by Lan Chan
A little sigh escapes as the lotion takes effect. I have no hairs left on my right hand and the skin on my fingers is blistered. It already hurts to make a fist, but I do it several times anyway. At least I still have control of my hand, even if it’s so painful I consider turning around and marching home.
When I see Sully, I’m ashamed of my weakness. She’s bleeding where the rats have bitten her and patches of her hair have been torn away. She whimpers softly as I inspect the open wounds, but thankfully, the rat bites are clean. Well, as clean as a rodent bite can be. There’s no sign of poison anyway. I chew a handful of comfrey and yarrow and make a paste with some of the calming cream.
Sully yelps when I apply it to her ear and tries to pull away. “Keep still,” I say, yanking her back and using my knee to lock her head into place on my lap. Her eyeballs roll up at me as she tries to look at what I’m doing. When I’m done with her ear, I apply paste to all her bites while she lies on her stomach and licks her front paws. Each time the paste touches her, she flinches and then settles. She doesn’t cry or snap at me the way I’ve seen other dogs do. Sometimes she’s too eerily human.
I remember the day Papa brought her back to our apartment in the Citadel. On one of those rare occasions when the circus season and Papa’s Citadel rotations coincided. Officially, I wanted a pet because I was sick of Aiden always talking about his animals without having one of my own. Unofficially, I was lonely and scared by myself for months on end. Even with Gideon as my guardian.
On this occasion, Papa came home in the middle of the night, which wasn’t unusual. What was strange was that he didn’t turn on any lights. He just walked straight past my room into his office and locked the door behind him. I almost had a heart attack when he emerged covered in blood, his expression so stern I didn’t bother asking what was happening. For three weeks, he was in and out of his office at all hours, and he always locked the door behind him.
It was during dinner one night that I heard scraping against the office door. Papa went to unlock his office and out came a six-month-old sabrewolf cub. I could tell right away that she wasn’t purebred because her hair is red-brown, not grey like most sabrewolves. She stuck to Papa like glue, and when I approached her, she turned tail and ran back to the office. That’s when I saw the scars all along her abdomen.
Great big welts, as though someone had carved her open like a chicken. Which is exactly what the Seeders had done. Sully was a breeding trial reject and not considered obedient enough to suit the Seeders. While they graciously obliged when Papa asked for her as a pet, they had to make sure she could never reproduce.
For months, I sat with Sully as her wounds healed. At first I sat outside the door of Papa’s office. Then after a while, I moved into the office, but not too close to her. When she decided I wasn’t a threat, I was allowed to pet her. Just as I’m doing now.
My breath catches on the lump in my throat. She’s going to die because of me. Because I’m too scared to face this walkabout alone. Sully’s been trained to hunt in the forest, thanks to Aiden. If I cut her loose, she’d have a much better chance of survival. But there’s no chance she’d go. I’m her pack now. She’s as tied to me as I am to Papa and Micah. I wrap my arms around her head and lean into her. She exhales from her nostrils like she thinks I’m being ridiculous.
We really should get going. The fiery branch is still burning, but the wood is turning to ash and the heating balm is in wet patches on the ground. If the rats come back, it’ll be useless as a defence. Yet I can’t bring myself to make Sully get up. She would, of course. She’s tried to a couple times already, but she’s favouring her back left leg, and I feel like the energy has been leached out of me.
“Just a half hour,” I say.
Sully’s head snaps to the left. Her ears prick up. I brace for the return of the rats, when hushed voices carry over on the breeze.
“…said everything!” a gruff male says.
“But I need that to find my sister.”
My blood turns cold. “Tell you what. Hand over all that stuff and we’ll help you find her,” another male says.
I don’t hear the response because I’m already picking my way through the coarse grasses underfoot. I find them in a small clearing. Two men, a woman, two boys, and a girl. They all share a familial snub nose. And there, standing in the middle of the group like a duckling amongst dingos, is my stupid, stubborn stepbrother.
