The Silver Claw

by Erik Williamson

  Renn’s left shoulder was shredded like raw hamburger, his face awash in blood. Alixa did what she could to sop it up, slow the bleeding, and wrap his wounds in strips of her own bedding. Some of the claw marks on his legs looked bad, too. That would have to wait. If she could even get that far.

  “Lix, we need help.”

  “Yeah, we do,” Alixa replied, wiping her hand over her mouth.

  “Settlements out here? Farms?”

  “Doubtful, but maybe.” Alixa scrambled up the tree, though she knew she’d see none. Emmie took Renn’s hand, forcing her best confident face on the small chance he was anywhere close to conscious

  “Saw smoke!” Alixa shimmied down the tree. “Not a chimney. Maybe a campfire. Six-seven miles east.”

  “But someone who could—would—help?” Emmie shook her head, unbelieving.

  “I’m going.” Alixa grabbed her bow and sword. “You stay.”

  “You. . .” Emmie’s eyes went wide. She seized Alixa by the collar. “No! Please don’t.”

  “For help.” Alixa grimaced, understanding perfectly. “I’ll be back as—”

  “Please, Lixa, no. Don’t leave me.”

  “I’ll find help and come right back.” Alixa pulled Emmie’s hands off her, then cupped the younger girl’s blood-slicked cheeks. “Stay in the tree. You’ll be safe.”

  “Safe? You think? I mean, what do we know about these things?”

  “They’ll stay in the prairie. They don’t climb trees and won’t attack after dusk,” Alixa lied with brash resolve. Surely, some chance that could be true? She needed to leave Emmie with some semblance of confidence. “Keep him calm. Keep him still. Stay the bleeding if it comes through the wraps.”

  “Please, don’t leave me.” Emmie shook her head, lower lip trembling.

  “I will come back.” She gently brushed Emmie’s cheek with her thumb. “I swear to you, Emmie. I am not leaving you.”

  “O-okay. Be careful, Lix.”

  “Hey, aren’t I always careful?” Alixa flashed a cocky grin to cover her own sinking hope. “Keep him alive, Sheep, and don’t have too much fun without me.”

  And she was gone.

  Emmie leaned against the tree trunk and groaned, her own wounds sapping her body of what little strength she had left. She scanned the blood-drenched cloths scattered across the branches. Her eyes settled on Renn’s motionless body. They were alone. For weeks now, she’d dreaded being alone with him, fearful of the tense, hurtful conversation that inevitably ensued.

  “Don’t die, Renn. Please. You can’t.”

  She thought she’d witnessed him die a sudden, violent death already today. She had the oppressive feeling she was about to watch him die again, this time slowly and helplessly.

  What she wouldn’t give for something as trite and innocuous as a tense, hurtful conversation with Renn.

  XLV - The Wandering Prairies

  After running blindly through the dark forest for a mile or so, Alixa crumpled to the ground. Not from exhaustion. She kept herself far too sharp and fit for fatigue to deter her. She squeezed into a ball, her back against a Du-Banyon, and buried her head.

  She hadn’t felt this helpless in years. Or been smothered with the suffocating guilt of having failed somebody so thoroughly. Alixa refused to become indebted to another person. Never permitted anyone to get close enough to matter.

  My fault. All my fault. If Renn dies. . . I killed him. Might as well have shot him myself.

  Her grey eyes blankly searched the sky. This wasn’t fear. Or even anger.

  I never once thought about either one of them. I left them to die.

  She was overwhelmed with shame.

  She knew staying with these kids was dangerous. She had tried to leave them before it was too late. But even then, it already had been. She’d let Emmie and Renn in. She’d let them mean something to her. Then. . . she let them down in spectacular fashion.

  Alixa hugged her knees, rocking her body front-to-back.

  Renn’s going to die because all I care about is me.

  She knew now that had she stopped to fight, Renn wouldn’t be bleeding to death. Emmie, wounded and drained, wouldn’t be alone watching her friend die. She could’ve fought those big lions off. Maybe not by herself, but certainly by directing Renn and Emmie, they could’ve made a stand.

