Aster ignored her, snapping the reins, urging the bay faster than ever. She wants to sacrifice her life for a lost earring or something, that’s fine by me, she thought.
But Violet wasn’t taking the rest of them down with her.
They rode off without her. Tansy said something to Mallow that Aster couldn’t make out, though she could guess well enough that they didn’t feel right leaving Violet behind.
But Violet had been more than happy to sell them out whenever it suited her back at the welcome house. She’d even seemed to enjoy it. Why should they stick their necks out for her now?
She’s grown, Aster told herself fiercely. She’ll be fine.
Aster felt like she’d swallowed a stone. Indecision burned in her chest. She gripped the reins, prepared to turn around. Waited in agony for the sound of a stricken scream. A moment later, though, Violet caught up.
Aster said nothing, but her chest loosened with relief.
* * *
It wasn’t until the sky began to lighten that Aster realized, with a dull, sickening shock, that she hadn’t been certain she would see another sunrise. She was too nauseous with exhaustion to feel any actual happiness, but she clung to a stubborn sort of pride.
They had made it through their first night on the outside.
“Is that daylight?” Clementine croaked. She had been dozing for the past couple hours.
“Seems to be,” Aster said softly. The others were straightening up in their saddles, each of them looking as tired as she felt. The dead had begun to quiet around them with the coming of morning—it was the living they’d have to worry about today. Aster had no doubt the welcome house raveners had been sent into the woods after them by now.
Still, their group had put Green Creek further behind them than Aster had dared to hope. They were in the forest proper now, passing between ancient evergreens with flaking red bark and matted branches that cut the sunlight into golden columns. The ground was still rocky and uneven underfoot, dotted with snarls of drygrass, but the space between the trees had opened up considerably. Violet pulled her horse up on Aster’s left, Tansy and Mallow on her right. Augie’s ill-fitting work shirts and pants hung loose on their frames, the ratty fabric torn from their flight through the underbrush. Violet was hardly much better in the clothes she’d stolen from the brag, the knees of her fine dress pants stained with mud from her desperate search for whatever she’d dropped last night. They had all worn their own shoes out of the welcome house, but the thin, ankle-high boots hadn’t been made for riding, and the balls of Aster’s feet were already tender with blisters.
“How in the hell did we survive last night?” Mallow growled.
Aster only shook her head. That they had managed to keep ahead of any raveners was blessing enough, but to have avoided the vengeants—that seemed nigh on miraculous. There were only a few things known to keep them at bay—iron, if you had enough of it; grayleaf, if you burned it; and pure—
Theomite.
“The brag’s ring!” Tansy said suddenly, seizing on the same realization. “It must have held the vengeants off.”
“I bet you’re right,” Aster agreed. She pulled the gold band out of her pocket, turning it over so the theomite caught the light. “I bet that’s what it’s for, even. Rich boy like him, no way he’d be traveling through the Scab without some kind of protection.”
“Well, obviously. All the rich folks do that. You might have told me we had a stash of theomite on hand this whole time.” Violet, looking pinched and pale, sounded more peevish than ever.
“Looks like we owe you our hides, Clem,” Mallow said, ignoring Violet. Aster glanced back at her sister, all too aware that Clementine hadn’t been feeling at all the hero last night. But Mallow’s praise had managed to pull a smile out of her.
The tightness in Aster’s shoulders eased, just a bit.
“Think I hear a creek up ahead,” she said. “Let’s stop there for a minute, water the horses, catch our breath.”
It certainly would be a relief to rest. They had been awake for twenty-four hours now, and the last third of that had been spent on the run. Aster’s thighs ached so bad she could barely grip the horse at all anymore. She wondered how much further they’d have to go before they were out of the raveners’ reach entirely. Unlike lawmen, who were public servants, raveners were privately hired, and the welcome house’s pockets were only so deep. And besides, Mother Fleur wouldn’t want to spare so many raveners for the search that there weren’t enough left to keep the other girls under control. They wouldn’t chase the runaways past Killbank, Aster convinced herself. And the lawmen, at least, were tethered to their towns.