Ten
I’m about to run out and confront the group when a wet nose pushes my cheek aside. “Dammit, Sully!” I drag her away from the scene. If she sees Micah, she’ll most likely go on the attack, and right now she’s in no condition for a fight.
“Stay!” I say, forcing her into a sit. Her eyes flash dangerously with disobedience. I fight to regain control of my composure even though I can feel my palms getting sweaty. If I don’t stay calm, Sully will assume the leadership role.
“Stay!” I say again. This time I catch her eye and refuse to look away. Finally, her shoulders slump and she lies down on all fours. Just to drive the point home, I take a leash and collar from my pack, loop the leash around a tree trunk, and lace the collar around her neck.
When I return, the group has gotten hold of Micah’s pack and are rummaging through it. I can’t see his face, but Micah’s fists are balled like he’s about to throw a punch. He doesn’t even have the sense to be afraid. To be fair, he’s never lived in a reality where he isn’t Portia Waverlee’s son, and these Farmers have no right asking him questions, let alone going through his personal effects. Sometimes I forget he’s only eleven.
I have no idea what to do. I certainly can’t take on so many people at once, and I doubt they’re going to listen to reason given the way they’re lobbing around Micah’s backpack and fiddling with the gadgets inside.
“It’s all useless junk,” the girl says.
“Be careful with that!” Micah warns.
The girl flips open a device that to an observer would just seem like a compact for applying makeup. Micah has a thing for disguising explosives as everyday objects. The stable green light is what usually gives it away. If the light starts to blink red, we’re all in trouble. Some of the blame for his violent inventions probably rests on my shoulders. All of the blame for his death will be mine if I can’t figure out a way to save him.
I can see Micah’s little face now. It’s drawn and tired. He’s so close if I take half a dozen steps, I could touch him.
“Trust a Merchant to go on a walkabout and bring toys,” one of the boys says.
Micah makes a grab for the perimeter sensor the boy is holding. The boy shoves Micah away as though he’s a piece of paper. Micah stumbles, and suddenly my feet carry me forward and I catch him before he falls on his butt.
“Rory?” Micah asks.
His relief is short lived as a weighty hand grabs my arm. I shake it off and reach for one of my knives. Then I remember I’m out of knives. I’ve just walked out unarmed into a hostile situation with a backpack full of medicine and supplies. Proper supplies like food and water.
“Well, would you look at that?” says the man. “Told you we’d find her.” Up close, he seems vaguely familiar. Then again, they all do. At one stage or another, I would have come across them in the store when they couldn’t afford pharmaceutical medicine.
“Hey, Dad,” the girl says. She’s the one who tried to grab me earlier. She’s a full head taller than me and now has a good hold of my shoulder. She works to relieve me of my backpack. “A reward for finding her so quick!”
She’s rough and acts like my right shoulder doesn’t have a socket.
“Ouch!” I say.
She continues to yank the strap of my backpack. Without thinking, I grab her wrist and squeeze. She lets go immediately. Then I force her hand anticlockwise until her elbow is pointed straight into the air.
“I said ouch.” Everybody looks at me and thinks that I must be weak because of my size. What they don’t realise is the strength
involved with being an aerialist. I kick her right in the solar plexus and she falls over, gasping for breath. A fist collides with my cheek and I lose my senses. The ground comes rushing up towards me.
Somewhere close by, a wolf howls.
“Stop it!” Micah screams. “Leave her alone.”
The older man who hit me pulls me up by the front of my jacket. He holds me above him like I’m nothing more than a rag doll. I try to kick him in the belly, but he senses my movement and dodges. That’s when I remember the blunted knife I shoved into the side of my boot. I bend my knees and pull them up towards my chest so I can get at the knife. The man thinks I’m going for another attack, and the muscles on his arm bunch.
