Raging Star (28 page)

Complaints from my body start to drag me awake. It grumbles at the lumpy hardness of my bed. Stiff neck, cramped arm, my back’s got somethin stickin into it. An somethin heavy pins my feet down.

The hands of a dream try to drag me back. A dream of Peg’s birds. Nero had opened the doors of their cages. I followed their skysongs, chased after them to the seedstore, where I found ’em feastin on seed from the spilled jars. DeMalo discovered us there. He made me gather all the birds an put them in the jars. Even Nero. I wept as I closed the lids on their songs. He held me in his arms until the room fell silent.

I squint through gritty eyes. The sun’s moved, but daylight still shifts through the slat window above. I got no idea how long I bin out of it. My dull head tells me too long an not nearly long enough.

The heavy weight on my feet is Tracker. As I sit, I pull myself free an he scrambles up. Next thing I know, his tongue’s swipin at my face. All right, that’s enough, thank you. I shove him offa me. Look at this mess, I tell him.

My bed of packs has collapsed. Between me probly shovellin at ’em in my sleep an now Tracker’s big feet, they’re scattered about. The top pack’s fallen open an some of the gear spilled out. It’s Tommo’s. He’s th’only one among us who’d bother to fold a worn brown shirt so neat. I tuck it back inside, along with the other stuff. Empty trade bag, his flint an steel, a coil of nettlecord.

Nettlecord. My hand pauses. I stare at it a long long moment. No two cords are the same. They speak of the hand of their maker. What Ash said, what I rubbished so quickly, hisses inside of me darkly.

I don’t wanna think that one of our own did it, but I cain’t figger how else to explain it. If it is one of us, we gotta know who. An why
.

I didn’t look at the tether closely. It was night-time. I ain’t looked at it since. I’m probly wrong. I should check anyways. I don’t want to, but I must. I need better light. Tracker follows me as I take the coil outside. There ain’t nobody around. I pull the tether from my coat pocket. I hold the two side by side. The coil an the tether. They’re the same. My heartbeat trips. I compare the cut ends. They match. They fit. The same hand made both. Cold stills my skin.

A cord tells its maker as surely as palmlines tell a life. From the loose work of a child’s first cord to the roughness of one made in haste. Pa taught us cords early on, me an Lugh. How to make one. How to read one.

As my heart denies it, as my head decries it, my eyes declare they know who made this cord. I’ve watched him make an mend many times.

Tommo. It’s Tommo’s cord.

I make fer the nutgrove in a numb hurry. Tracker bounds ahead. I’m dizzy, off-kilter, fuddled. Like I git when I’ve drunk too much whisky. When what’s real seems dreamlike an distant.

Tommo would never harm Nero. He couldn’t. Apart from a rare few people, his sympathy lies with creatures. An surely so. They won’t ever misuse him fer his deafness, not like his fellow humans have. He’s always got a soft word, a kind hand. Fer the horses an Tracker an Nero. Fergawdsake, he even thanks the animals he has to kill fer food. He calls ’em brother. But I did wound him with my duplicity. Did I wound him so badly that this is how he wounds me back?

Peg waved a cranky claw towards the grove when I asked if she’d seen Slim. Too busy loadin choice bits of scrap on her junktub to waste words on me. On my way, I do my best to calm myself, smooth myself. I don’t wanna give out that
there’s anythin untoward. I’m wrong. It’s a mistake. I must be wrong. I gotta speak to Slim first, before anythin else.

I find him helpin Em with her bow an arrow target practice. They’re a gentle sight, the old man an the girl. Golden an soft in the afternoon sun. Memory kicks in me, falters me mid-stride. Of a gold moment of my own, jest like this one. Wait … no. Not a memory of my past. It’s a memory from the walls of DeMalo’s white room. A old man an a girl, laughin together in a kind afternoon, in a world that was lost long ago.

Still. If I was to secretly patch my own threadbare life with this small, unwanted scrap of memory, no one would know it ain’t mine. I walk towards them, sayin, Fine shootin, Emmi.

She smiles, shy but pleased. I wish Jack was here to see, she says. He always said I had good aim. I still got a long ways to go. But I got the best teacher ever. She leans her head aginst Slim’s arm. He ruffs her hair with affection.

It’s clear he’s bin helpin her fer some time. I had no idea. An I git a heart pang that it ain’t me teachin her. Well, too bad fer me. I had every chance an never bothered. I hand her the tether cord. Is this the tether from the burrow? I says.

You should know, she says. I gave it to you an you put it in yer pocket right away. Why you askin me?

Never mind why, I says. You sure this is it? Take a good look, Em.

She studies it, frownin. Well, it’s dirty enough, she says. It’s
bin tied around somethin. It’s pretty worn. I’m sure as I can be, I guess. It was dark, y’know.

I take it back from her. Okay, I says. Git back to yer practice. Keep on like this, you’ll be outshootin me in no time.

Not yet, she says. Maybe one day. She steps her feet into place with particular care an starts firin at the moss target agin. She’s much stronger in her arms an wrists an chest. Jack’s right. She’s got a natural eye. An her aim holds remarkably true. That’s a surprise in a girl made of air.

I don’t hafta give Slim the nod I wanna talk to him. He knows. He falls in beside me an we move among the trees so’s we’re well outta earshot of Em. I unsling the coil of nettlecord from my belt. I hand it to him, along with the tether. Tell me what you see, I says.