We’re almost past the worst of it.
The creek slipped into view a moment later. Aster pulled her horse up short. Her brief glow of confidence was snuffed dark.
A young man crouched at the creek’s edge, splashing his face and the back of his neck. Water shimmered in his black, cottony hair. His shirt hung drying from a nearby branch, and his bare brown back flexed with muscle. He was built lean and sharp as a jackknife.
And he was just as sure to cut them.
“Who’s that?” Clementine whispered.
“No one we want to see us—” Aster hissed, urging their horse around. But it was too late. The boy turned at the soft snap of a twig. Saw their faces.
Their favors.
Aster spurred her horse hard, no longer concerned about keeping quiet.
“Come on!” she shouted back to the others.
“Stop!” the boy ordered. She looked over her shoulder. He was running for his horse. Aster cursed, her head spinning with a rush of blood. They rode off as fast as possible, begging the horses for one last burst of speed. Was he a ravener? Aster hadn’t gotten a good look at his eyes. But what else would he be doing out here? Who else would travel the Scab alone?
He’s probably not alone, though.
There are probably others nearby.
And now they have your trail.
“Ripping hell,” Mallow swore.
Aster couldn’t help but agree.
* * *
By late afternoon, there was no sign that the stranger by the stream was on their trail—though maybe that just meant he’d gone off to report them instead, in which case, they’d have to hurry to maintain what little head start they had. But after a full day of riding, the animals were worn out, as were the girls. Worn out, sweaty, saddle-sore, and starved. They had to find somewhere to stop for the night or else collapse in their saddles.
Killbank still had to be at least an hour away, though. And Aster was determined to reach it.
“Aster,” Violet murmured, so softly Aster almost didn’t catch it. She had been uncharacteristically quiet all day. Aster assumed that she, like Clementine and the rest of them, was simply too tired or anxious to make conversation anymore. But now Aster saw, with alarm, that Violet looked dangerously washed out, her blue eyes bloodshot, her lustrous black hair limp.
“What is it?” Aster asked, her tone losing its usual edge.
Violet’s reply was unintelligible.
Aster furrowed her brow and leaned over a bit closer. They were riding side by side now, at a slower pace. “What?”
“She asked if she could have a dose of Sweet Thistle,” Clementine said quietly.
“That’s what I dropped back in the woods last night,” Violet said, a little stronger now. “I tried to find it, but it was too dark, and I was afraid to fall behind.”
“Oh.” Aster felt a surprising pang of sympathy. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any.”
“You don’t—” Violet stared at her in confusion. “But—but you must have taken some since we left. Otherwise you’d be…” She wet her lips. “Please, I only need a little.”
“I don’t take it. I never have. I only pretended to so Mother Fleur wouldn’t have me punished.” Violet’s expression seemed to shatter. “I’m sorry, Violet,” Aster said again. “Truly. Just try to take it easy, hea
r? We’re almost there.”
Violet’s face settled back into smooth indifference, but it still had that dull, waxen sheen. She retreated into herself.
“Maybe it’s a blessing we don’t have any Sweet Thistle,” Clementine whispered. “Now she can be free of it.”
“Maybe,” Aster said, though she was less sure. Could folks just stop taking Sweet Thistle without terrible consequences? Back at the welcome house, no one ever stopped once they’d started. She’d heard rumors here and there among the sundown girls about women who’d aged out of the house and were no longer supplied with the drug, rumors about the desperate things some did for a couple of drops.
The silence between them grew strained, all of them watching Violet carefully, but none of them wanting to let on to their worry. And Violet, of course, was too proud to say another word. She managed to make it another half hour before her eyelids fluttered, her head lolled forward, and she slumped over and fell to the dirt with a thump.
