Rebel Heart (3 page)

Shut up, she says, I know I’m a hag. He snorts with disbelief and she smiles at herself in the glass, pleased. Livin in this dump is playin merry hell with my looks, she says. I’ve grown old, waitin on Ike. The Lost Cause. That’s me all right, Jack, the biggest lost cause ever lived. An you know why? Fer thinkin that man might ever mean what he says. Ike Twelvetrees settle down? You might as well ask the sun to stop shinin.

Now. Tell her now. Molly, says Jack, there’s somethin I—

Oh, enough about Ike. He’ll show his face when he’s worked up his nerve. She leans her elbows on the bar. What’s this sorry-lookin object? She flicks the brim of his hat. It tumbles to the floor. That’s better, she says. Damn you, Jack, yer a handsome devil an no mistake. You an them moonlight eyes of yers.

Listen. Molly. I, uh—

D’you ever think about her? Molly says it abruptly.

He doesn’t answer. He stares into his drink.

She’d be six by now, she says. I know it’s stupid, but . . . I like to imagine how she’d be. What kind of character, y’know. Who she might take after. She had eyes jest like yers. She was beautiful, wasn’t she?

Yeah, he says. She sure was.

He takes her hand in both of his. Holds it tight and kisses it. They look at each other. The air between them lies heavy with what was. With what had never really been, but still would always bind them together.

Jack? She’s peering at him closely, searchingly. She draws back to stare at him, like something about him’s suddenly struck her. Ohmigawd, Jack. You got somethin to tell me.

He breathes out. Yeah, he says. Yeah, I do. The thing is, Molly . . . I, uh—

Well, I’ll be damned! she says. There’s a slow smile creeping across her face.

He frowns. Molly?

Ha ha! I don’t believe it! She slaps her hand on the bar. Gawdammit an hallelujah, Jack, who is she?

What? What’re you talkin about?

Don’t gimme the run around, I know you too well. Who is she? Who’s the girl? Molly spots the leather string hanging around his neck. An what’s this? She gives a tug and pulls out the heartstone, hidden inside his shirt.

Molly gazes at it. A heartstone, she says. She looks at him with wondering eyes. She gave you a heartstone.

Maybe I found it, he says.

Oh no, she says. I can see her in yer face, Jack. I can see her in yer eyes.

I dunno what yer talkin about, he says.

Hey, she says, it’s me, remember? You an me don’t pretend. We’re past that. All the time I’ve knowed you, Jack, you kept the door to that heart of yers locked up tight an the key hid away. Looks like she found it.

He says nothing. Molly waits. Then,

Keys ain’t her style, he says. She kicked the door down.

You love her, says Molly.

Oh, I dunno about that, he says. I, uh . . . huh. That sounds too safe. This don’t feel safe.

Oh. Like that, is it?

I don’t want this, Molly, he says. I . . . whatever it is, I sure didn’t go lookin fer it.

You don’t hafta, she says. If it’s meant to be, it’ll find you. We like to think we’re in charge of our own lives, but we ain’t. Not really. You should know that by now.

You couldn’t find nobody more pig-headed if you tried, he says. An she’s always thinkin she knows best, even when she don’t, especially when she don’t. She’s prickly an stubborn an everythin you’d put at the bottom of a list if you was makin a . . . a list of that kind. Which I ain’t. I didn’t.

But? says Molly.

But ohmigawd Molly, she shines so bright, he says. The fire of life burns so strong in her. I never realized till I met her . . . I bin cold my whole life, Moll.

I know, she says softly.

It’s jest that . . . aw, hell. She thinks I’m a better man than I really am.

Well, yer a better man than you think you are, she says.

She’s too young, he says. Eighteen.

Scandalous! she says. Cuz yer so old.

Age ain’t about years an you know it, he says. Anyways, settin so much store in one person . . . it’s dangerous.

Don’t you dare walk away from this, Jack, don’t you dare, Molly says fiercely. Most people don’t ever feel what yer feelin. Be with her. An if it lasts one hour, one night, a week, a month, it don’t matter. Be with her, burn with her, shine with her . . . fer whatever time’s given to you. Now. Tell me her name. Tell me.

He takes a deep breath. Saba, he says. Her name’s Saba.