He takes his time, compares the two. Our eyes meet an hold. I see that Nero’s tether was cut from this cord. An lookin at yer face, he says, I see you know who made it.

Slim wouldn’t know the work of Tommo’s hand. I don’t s’pose he’s ever seen it close enough. An Em didn’t notice, she was too excited at the time.

I do know, I says. I don’t want to, but I do.

He hands both back to me. I wouldn’t rush to judgement. As you well know by now, things ain’t always what they appear to be, he says. What looks to be guilt could be somethin else.

Such as? I says.

He shrugs. Somebody could of borrowed the cord. Whoever’s guilty could be settin the cord maker up to be the fall guy. Don’t gimme that look like I’m crazy. Yer a straight arrow, Miss Death, not everybody is. In fact, you shouldn’t be talkin to me about this. Fer all you know, I could be to blame.

I’ll take my chances, I says. What should I do, Slim? Help me out here, please.

He ponders the hazel bough above our heads fer a moment, drawin a hand down his bristly jowls. Then he says, Okay, lemme play devil’s advocate. How much does it really matter? Our feathered brother’s safe an well, no harm done, an yer plate’s heaped high as it is.

I says, If we got somebody among us who’s done this, we need to know who an why. They might be up to all sorts behind our backs. This could be a problem, Slim. A big one.

A traitor among us. One of us. These are my only people in the world. The poison I’m talkin burns in my mouth.

I cain’t see it myself but, okay, says Slim, here you go. Do one thing about it. I ain’t sayin what, that’s yer decision. Do that one thing, quick an easy, then leave it, see what happens. Somethin’s bound to. Remember, fer every action, there’s a reaction.

Right, I says.

But don’t jump to no conclusions, he says, an don’t go accusin nobody, no matter what it looks like at this point. Bide yer time.

We ain’t got time, I says.

The words let go their hold. They drop darkly from my lips. We-ain’t-got-time. They land, light-footed, an they’re off. Four words runnin to the four way. North south east west. Never to be caught.

Slim’s dead still. He sniffs the air, the warm kindness of the day. Grizzled old beasts, wily in the world, scent the comin storm while the children play on. I had the idea it might be so, he says. How long we got?

The blood moon, I says. Don’t ask me no more.

Blood moon, he says. That’s four nights from now. If I was you, Angel, I’d gimme somethin to do, pronto.

I sent Ash an Creed to git Auriel an bring her to Nass Camp, I says. I’m countin on her still bein at the Snake with her refugees. You probly know some of ’em.

Most of ’em, he says. Seein how I bin here all my life.

We need the strongest of ’em back here right away, I says.

Nass Camp’s a good call, he says. It’s well offa the beaten track.

If you an Molly could go there an make it ready, I says. Git in some supplies on the way. They’ll be tired an hungry an might well need yer doctor skills.

What’s the plan once you got ’em there? he says.

Accordin to DeMalo, I says, they ain’t good enough to live in New Eden. Accordin to us, they are. We’re gonna smuggle ’em back in. Once they’re spread about New
Eden, we’ll have everybody we need in place. Mothers an fathers, brothers an sisters, new babies, old neighbours an friends—

Then we make a big gawdamnn rumble, says Slim. Jest like you said. I take it you know how that’s gonna play out.

Fear slashes through me. I grab his hand. Clutch it tight to my chest. He’s warm. Solid. Wise. I look at him. Sudden tears blur my eyes.

Hey hey, he says. What’s all this?

I don’t know, I whisper. Slim, I dunno what comes next. That’s why I need Auriel, I need her right away. She’ll know what I hafta do, she’ll see it in the stars. We ain’t got long, an it’s gotta work or—

I stop myself before I lose it completely. I let go his hand. I scrub my eyes, swipe my nose, git my breath in control.

There’s such concern, such compassion in his face. He goes to hug me, but I take a step back. Oh my dear, he says. What heavy burden you bear.

Please don’t be kind, I cain’t take it, I says. Jest tell me I ain’t made a terrible mistake. Tell me we can do this.

He takes my hand in both of his. We will do this, he says. We are doin this. It’s all comin together. I got faith in you, Angel. I always have done. An I ain’t no fool, all appearances to the contrary. He kisses my hand. Me an Molly better go, he says.

Hurry, Slim, please, I says.

He’s already on his way to the yard. He calls over his shoulder, with a wave an a smile, We’re halfways there already!

Late in the game. The endgame. I know, I know, I cain’t fergit it fer a moment. The blood moon’s only four nights away. Tomorrow today will be yesterday. I’m fast runnin outta tomorrows.

An there might be a traitor among us.

Me an Tracker find Tommo at the coldwater pond. We find him bathin, his back turned to us. All around him, the still water shatters the sunlight. It dances his hair blue-black. Blazes him to sleek gold smoothness. This is a day to make the heart ache. Such unbearable beauty on the skin of life.

I kneel in the grass at the pond’s edge an wash him a wave through the water. As he feels it, he whirls around. His eyes go wide. He dunks hisself to the neck. Excuse me, d’you mind? he says.

He’s flushed dark red to the tips of his ears. His tone’s so outraged that, despite my worries, my mouth twitches to smile. Like I ain’t seen him shirtless plenty of times. Or, fer that matter, caught a glimpse of his backside more’n once.
He’ll of seen the same of me. After all, we bin at close quarters fer months now. But I open my hands in apology. Sorry, I says.