A Latent Dark (25 page)

He moved a hand toward the flash of steel on his hip. Skyla sprung straight up at his nose.

She felt a dull pop and warmth ooze down her forehead. It hurt a bit, but judging from the muffled howl that came from Mackerel, she could safely assume that it had hurt him more. Mackerel stumbled backwards, clutching his face and leaving enough room for her to lunge between the two thinnest-looking boys.

“Get her, Gripper!” one of them yelled.

A hand—presumably Gripper’s—was able to get a firm hold on her upper arm, squeezing it so tightly that she let out a wail. She spun into his grip, bringing the full force of her other fist around to connect with his side, just below the ribs.

She hit Gripper with Marley in mind, even though he was a fraction of Marley’s size. She followed through as he fell, doubled over on his side. He let out a sick moan from the ground. She stood frozen, fists clenched, looking at the rest of the gang.

There was a moment of uncertainty as the others cast uneasy glances at one another. They looked to Mackerel with his broken nose and then at the other boy, curled in a fetal position, retching. Skyla took a step backwards, away from them.

Something shimmered and wiggled in the corner of her eye.
Not now
, she thought, shoving the vision to the back of her mind.

One of the boys took a step towards her as Skyla turned on her heel and ran. The safety of the shops and tents was at least a hundred feet away, an impossible distance. Behind her, Mackerel screamed orders, his voice muffled and furious. The sound of shuffling feet closed in on her.

A hand fell on Skyla’s shoulder and she dipped down, letting it slip off. A second hand managed to get a firm hold on her clothing, however. She twisted into the hand and swung with an open palm in the darkness. She aimed high and connected with warm flesh, just below a chin. There was a crunch and the sound of gagging as the hand released her.

She spun back around and saw that she might make it to the tents after all. There was crying from behind her along with that sick, choking sound from one of the boys.
We’re all just children
, she thought as he sobbed in pain, alone in the darkness behind her.

More angry voices followed her as the tents closed in like a trap. Skyla realized that it was the worst decision she ever could have made. Debris lay in her path between a labyrinth of canvas flaps. Boxes, stools, discarded broken things littered the thin space between the shops. Twice she almost caught her foot on something unidentifiable. Terror drove her through the blind alleys as shouts and jeers followed her, tripping and scrambling around the clutter. Her lungs burned as her pulse hammered in her temples.

She rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of a figure looming over her. A large hand closed on her shoulder as she let out an ear-splitting scream and swung at the figure in blind panic. The assailant blocked her punch and she only connected with—was that a wrist?

“
Ow
!” a man’s voice said over her screams. “Skyla.”

How did the boys know her name?

“Skyla,” the man said again, louder.

The fog began to lift from her mind. Dale was holding her shoulder and stepping around, placing himself between her and the incoming pursuers. The footsteps increased in volume until a boy emerged around the corner almost crashing into Dale, another boy close behind, slamming into the leader. As the other boys arrived they backed away, the air of power draining away from their faces.

The last one to appear was Mackerel. He kept his distance from the pack and continued to wipe blood from his upper lip. More blood had darkened his shirt, creating a crimson bib.

“You kids run along,” Dale said to them. “Unless you want me to haul you to see Mad Marley.”

“You’re lying,” shouted Mackerel. “I never seen her with him.”

Skyla felt a tug and a snap as Dale tore the ring from her neck. He held it out so the faded light could reflect off the metal. “Do you think a girl gets this ring by
robbing
him?”

He thrust it toward them. One of the boys scrambled away into the shadows. A few of the remaining boys spoke in hushed tones to one another, backing away. When she looked again, Mackerel was nowhere to be seen. Through the darkness, she heard taunts and insults as the gang retreated into the maze. Their threats reminded Skyla of home.

Without waiting for the rest of them to show up, Dale handed the ring back to her and then gently turned her by her shoulder. His broken wrist stuck out at an unnatural angle and made a rude gesture at the boys from behind his back.

They walked for a mile or so before either said a word. When they did, it was Skyla who spoke first.

“Thanks,” she said, not looking at him. She felt stupid and young.

“Don’t mention it,” said Dale. “And I mean, seriously. Don’t mention it to Marley. He’ll only get mad and worried… and I’m sure he’ll find a way to blame me.” He grinned.

“I won’t,” she said, watching the forest creep closer.

The trees hovered above the shanty houses on the edge of town, blocking out the stars with a jagged horizon. Skyla wiped her forehead with her arm and saw red. She rolled the sleeve up, not wanting to look at it. She had seen too much blood tonight—some of it would have been her own.

“I think I broke his nose,” she said, somewhat amazed.

“Probably,” said Dale. “I saw his shirt and for a second, I thought you stabbed him.”

They walked a little further in silence. A cart pulled by an ox-sized capybara rolled by, but the family inside paid neither of them any attention. They passed more patrons who looked as though they were either going to or from The Hungry Skunk. Some staggered, leaning against one another.

“I should have just stayed in tonight,” she said.