Molly rests a hand on his face. Oh, my darlin Jack, she says. This . . . this is what I wanted fer you. All I ever wanted fer you. How could she resist them eyes?

She tried, says Jack. Man, did she try. But . . . listen, Molly, that ain’t why I—

A celebration! she cries. This calls fer some serious drinkin! An I mean serious!

She laughs as she slams hoochers down, setting them out in a long line across the bar. Where the hell is Ike? Ike! she hollers. Gawdammit, man, git yer hairy hide in here this minute! We’re drinkin to Jack an Saba! She starts to pour, splashing and spilling everywhere. I tell you, Jack, yer a inspiration. I’m gonna rename this place. No more Lost Cause, oh no. Not this place an sure as hell not me. From this moment on, it’s gonna be called The Hope Springs Eternal! An when Ike walks through that door – after I finish kissin him to death – I’m gonna tie him to that chair an never let him go, cuz life’s too gawdamn short an it’s about time I started takin my own advice. I might need yer help, of course, but I’m sure you won’t mind, seein how—

Molly! Jack grabs her hand. Stop, Molly, please. Dammit, Moll. Ike ain’t gonna walk through the door.

She goes still. Very still. Her smile fades. Please don’t say it, she whispers.

He can’t bear to. But he has to.

Ike’s dead, he says. He’s dead, Molly. I’m sorry.

Tear flood her eyes. Spill silently down her face. She looks at him straight.

It was a month ago, he says. No . . . a bit more. There was a . . . it was a big fight. A real one this time, not jest some tavern brawl. The Tonton.

The Tonton, she says.

We went back to Freedom Fields, he says. We burned the chaal fields. They came after us an . . . not jest me an Ike, but Saba too, an some others. We fought ’em, Molly. We beat ’em. An fer a time, fer . . . a little while, the good guys was on top. Me an Ike, the good guys. Who’d of thought it?

Me, she says. I would. I know.

He was with friends, Moll, says Jack. I was with him. I was right there an . . . he died in my arms. He died well. He went out big. The way he would of wanted to. The last thing I said to him, I . . . whispered in his ear. Molly loves you, Ike. That was the last thing he heard.

She stands there a moment. She nods once. Slides her hand free of his. I’m glad it was you told me, she says. Don’t waste no more time, Jack. Go to her. Be with her. Burn bright. Promise me.

Leave here, he says. Come with me. Please.

Promise me, she says.

I promise, he says.

G’bye, Jack. She kisses him on the cheek. Then she slips through the door into the back room and closes it behind her.

Silence. She must be holding something over her mouth so’s not to make any noise. She might as well let go and have a good howl. He’s the only one here. He goes around the bar and knocks on the door.

Molly? No answer. He was comin back to you, Molly, he says. He loved you.

Go away, she says.

I cain’t leave you like this, he says. Let me in.

Fergawdsake, jest do what I say! she cries.

He goes back to his stool. He looks at the full hoochers lined up along the bar and starts on the first one. He knows how Molly grieves. Once he’s gone, she’ll lock the place up. Then she’ll cry some and drink some. And she’ll do that, over and over again, until the skin over this latest wound has grown tough enough for her to carry on.

He’ll wait till the storm passes. Then he’ll go. He pulls the heartstone out again. Rubs it between his fingers. It’s cool, even though it’s been next to his skin. That’s the way of a heartstone. Cool until you get close to your heart’s desire. The closer you get, the hotter it burns. The last time he saw Saba, she put it around his neck. It was hot.

It’ll help you to find me, she’d said.

I don’t need no stone to find you, he’d said. I’d find you anywhere.

Then she’d kissed him. Till he couldn’t think. Till he was dizzy with wanting her.

He slips the stone back into his shirt.

The storm hits. He hears the sudden, dull thunder of sulphate raining down on the Lost Cause. Soon enough, the rain will follow and wash it away.

The door slams open. The wind wails inside, rattling the rafters, stirring the sand on the floor, plucking at his coat. He gets up to close it.

Two men walk in. They’re spattered with sulphate. Leather body armour. Crossbows. Bolt shooters. Long black robes. Long hair. Beards.

Tonton. Old-style. Danger.

Every nerve, every muscle in Jack’s body snaps tight and starts to fizz. But he keeps his voice casual as he says, The place is empty, fellas. Looks like everybody cleared off.