“Violet!” Aster called out. She and Clem dismounted quickly, her aching legs almost buckling as she hurried over to Violet’s side. This was a bad place to be stuck, just outside Killbank now. They might well be within range of any lawmen on patrol. The others dismounted too, forming a circle around Violet, whose eyes were open but unseeing. “Violet, can you hear me?”
Tansy knelt beside her and felt her forehead. “She has a dangerously high fever. She’s probably delirious. Did she hurt herself earlier, do you know? Something that might’ve gotten infected?”
Violet shivered violently. Aster looked over at Tansy, her calm words seeming to come from far away.
“Hurt herself? No … she … she needs Sweet Thistle,” Aster explained. “She asked me for some about half an hour ago.”
“Withdrawal,” Tansy said grimly.
“I mean, she’s been looking like hell all day, but I just figured, you know, she’s not used to roughing it like we are,” Mallow said. She stood, looking around them with growing panic. “What do we do, Aster? We can’t stop here.”
“We have to get her another dose tonight, or she’ll die,” Tansy answered for her. “You can’t just stop suddenly with Sweet Thistle, you have to ease off.”
Aster shook her head. “But none of us have any.”
“There’ll be an apothecary in Killbank,” Tansy continued in her calming way. “We can get some Sweet Thistle there.”
“Well it’s not as if we can just walk in and buy it,” Clementine said. “And besides, I thought we were going around Killbank, not through.”
“We are,” Aster said firmly. “The place will be crawling with lawmen.”
“Please,” Violet begged, her voice brittle. “Please help me. I’ll do anything. I’ll tell you where Lady Ghost is.”
“Definitely delirious,” Mallow muttered.
But all of Violet’s posturing was gone now, and something about that frightened Aster more than anything else that had happened since they’d lit out.
“Please … I don’t want to die before I get there,” Violet continued, her gaze squaring with Aster’s now.
Aster swallowed. She still couldn’t let herself believe in Lady Ghost—not after so many years of being sure she was a myth—but if Violet, of all people, had been willing to run away from the welcome house and risk her life for this, then maybe there was a kernel of truth to the story. Something, someone, out there, worth finding.
Aster squeezed Violet’s hand. Told her what she needed to hear.
“We’ll get you that Sweet Thistle, Violet,” Aster said. “I promise—we won’t let you die before you get there.”
7
Aster and the others found an abandoned mine just outside Killbank where Violet could rest while they worked out their plan to steal the Sweet Thistle. It was said you could cross the whole length of the Scab through its mazework of mines, though no one in their right mind would dare try. If you didn’t lose your way and starve to death, you’d be buried alive by a cave-in or poisoned by bad air. The very earth was steeped in the suffering of generations of dustblood miners, and abandoned mines like this one were often overrun with vengeants. There was a remnant near the entrance as well, faint and foggy—a barefoot little boy sitting balled up, his bony knees pulled to his chest. His childlike terror hung in the air like a sharp scent.
And yet, if Aster had had a choice between staying here in the mine or venturing back out to Killbank, risking a run-in with the law, she would have picked the mine every time.
“I’ll admit the name does not inspire confidence,” Mallow said idly, tying her horse to one of the rotting timbers supporting the tunnel. “Killbank. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were trying to scare us off.”
She was joking with Tansy, but Tansy seemed too distracted to respond. She had volunteered to go into Killbank with Aster, saying she might recognize other supplies at the apothecary that they could use. It was too valuable an opportunity to pass up. But Aster could see Tansy was already anxious at the thought of a run-in with the law. She twisted the end of her braid, staring out into the quickening dark with furrowed brows.
“Hey.” Mallow touched her arm. “Honest, now, you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“You can’t,” Aster answered for her, not unkindly. “If all three of us go into town, then Clementine’s as good as on her own, since Violet’s in no shape to fight.”
“And I have to be the one to go with Aster,” Tansy agreed, forcing a smile. “Seeing as the rest of you wouldn’t know snakeroot from snake oil.”