I expect him to smile or seem smug, but he’s just weathered. The fire that pushes me to hurt him dies a little. We’re both trying to protect the people we care about. But mercy in the forest is a mistake, and I should know that by now. He senses my hesitation and uses it to disarm me.
The knife falls to the floor and he kicks it away. Over his shoulder, I can see his sons restraining Micah. My gaze travels to the silver disc in my brother’s hand. His answer is always to blow something up.
“No, Micah!” I scream.
Maybe it’s the urgency in my voice that makes the man take notice. His head turns to look backwards and then suddenly his grip on my jacket is gone. I drop like a sack of potatoes. The man’s shadow looms over me, swaying like a puppet on a string. He clutches at a phantom spot on his chest and staggers forward. I jump clear just as he crumples to the ground. The end of an arrow sticks out of his back.
The girl screams. More arrows rain down on us from all around. I peel the backpack off and intend to use it as a shield to get to Micah, when one of the boys hauls it from my grasp.
“Let’s go!” the woman says. Their group retreats into the cover of the trees.
I should run after them, but my first thought is Micah’s safety. Micah has no such fears. When I reach him, he’s squinting up into the trees with his hand blocking the sun from his eyes.
“What are you looking for?” I yell, trying to drag him away from the centre of the clearing and into the underbrush. He resists, and I think about knocking him out, when he points upwards.
“I can see someone up there,” he says. “Let me go! They’ve stopped shooting.”
The shooting really has stopped. The forest is quiet except for an occasional rustling of branches. I wait a few seconds to make sure the arrows have definitely ceased.
“Stay here,” I say to Micah. Then I’m running the way the group went. I have no idea what I’ll do if I catch them, but if there’s a chance I can retrieve my backpack, it’s worth it.
I get about fifty metres when I see Sully bounding towards me with something green in her mouth. The leash has been chewed to within an inch of its life and drags on the ground behind her. Leura and Cora follow in her wake, their speed hampered by the huge packs they each carry. I’m not surprised to see they’ve decided to go on walkabout. After all, it was an integral part of Leura’s distant heritage.
Sully drops the remains of my backpack at my feet and collapses with it. I should scold her for disobeying, but I’m too relieved she’s okay. The backpack is little more than green shreds held together by leather spines.
“She snatched it from them after they’d begun to unload,” Leura says. She goes in to try and pat Sully and gets a low growl for her trouble.
“She doesn’t like to be touched by strangers,” I say.
Leura promptly retracts her hand. Instead, she dips into one of the pockets in her own hooded jacket and pulls out the calming cream and hands it to me. “It’s all we could find.”
The jar is cool against my palm. I take a dozen steadying breaths so I don’t just lob it at a tree. I focus my anger on the thieves, but really, I’m upset at my own weakness. If I’m going to survive in the forest, I need to accept that only the strong will make it out here.
Thinking of Micah only enrages me. When he finally catches up to me, he has Gage in tow. This infuriates me even more. I drag him away by the scuff of his neck for a private dressing down.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I say. “Why would you come out here?” I expect him to tell me he doesn’t want to be left behind. That he can’t stand waiting while those around him suffer and die.
“I figured you would need my help,” he says. And to top it off, he waves the vial of Micah’s Rose at me like it’s some prize he’s just won for me at the fair.
A laugh escapes me because his behaviour is so outlandish. I don’t try to hold my anger in for fear of hurting his feelings. I shove the calming cream into his hands. “Thanks to your help, a Farmer is dead and this is the last of my medical supplies.”
Until now, he’s been brave, but when he looks down at the cream in his hands, his face dissolves into a quivering mess. I imagine that little face bloated with maggots coming out of his eye sockets, and I can’t stand it.
“You’re going home.” I grab him by the arm with every intention of taking him back.
“No, I’m not!” He digs his heels in.
“Don’t even think about throwing a tantrum. Portia isn’t here to cave in to your fits.” I know for sure mentioning his mother will set him off, but I’m so livid I can’t think straight.