“Well,” Dale seemed thoughtful. “What you really should have done was not go to the docks at midnight. You’re lucky I saw you leave the arena.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I got turned around.”

A woman passed by them wearing a portable market. Cages hung from the poles on her back. Small colorful birds flapped and sang inside the whicker bars. Skyla felt another pang of sadness at the thought of Orrin.

“They knew about me,” she said.

“Knew what?”

“They knew who I was.” She omitted the part about the coin.

“What did they want?” asked Dale. “Aside from revenge for breaking that one kid’s nose.”—he added—“You’ve got a hell of a fighting hand. You nearly straightened my arm.”

He gave her a wry smile and a sideways glance. Skyla felt some of the tension lift from her mind. She yawned, the thrill of being chased leaving her drained and tired.

“I don’t know,” she said and shrugged. “I think they were just bored. Looking for trouble I guess.”

Dale lowered his voice into a gravely impersonation of Marley. “Kids are
nothin
’ but trouble.”

She forced a smile. If Dale caught the lie, he didn’t show it. She saw a lot of conflict in his other shadow and wondered what happened to Sarah. Skyla felt a twinge of concern at the thought of her face and the hint of recognition that flashed across it.

“I thought you’d have a date.” She elbowed him, grinning.

Dale acted as though he couldn’t remember for a moment. Then he made a small “Ah ha” face and nodded. “Oh, her,” he said. “No, not tonight.”

“I thought she was your girlfriend.”

“I thought so too,” he said. “But I haven’t seen her around.”

She knew the sort of crowd girls like Sarah went with. They were the ones twirling their parasols and giggling at boys on horses, grooming themselves to usurp their mothers as the new queens of the household. They went to tea parties and plays and spent the rest of their time pretending to be everything their parents wanted them to be as they prayed in church five times a week.

But Skyla saw through them. There was no amount of makeup, no parasol big enough to hide their shadows, which followed them around like beaten dogs, terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing in front of the wrong people. Underneath the cool confidence and the upturned noses they were all walking on eggshells.

“Maybe she’s at home,” she said. “I want to meet her.”

“
Naw
,” said Dale. “I imagine if she wanted to see me she would have found me.”

Skyla rolled her eyes. Why were men so dense? She fondled the ring, tied once again around her neck and thought of just how close she had come to getting killed. A strange sort of fascination dominated her thoughts as if it had always been sitting there, waiting to be noticed.

Killed. What would happen then?

Skyla found herself unafraid of the subject altogether. Death was the thing in the cabin, in the church, in her house. It was everywhere just waiting for her to pull up the curtain and let it out to play now and then.
Everyone I meet is terrified of death
, she thought.
So, why aren’t I?

 “She sure was pretty,” she said, refusing to drop the topic.

In the dim light she saw Dale blush. “She was that,” he said, the corners of his mouth making a bashful grin. “Girls like that don’t normally go for guys like me.”

Skyla made a
Pssshh
sound. “I think it’s interesting.” She was looking at his twisted stump of an arm.

Dale chuckled. “Well that’s a good word to use, I suppose. It’s certainly useful for hard to reach areas.”

He twisted it behind his back and scratched a spot between the shoulder blades no other person could have reached. Skyla was genuinely impressed. Dale was slipping into his Half-Dale goofy mood and she was glad for the distraction.

“And I can do this.” He faced her and stopped.

He became the character in a horror play that never sees the monster sneaking up on them. Slowly, a hand crept up from nowhere and grabbed his shoulder. Dale’s face twisted into a mask of dread as he gaped at the phantom claw gripping him.

Skyla snorted laughter as he spun himself around in mock terror, pulled by the mystery hand to the ground. She wiped away tears as Dale got to his feet. She applauded the performance and kept walking.

Dale brushed himself off and caught up to her. They climbed the trail to the trees and Skyla looked behind her one last time before disappearing into the woods. A gentle rain front had moved in, turning the paths muddy and dark, glazing the canvas tents and waxed leather houses in a glistening sheen. It pattered on the trees above, dampening the noise and soaking the ground.

Skyla turned her face upward, letting the cleansing rain run down her face. She had a feeling it would be a while before she felt safe going into Lassimir on her own again.

A very long time
, a voice said in the back of her mind.

Chapter 18

From the age of five, Harold Montegut had been fully indoctrinated into the workings of cause and effect that would dominate his life. Good marks earned a lollipop, bad marks earned a belt. It wasn’t long before Harold was earning weekly ice creams, honey-drinks and wind-up toys.

By age seven, neighborhood children would skip school, risking detention just to peer over his fence and catch a glimpse of Harold’s backyard trove of toys. Slingshots, wind-up trucks, puzzle games; he was the only child in his neighborhood with a bicycle, a novelty by any standards.

“You did well, Harry,” his father would say, unfolding his wallet.

To which his mother would say, “You’re bribing the boy. Harry, I want you to remember that living an honest life has its own rewards. It’s not about
getting
the good grades, it’s that you
want
to get the good grades. It’s about what you learn.”