  But no, self-absorbed and cowardly, she ran. She abandoned them. She left it to a kid, an unskilled, awkward teenager, to show her what real courage looked like. He was willing, without hesitation, to trade his life for Emmie’s. That left her in awe of a seemingly unimpressive boy, and ashamed of the person she’d worked so hard to become.

  Alixa tore at her hair, cursing herself. Then stopped abruptly. What was the point of wallowing in self-pity?

  This was self-absorbed.

  This was cowardly.

  This was doing nobody any good. It certainly wasn’t helping Renn.

  Alixa picked herself up, wiping dirt, sweat, and stickers from her hands and face. She’d failed them once tonight because of her appalling selfishness. Here she was, doing it again. Consumed with herself.

  She tightened her scabbard and belt and clinched her bow on her back. It was simple. She could redeem herself right now or Renn would die. She’d never forgive herself if he died in that tree. And she wouldn’t be able to look Emmie in the eye, ever again.

  For the first time in years, that meant something to Alixa. Another person’s life. Another person’s trust and respect.

  “I’ll find someone, Renn. I swear.” She tugged her hair tight into a ponytail. “No one dies tonight. Not on my watch.”

  She shook off her wallowing and crashed forward into the dark woods.

  Emmie had no clue how long Alixa had been gone. It seemed an eternity. She watched Renn’s chest rise and fall unevenly. Listened for his labored breathing. Buzzed with such glee at his occasional groans she felt her sanity tipping. All the while, she relived the day’s events, from breaking into a desperate run in the prairies to Alixa scampering away to search for what was only the scantest hope of help.

  Alixa had been incredible. Unbelievable, really. She was a master artist with her bow and sword, and that deadly bracelet. But one moment kept coming to the forefront: Renn barreling headlong into those lions. His only goal to intercept them before they reached her. Renn was no warrior-artist, far from it. That only made his sacrifice all-the-more meaningful.

  She should be dead, Emmie knew, except Renn had given his life for hers. That he hadn’t died was irrelevant; he was willing to, probably intended to. And the likelihood of him dying increased as the night dragged on with no sign of Alixa. Who, Emmie prayed, was sincere that she wasn’t simply leaving them.

  “I’ve been so terrible to you,” Emmie cried. “And you go and do this in return.”

  Emmie covered her mouth, fighting back sobs. She needed to talk to relieve the tension, hold herself together. And maybe hearing a friendly voice would register in Renn’s subconsciousness.

  “You bleed too much, Rennwinn,” she blurted out, chucking another dripping hunk of bandaging aside. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

  She re-wrapped his shoulder, pulling another strip of worn blanket tight as she could.

  “I’m running out of stuff to keep your blood in. Look at the mess you’ve made of our bedding, and most of our clothes.” Emmie barked a humorless laugh, gesturing to the growing pile of drenched rags the next platform over. “What would your mom say?”

  Emmie swallowed through parched lips, then brushed Renn’s hair out of his eyes. “I love your mom, you know that? If I ever could’ve had a mom, I’d pick someone like her. Or Brie. I’d roll ‘em into one and wouldn’t that be something?”

  Not surprisingly, Renn didn’t respond. Which was fine. All Emmie wanted out of Renn right now was to not die. She felt a pang of homesickness at the thought of Jes and Brie, of Brie’s little cottage, and dipping her toes in the rushing Longar River. And when she thought of home, he
r mind invariably returned to the lakes of Khuul Duvar.

  Her memories mixed and drifted to Renn’s Uncle Dreggar dropping by their house in the Khuul. He was always there on business, but it never felt like business. Sitting on their porch with the sun glistening on the waves, laughing hysterically at her jokes, making her feel like the funniest girl alive.

  And the candy. He always brought her favorites, too; not the sticky stuff from down in the market. Emmie’s face scrunched up. No way could’ve he invested that kind of coin and effort on every contact’s kid. Yet for Emmie, he had all the time in the world. Somehow, he must’ve known how starved she was for a little kindness. How had she never realized this before?

  And how often had she focused on the cruelty of people like the Bermark fake-friends or the gossipy marketplace ladies, instead of the consistent decency of folks like Dreggar or Dad’s fishing buddies? She gazed at Renn; so like his uncle. Not physically—Renn resembled a young, male Jes, with only a hint of his dad or uncle—but in how he treated her.