“Why do you have to be so mean?” he yells. “I’ve got as much right as you to be here. This isn’t your personal vendetta against the Seeders anymore. We’re all going to die!”
This is what I hate most about having a genius younger brother. Just when he lulls me into believing he’s just a kid, he says something that knocks me down a dozen pegs.
“This is all very enlightening,” Cora says to us. I’d completely forgotten they’re still here. “But all this yelling is probably attracting a lot of unwanted attention.”
I follow the direction she’s pointing in and make out dark shadows in the tree branches. Cora’s right. We need to settle this now.
“Please, go home,” I beg.
“Not without you,” Micah says.
I consider knocking him out for real and dragging him home. But short of locking him up, it’s not going to fix anything. My shoulders slump in resignation. He senses my defeat and smiles whilst drying his damp cheeks.
“Take a look,” he says, showing me the backpack he’s managed to keep possession of. “They were so busy trying to take your medicine, they forgot about my stuff.” I don’t know where to begin telling him off. Aside from the fact his pack is too small and too red, there’s nothing in there but his inventions.
“I hope you’ve learned to eat metal,” I say. “Come on. Let’s get Sully and get out of here before our treetop audience decides they want dinner with their show.”
Unfortunately, Sully isn’t going anywhere. She’s exhausted and her ear is weeping again. I have no herbs to mix with the calming cream, and now that the cream is all I have left, I’m being extra thrifty with it.
The others move off north. I think they’re leaving, when they stop and their heads come together.
“Rory?” Leura says after some time. The three of them come back over. “We’ve been discussing it and, well, how would you guys feel about teaming up?”
Micah gives a little yelp of joy. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. First Micah and now these three. Granted, they’d be just as capable without me.
“Why?” I ask. “What’s in it for you? We’ve got no food or water. Everything in my backpack is gone. If I were you, I’d leave us for dead.”
“It’s a good thing we’re not you, isn’t it?” Gage says quickly. As if being me is incomprehensible. “Besides, it’s not you we’re after. It’s him.” He points to Micah. “We’ve got food and water. We need more protection, and he’s got that covered.”
This isn’t the walkabout I’d planned. The idea was to move quickly through the forest, avoiding people and predators. On my own, I have speed and stealth on my side. Groups are slow and loud a
nd frankly, annoying.
Then I realise I’m thinking of this as though Micah isn’t here. Sully and I would have been faster on our own, but we’re not alone anymore. In spite of the heavy load on their backs, the group seems comfortable in their surroundings. They’re all wearing sturdy boots and have warm, hooded jackets. Gage in particular is carrying a massive backpack on his right shoulder while his quiver sits on the other. He looks like he was born with the bow in his hands. Great, I guess it was him who shot all those arrows. Now I have to say thanks to a boy who couldn’t care less that I’m grateful.
In the end, I don’t have much of a choice. Micah, Sully, and I can strike out on our own, but sooner or later, I’ll get distracted and it’ll put Micah in danger. He can’t move through the treetops like I can, and there’s his illness to consider. Teaming up means there will be three extra pairs of eyes to look out for him. At least I hope. Cora doesn’t seem to care all that much about whether we agree to travel together, and I get the feeling from her scowl that if danger were to present itself, we’d be on our own.
I’m studying her sturdy figure and thinking how handy she would be in a fight when I spot the charred patch of earth bathed in yellow pus. I think back to that night in the forest when the Seeder had his body disintegrated by blood fury venom. A shudder runs over my shoulders. Somewhere in this forest, there are Reapers lurking.
“Okay,” I say to the others. “Let’s team up.”
Eleven
Before we do anything, I need to retrieve my knives. I’ve left them too long, and a couple of the decaying rats have been dragged away by bigger predators. I used to wonder how animals survive in the forest with so little to eat that isn’t poisonous. Then I saw the labs in the Citadel swarming with mice, rabbits, and smaller animals grown as fodder for bigger predators.