I come to see that Lilith, says one. Where is she?

Gone, says Jack, like I said. Check fer yerself.

The Tonton stares at him a moment. He crosses to a door in the corner. It leads to a hallway with four small rooms off it, where the girls used to do business. He goes through, yelling, Lilith! Hey, Lilith! Git on out here! There’s the sound of doors being slammed open, one after another.

One Tonton out of the way. Jack’s eyes flick to the bar. His weapons belt lies there.

A quick move and the other Tonton’s got his bolt shooter out and aimed at Jack. It was the work of a second. He goes to the bar and drains one of the full hoochers. His gaze never leaves Jack. His shooter stays aimed.

The first Tonton comes back out. Where’d she go? he says.

I dunno, friend, says Jack. Like I said, there ain’t nobody here.

Just then, Molly lets out a cry. A long, keening, animal wail of pain.

As it dies down, the one with the drink says, So who’s that?

He and Jack stare at each other.

Leave her alone, says Jack.

The Tonton points his bolt shooter at Jack’s heart. Lazily. He smiles.

Call her, he says. Go on . . . friend. Call her.

I stand on the ridge. I watch the sun rise. White-faced an pitiless, it starts to grill the earth. Another dawn in the Waste. Another day in this nowhere. High summer. Heat an dust. Thirst an hunger an blame.

Me an Lugh an Tommo an Emmi. At each other. About who did what. Who said what. Whose fault it is that we’re stuck here. That we’re caught in this land of death an bones, when we should be livin it rich out west. Makin a new life fer ourselfs.

Over the mountains. Beside the Big Water. Where the air tastes like honey. Where Jack waits fer me.

Oh, Jack. Please. Wait.

I’m countin on you to wait.

We should of bin there long ago. Weeks ago. Emmi says the land’s keepin us here. That it’s trapped us. I wish she wouldn’t say stuff like that. You know it’s stupid but she says it an somehow it gits into yer head an then you cain’t stop thinkin about it.

The thing is, we made a bad start. We didn’t have no plan. We jest turned our heads west an went. It beggars belief that four people could be so foolish, but there you go. We warn’t thinkin clear, none of us. Too much had happened. We’d jest beat the Tonton in a hard fight. An only then by the skin of our teeth, an all thanks to Maev an the Hawks. If they hadn’t of showed up, we’d of bin finished.

Then Jack. Tellin me, farewell not goodbye, I’ll see you out west an – oh, by the way – yer in my blood, Saba.

So my head was full of him an all of the rest of it an . . . I had Lugh back. Since the day the Tonton snatched him from Silverlake, that’s all I’d bin set on. To find Lugh an git him back. An I was jest so glad. So glad an so thankful that him an me was together agin.

I don’t mean to say that it don’t matter that Ike got killed in the fight. A grievous sadness fills me when I think about him. My heart hurts. Not like Tommo’s does, not like that. He mourns Ike hard an deep. I guess no deaf boy’s ever gonna be a big talker, but he’s bin brought so low we hardly hear his strange, rough voice these days. Em’s took to speakin on his account. He don’t seem to mind.

But when we started off, the main thing was we was alive. Somehow . . . somehow we lived through it all. An I had my Lugh back. My twin, most dearly loved. An it was like we was giddy with relief an joy an . . . so much relief that we fergot about anythin else.

Like how we’d git where we wanted to go.

We ended up askin the first traveller we met. A salt johnny on camelback who’d jest bin harvestin at one of the great salt lakes on the Waste. Our tradebag was on the thin side an the best we could give him was a belt buckle an a pair of cord bootlaces. That bought us a half-campbell of salt an the advice to head straight across the Waste. He said it was the fastest, most direct way west. We figgered he knew what he was talkin about, so that’s what we did. We went straight.

A buckle an bootlaces don’t buy good advice.

He didn’t tell us what kinda place it is. Why it’s called the Waste. He didn’t tell us about the deathwater. The bad huntin. The Wrecker plague pits that stretch out fer leagues. The sinkholes that suddenly appear as you cross ’em. One moment yer goin along, the next moment the ground opens an yer down among the dead.

I was the first one to fall in. I bin up to my neck in dead men’s bones before. You’d think I’d be used to it. That I wouldn’t mind. But I do. I mind.

I’m sick to death of death.