  Emmie breathed in the memories that lingered and clung to her battered, oversized cloak right along with that old fishy smell. That brought her back to Dad; his dirty old boots, his grey stubbly face, his unconditional love conveyed daily in acts both simple and lavish. She breathed deeply into the hood of her fishy cloak again. Her now blood-soppy cloak.

  “It’s always going to smell like you now too.” She was on the verge of crying again. She forced a laugh. “Ah, that fishy-goaty fragrance. What more could a girl want?”

  “Huh?”

  “Renn!” Emmie bolted upright.

  “Em. . . s’that you?” Panic washed through his slurring voice. “Em? Can’t see. Lixa?”

  Renn tried to prop himself up, only to crash back down with a whimper. Emmie scrambled to his side.

  “I’m here, Renn. You have to lay still. I’ll help you.”

  “Right. . .but.” His left eye caromed around trying to make sense of his surroundings. His breaths began to come in big gulps. “Oh, no. Alixa. No.”

  “Alixa went for help.” Emmie gently pushed his matted hair away from his one eye not swathed in bandaging. “She’ll be back soon.”

  She didn’t feel quite right saying that, as the truth of the statement was a bit dubious.

  “Lay back and rest. The less you move the better.”

  “No. I gotta. . . I gotta. . .”

  “Shhh.” Emmie took his hand and leaned close, so her face dominated his view. “Your only gotta is to lie still.”

  He attempted to rise again. Emmie had to physically hold him down.

  “No, Renn, you have to rest,” she pleaded. “Please. For me?”

  He blinked, then nodded and laid back. “Feel awful. Must look awful.”

  His clothes were caked in dried blood. His shredded left shoulder was nearly bleeding through the wrap again. What little of his haggard face that was visible was pale, dazed, and deathly.

  “You’re alive, Rennwinn.” Emmie blinked back tears. “You look amazing to me.”

  “Yeah.” He managed a pained smile, then added, “Don’t want to die.”

  “Well, silly,” Emmie chided, pushing sticky hair off her forehead. “Should’ve thought of that before you charged those things.”

  “Eh, there’s worse things than dying.”

  “You saved my life. That was so brave. Or really, really stupid.”

  “Yeah, but. . . now I don’t want to die, k?” Renn’s hazy eye stayed fixed on her. He tried to say something humorous, but nothing came. “Don’t leave me,” he croaked.

  “I will not leave you, Renn.” His expression was going vacant. Emmie licked her dry lips. “You want a story? You’ll be able to hear me, right next to you.”

  “Sure.”

  “K. . . you ever been to the Khuul?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have?” Emmie’s eyebrows shot up. That made her forehead sting so badly she winced and saw black spots. That couldn’t be good.

  “What’d you ask?”

  “You just listen.” Emmie patted his hand, faked a casual grin. “Let’s see. It’ll be my birthday in. . . yah, no clue. Maybe already happened. Who knows?”

  With a long, calming breath, Emmie worked to recall pleasant memories. Her eyes flickered brightly as she pushed those memories out where she and Renn could share them.

  “Course, we don’t know my real birthday. Dad made the day he found me my second birthday. I think he always reckoned I was younger—you know, scrawny and not as mature as other kids.” Emmie tried to make her laugh sound good-natured. “But Dad said that day was a real birth and counted every bit as much.”

  She hummed for a few seconds. She needed a story she could draw out. Keep talking like they were sitting on the riverbank in Drennich. Getting to know each other like normal people would. All the relaxed time in the world.

  “Let’s see. Favorite birthday. . .” Emmie’s head bounced side-to-side, placing herself in her own story. “Seventh, definitely. At first it scared the breeches off me. Middle of the night, Dad comes into my room yelling, ‘Wake up, Goldie!’” Emmie could all but hear Dad’s voice. The familiar ache of missing him returned. She bit her lip, wanting to hang onto that voice forever.

  “Em?” Renn rasped. “What?”

  No, Emmie reminded herself, the important thing was to keep her voice in Renn’s head.

  “He’s all ‘into the boat!’ Of course, I had no idea what was up.” Emmie’s wide eyes became animated and she gestured excitedly. “Was the house on fire? Was it roving bandits or something? My seven-year old brain’s racing! He bundles me up into our big woolen blanket. You know, that blanket’s still on my bed at Brie’s. . .”