Mallow grumbled something unintelligible, but she relented, turning to where Clementine crouched beside Violet, who shivered beneath the rough blanket she’d folded herself into.
“And Her Highness? How should we tend to her while you’re gone?” Mallow asked.
Tansy’s smile faded. “Just manage that fever as best you can. There’s not much you can do until we get back.”
“But we’ll hurry,” Aster promised.
They were ready to go a moment later, mounting up on Violet’s horse. Tansy tucked her pigtails away under her hat. Aster held out the theomite ring to Mallow.
“You all better take this. You can be damned sure there’s vengeants in this place.”
“There’ll be vengeants out there, too,” Clementine said, standing now, her arms crossed.
“There will. But at least we’ll be on the move. I don’t much like the idea of you all trapped here with no protection.”
Mallow took the ring, the gemstone glinting darkly in the half-light. She looked back up at Tansy. “Be careful,” she said, all trace of humor gone now.
Tansy gave a single nod. “Always am.”
Aster leaned down to kiss Clementine on the crown of her head, and then they rode off, Aster guiding the horse towards the Bone Road. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the branches above, the wind sighing through the trees as they settled for the night with their old man groans. A shower of dead pine needles rained down on Aster and Tansy, and Aster shook them free of the brim of her hat.
Tansy sat quiet in the back of the saddle. Aster was grateful for the silence so she could think through their plan one last time. The girls had agreed that by the time they got to Killbank, the apothecary would probably be closed—all they’d have to do was break a window and sneak in. As long as they were careful, quick, and quiet about it, they shouldn’t draw any attention to themselves.
A dark current of excitement coursed through Aster as she imagined it all, setting her stomach fluttering. Her newfound freedom still buzzed in her blood. This would be dangerous, yes—but for once it was a danger she had chosen.
“You know, I’ve never actually been to an apothecary,” Tansy said after a moment. There was nervous excitement in her voice, too.
Aster glanced over her shoulder in surprise. “How do you know so much about medicine, then? You talk like a damned textbook.”
Tansy laughed a little, though she hesitated before an
swering. Aster realized, too late, that it might have been wrong to ask. There was an unspoken rule among Good Luck Girls never to mention their lives before the welcome house, and Tansy was even more withdrawn than most.
“My mama was a nurse,” Tansy said at last. “A doctor came through our camp once a season to take care of the miners, but every other day of the year, it was up to her.”
“One woman was expected to be responsible for the lives of dozens of men?”
“Well, she had help,” Tansy admitted. “There were other nurses at the camp. But she’d been at it the longest. Most of the others were girls not much older than us. They looked up to her.” Tansy paused. “So did I.”
Aster waited to see if she’d say any more, and after a moment, Tansy went on.
“She used to let me shadow her. Dust lung was the most common ailment we saw. Just about everyone in the Scab has a touch of it, but it’s usually only deadly to the very young and the very old. Then there were the broken bones, the torn muscles, the burns, the busted eardrums … things that could make a man miserable, but they would heal in time. And then there were the—the catastrophes. One group of men had been forced to work in standing water for so long that the flesh on their feet had begun to rot off the bone. Another man survived an explosion that melted away all the skin on his back. My mama didn’t spare me any of it—that was how she had learned, and that was how I would take her place one day.”
“By the dead,” Aster said, feeling sick.
“I got used to it.” There was a shrug in Tansy’s voice. “I even enjoyed it. I liked knowing I was making my mama proud. But then some fool stove her head in with a branding iron one night because she refused a dance with him. My family sold me to the welcome house a week later. They couldn’t afford not to.”
Aster swallowed, at a loss for words. It was both a uniquely horrifying story and all too common, something that might have happened to anyone she grew up with. The Scab was known for such reckless violence.
“I’m sorry, Tansy,” Aster said at last.
The Good Luck Girls Page 7