Then it was Buck, Lugh’s horse. Lucky he didn’t break his leg or worse. Lucky Lugh was leadin him at the time, not ridin him. But he twisted his right leg. It happened a week ago an he still ain’t right. So we’re stuck here till he’s better. Stuck in the Waste.

Maybe the land is tryin to keep us here. Maybe Emmi’s right. It warn’t so long ago that I wouldn’t of paid no mind to what a nine year old little sister had to say. But Em’s got a way of seein things, a different way of lookin at the world. I don’t dismiss her so quick these days.

One thing’s true. One thing I know fer sure. This place ain’t right. There’s shadows where there shouldn’t oughta be none. I’ll see somethin, outta the corner of my eye, an I’ll think it’s Nero or maybe another bird but it never is. An I hear these . . . these noises. It’s like . . . I dunno, like somebody’s whisperin or somethin.

I don’t say nuthin to th’others. Not no more. I did at first. We’d all hunt around to see what it might be, but nobody ever found nuthin an then they started lookin at me funny, so now I jest keep my mouth shut.

I don’t sleep good. I ain’t slept good fer so long that I’m pretty much used to it, but it’s bin even worse ever since Epona died. Anyways, it means I can keep watch over ’em. Lugh an Emmi an Tommo. Make sure they don’t come to no harm. If I don’t sleep, nobody can come an take ’em.

Mainly, though, I keep watch over Lugh. He sleeps long an deep. But not easy. Never easy. Most nights he talks in his sleep. Nuthin I can make out, mumblin fer the most part, the odd word or two.

Sometimes he cries. Like a little child. That’s the worst. I cry with him. I cain’t help it. His tears is mine. They always have bin. Th’only time I ever remember him cryin before was when Ma died when we was eight. There was plenty of tears shed then. Me an Lugh an Pa must of cried enough tears to fill Silverlake three times over. But tears don’t bring back the dead. I learned that.

Fer now, I got work to do. Back at camp they’ll all be wakin with empty bellies an it’s my turn to hunt. Lizard, pouch rat, snake, I ain’t fussy. Anythin ’ud do, so long as it ain’t locusts. I brought back locusts my last three times an all becuz of – well, everybody’s cheesed off with crunchin bugs, that’s fer sure.

I frown. I cain’t think how I got here this mornin. How I got to this ridge so far from our campsite. I must of come on Hermes. There he is, right over there, rough chestnut coat an sturdy legs, rippin up withered clumps of bunchgrass. You’d think I could recall the ride, but I cain’t. Strange.

I lift the long-looker to my eyes. Scan the landscape. The Waste rolls out as far as I can see. To the horizon an beyond. Dry, yellow soil. The odd hill of grey rock, striped with red. Worn smooth by the wind.

This place ’ud make a devil weep, I says.

Suddenly I hear a rumble. I feel it the same time I hear it. A low, steady tremor unner my feet. There’s a flash of movement to the left. From the north. I train the looker that way.

Holy crap, I says.

It’s a line of twisters. They swirl across the plain, in a long row. Small ones, not more’n forty foot high. I ain’t never seen such a thing. They snatch the dust as they head this way.

An there’s a windspringer. He races along, in front of the line of twisters, as they chase behind. A two-year buck, judgin by his antlers. He goes flat out. If he don’t outrun ’em, he’ll be swept up.

Nero’s ridin the thermals overhead. I whistle. He swoops down an lands on my outstretched hand.

I point to the springer. See that? I says. That’s breakfast, lunch an supper fer the next week.

Nero squawks.

You know what to do, I says. Turn him this way. Bring him to me. Bring him here, Nero! I throw him into the air an he streaks away. Nero’s a good hunter. Thinks he’s a hawk, not a crow. He’ll turn the springer from the twisters’ path. He’ll drive him right into range of my crossbow.

I start to run.

My feet feel heavy. Like they don’t belong to the rest of me. They don’t wanna move. But I make ’em. I start to go faster. As I run, I slide my bow from my back. Grab a arrow from my quiver. I leap down the dry slope of the ridge. Right near the bottom there’s a flat bit of rock that juts out. I can git a clear shot from there an I’ll be far enough away to be safe from the twisters.

I reach the rock. Dust whirls about me. The wind shrieks. I take up position. I nock my arrow to the bowstring.