  Emmie shook it off.

  “Well, he carries me to the skiff. Not our big fishing skiff, this one’s more of an over-sized rowboat with a bench built into the prow. He rows us to the middle of the lake. I’m sitting all huddled up, quiet as a mouse.” Emmie stuck her tongue into the side of her cheek, smiling. “Even I knew to be quiet on the lake that time of night, and I could be kinda a loud kid. Imagine that, huh?”

  “I like you loud,” Renn mumbled.

  “Uh, thanks?” Emmie kept the smile plastered on her face. “Anyway. The lake’s as still and smooth as a mirror. He pulls me onto his lap, all snuggly under that wooly blanket, and he whispers, ‘look up, Emmie.’ I’d had my eyes on the night lamps burning along the docks this whole time, trying to catch sight of the emergency. I look up.” Emmie gazed up into the sprawling branches of the Du-Banyon tree. Renn’s eye slid open and followed hers. “What do you think I see?”

  “What?” Renn rasped, his eye searching. “What do we see?”

  “It’s a crisp fall night. The stars are brilliant. I ask, ‘we lookin’ for constellations?’ Da was always teaching me about constellations, and navigating by the sky, and everything a girl’d need; one who’s going to be a fishing boat captain someday.” Dad always insisted she had the ideal makeup to captain a boat and crew. She wondered what he’d say now. “Well, Da says, ‘look over the mountains.’ Then I see it!

  “Oh, Renn, it’s incredible.” Emmie’s voice rose with wonder. “These slivers of purple and silver and violet all reflecting back, getting wider and brighter, and. . . oh, it is something to see! Imagine, being this scared, runty kid seeing it for the first time. Da whispers ‘what day is it, Goldie?’ I screw my face up, thinkin’, and suddenly it dawns on me. It’s midnight—my birthday!” Emmie threw her hands up with a cheer.

  “Yay,” Renn croaked painfully.

  “Every fall, the Eastern Lights come up over the mountains like that. Probably can’t see ‘em from Drennich; too far west, into the woods, I imagine. Da says to me it’s the whole world glowing just for my day. Course, I believe him. I’m seven! We sit there for hours, watching the sky. He pulls out a tiny bag of candy. My favorite candy; don’t know where he’d find it every year.” Emmie flashed Renn a quick look. “Bet you remember that?”<
br />
  Renn fished back into his hazy mind. He struggled for the answer. It seemed like such a distant memory. Ah, yes, that hard candy Brie had him give her. Was that right? Renn, confused yet relieved, nodded.

  Emmie held a pleasant smile, but Renn’s flummoxed look was disheartening. Renn would know the answer; he didn’t forget those kinds of details. Emmie quelled her dismay and continued, “Every year until we left the Khuul, my birthday started with that explosion of light and color. I never got tired of it.”

  “I’d love to see that.”

  “I’d love to show you. I will show you.”

  “Mmmm.” Renn didn’t sound convinced. “I don’t want to die.”

  “You are not going to die here. I won’t let you. Lixa won’t let you.” But Emmie had to force her geniality a little more each time he said it.

  “Yeah.” He coughed. “Worse things than dying. . .” Renn drifted off again.

  Emmie sighed, straightening her back against the tree to return to her vigil.

  Monitor Renn’s every breath.

  Scan the prairie for activity.

  Try to suppress her nausea, anxiety, and the biting pain of her wounds.

  Back to Renn’s breathing.

  Strain for any sign of Alixa.

  She needed Alixa.

  Right now.

  XLVI - The Wandering Prairies

  Alixa raced through the pitch-black woods, guided only by her well-honed wilderness instincts. She’d crashed face first to the forest floor multiple times, as roots or embedded rocks tripped her as she ran. But she refused to slow. The only pauses she allowed herself were to periodically scale trees to ensure she was still headed for the smoke trail. She rarely had to correct her trajectory.

  She’d been running for, she wasn’t sure, at least two hours. Probably more. But with the sun long-gone and Renn’s injuries worse than she could bring herself to tell Emmie, time was an apathetic adversary. Besides, she had no idea if those things really would stay out of the big du-Banyon.