on a goat if there are no deeds behind them. I helped to cure sickness among the grassland tribe with knowledge and not superstition. We built a strong home in these hills with a smithy, grain storage, and millinery. As you can see, our labors have given fruit. That’s the proof of our beliefs.”

  “Why teach them English?”

  “It’s the language of the old gods,” said Teacher. “How else could they understand the ways of the past?”

  “I heard you have a book collection. May I see it?”

>   “They don’t contain what you’re looking for,” said Father Reed.

  Teacher raised his hand from the table. “Useful or not, you may see the books.”

  “Thank you. This village in the west––is anyone still there?”

  Teacher shook his head. “It’s a blasted land with nothing left alive.”

  “Even so, we could travel there and search the ruins for books and machines.”

  “No. It’s a scarred, deadly place full of the ‘ghost sickness.’ Survivors of the fire are scattered like seeds in the wind. The few scraps of knowledge about my people live only in my head, unfortunately.”

  Large dishes of venison, cornbread, lamb, green beans mixed with yellow corn, and a few strange vegetables were brought to the table. Wilson gave everyone a description of his travel and the wildlife and tribals he’d encountered.

  “A remarkable story,” said Teacher. “I’m sorry you were caught in the conflict between Flora and the Creeks.”

  “I’ve got a talent for jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.”

  Teacher smiled. “Sometimes that’s the right choice.”

  “And sometimes it’s just a fire,” said Reed.

  “In any case,” said Teacher. “I hope the rest of your journey will be more pleasant.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry we’ve come here at an unfortunate time,” said Wilson.

  Teacher spread his hands. “The Westcreeks failed. The raid was no worse than swatting away a few bees. But whether you know it or not, the local situation has changed in the last few months. A group has arrived from the east and offers weapons for slaves, so the tribes claw at each other. Marcus was a fervent believer in the ideals of these men and a ‘federation’ of villages. Even though he’s dead, there are many in the tribes who think like he did and support the slave trade.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that the Lagos dressed like your villagers to raid Westcreek?”

  Teacher shook his head. “An interesting trick but I doubt it worked, since you say none of the Westcreeks survived. None of the warlike tribes have been able to fight us face-to-face or breach our defenses. It’s common for them to use other tactics.”

  “But someday–”

  “Someday is a word for hand-wringing old women. It’s not for us, young Wilson, on a day like today. We have two reasons to celebrate: we drove off the attack and two wandering children have returned home.”