I gotta stay calm. If I stay calm, it’ll be okay. This time, it’ll be okay. I take a deep breath.

Nero screams with excitement. He’s drivin the springer hard. It swerves right, then left, but he dives at it, shriekin. It heads straight this way. There’s a white blaze on its breast. Over its heart. The perfect target.

This is gonna be the perfect kill.

I lift my bow. Take aim. Straight fer the heart.

My hands start to shake. There’s a flash of white light.

Epona runnin towards me. Throwin her arms wide. An I shoot her. Straight through the heart.

Cold sweat. On my forehead, in my eyes. I blink. Epona’s dead. I killed her.

Saabaa. Saaabaaa.

My name whispers around me. I turn, lookin. Nuthin there. Nobody.

Who is it? I says.

Saaabaaa.

It’s the wind. The twisters. That’s all. Calm down. Take aim. Shoot the springer. It’s only a couple hunnerd paces away now.

I grip my bow harder. The shakin gits worse. It’s jest like before. Jest like the last time. An the time before that. Any time I try to shoot.

Then.

I notice.

My breath

tight chest

dry throat

cain’t breathe

need air

deep breaths

I cain’t, I—

cain’t

breathe

cain’t

breathe

on my knees on the ground tight throat heart fast

too fast, too—

air

air

cain’t breathe cain’t see cain’t—

Nero.

Screamin.

Nero.

Warnin me.

Danger.

Danger.

Danger.

I lift my head. Everythin’s . . . blurred.

Then. I see. Somethin movin. Movin fast. I squint. Try to see what it is, what—

Wolfdogs, I says.

A pack of wolfdogs chase hard at the springer’s heels. Six of ’em. No. Eight. Where’d they come from?

The pack splits. Six wolfdogs stay on the springer’s tail. They chase it south, across the Waste. The line of twisters churn after ’em.

Two dogs peel off. Two dogs head towards me. Comin this way.

They smell me. They smell my weakness.

Deep inside, in my belly the red hot flickers. But it’s feeble. A weak spark when I need a blaze. A fierce fire to save me. The red hot always . . . saves me.

I haul myself up. Hard to breathe. Hands shakin, but I . . . can do it, I can – my bow drops from my hands. Hits the ground. The flicker’s gone. The red hot. Gone.

I’m helpless. Hopeless. Alone.

No. Not quite.

Nero screams with rage. He attacks the wolfdogs. Dives at their heads. But on they come. They’re forty foot away now. Thirty.

Move, Saba. Do somethin. Anythin! I scrabble fer rocks, pebbles, sticks.

Nero’s slowin ’em down. He darts, draws blood, retreats. Agin an agin an agin. They lunge at him. Strike with their claws. A flurry of fur an feathers an dust. Shrieks an snarls. They’ll hurt him. Kill him.

Nero! Nero! I scream. I got rocks in my hands. Throw ’em, throw ’em. No, no, I might hit Nero. Dust an chaos. I cain’t see clear.

My breath, my breath’s comin easier. Whatever took hold of me starts to let go. But I’m weak. Shaky.

Nero breaks free. I let fly with the rocks. But I miss. The wolfdogs pace towards me. Ten foot away. Eight. Six.

One dog in front of me. One on my left. Cold, flat heat in their yellow eyes.

Nero shrieks an shrieks. He dives. They cower.

I scream an scream. I fling pebbles an dirt. I throw, they flinch, but they ain’t put off. Suddenly I remember the knife in my boot. I reach fer it. My hands, my tremblin hands.

They inch towards me. Eyes fixed. Low in their throats, they hum my death.

Then behind me, from nowhere, a noise an a rush. Before I can move, somethin leaps past me.

A grey shape. Big. Shaggy. Another wolfdog. A new one.

This one, this new wolfdog, he flies at the dog on my left. Goes straight fer his throat an bowls him over. Rips his neck open. As blood spills, th’other wolfdog, the one in front of me, attacks the new one. Teeth flash. Dust flies.

I scramble outta the way.

The new wolfdog warn’t runnin with the others. He’s a loner. He’s got blue eyes. Light blue eyes.

That’s rare. I only seen one other before. An he’s in a bad way. Rib-thin, matted fur, an now a bleedin wound on his flank. But he’s fightin like a demon.