Freda: Volume III in the New Eden series (20 page)

“Hang on,” it sounds like.

A low growl seeps from the darkness, followed by a rush of motion like storm winds in the grass. Tynan yells out, and the growl turns to angry, urgent barking. Tynan tumbles out of the reeds onto the muddy beach, grappling a huge animal. A dog. An enormous dog, big as a black bear with teeth flashing in the moonlight and black eyes glinting like Lupay’s throwing knives.

My fingers work harder at the knot, fumbling in numbness and pain, yanking and pulling as hard as they can.

I wish it were a big cat. Not a dog. Cats hunt alone. Dogs roam in packs—

Tynan is up again, kicking the dog hard in the ribs and yelling as it growls and snaps at his feet. It lunges again and again, but Tynan is quick and nimble and manages to get his toe to the dog’s snout more than once.

There! The knot slips a little, and I yank hard at the loop that forms where it loosened. But it slips only an inch or so before cinching itself again. I wish I could see better. If I could see, I could pull on the right spots.

The grass down the beach rustles and sways, and two more dogs slink out of its blackness into the moonlight. They are not as big as the first. They have long, lanky legs and narrow bodies. They look a little like coyotes but bigger and thicker, with shortened noses. Their eyes are the eyes of hungry predators. And they are glaring at me.

I yank at the knot again, flailing my legs to try and pull my ankles apart. This ancient rope is unlike any I’ve ever seen, slick and unyielding.

The dogs stalk my way, and I scoot myself backwards on my bottom through the sandy mud.

“Tynan,” I call, but he’s still fighting the big dog.

I scoot more, toward the water, watching the dogs. They are cautious. They know they have me cornered and vulnerable. They can be patient. One more scoot, and I bump into the little boat. Tynan’s bag and other bundles are here, just at my side.

Keeping my eyes on the two approaching dogs, I grab the nearest and shove my hand inside, wincing at the pain of my fingers jamming on something hard. I grasp it and pull it out, thrilled to see I’ve found the handle of a hunting knife, and a big one.

I swipe the knife at the cords, its razor edge slicing through in seconds, but I don’t stand up. The dogs inch closer, taking different angles and curling their lips back to show big, sharp, spit-dripping teeth. I grasp the knife in my strong hand and work my way around the boat, holding the bag before me. Unfortunately, I’m grabbing its side, and it tips as it sways, spilling its contents onto the dirt.

This confuses the dogs, but only for a moment before they resume their hunt.

Something in the debris dropped from the bag glints, the gleaming head of a hand axe like those used by Darius’ army against Tawtrukk. I drop the bag and grab at the axe.

The dogs coil to spring at me, and I know without any doubt that I have no hope of fighting them off. I could flee to the water, but what if they swim better than I do, or what if they catch me before I get there?

“Freda!” Tynan yells. “Get up! Yell at them! Fight them off!” He swings his foot out and lands a solid blow on the big beast’s snout.

I leap to my feet and try to make myself big. I scream at them, stupid words like “go away” or whatever my screechy voice comes up with, and I wave the knife and axe in the air like a deranged lunatic. I hop to one side and then the other. It won’t do any good, but it makes the dogs pause and rethink things for a few seconds. I jump again, this time stumbling backwards and falling over the little boat onto my back. I hit the ground hard, spinning the knife and axe from my numbed hands.

I’m knocked half-blind by the stunning fall. I sit up, reach forward, and pull hard on the side of the boat to stand up again. Instead, the boat tips, and it becomes a sudden shield between me and the dogs. My feet scramble in the muddy sand as I try to kneel against it. I grasp the edges of one of the sitting holes with my aching fingers, but I’m shaken loose by a bone-rattling thump as one of the dogs hurls its body against the boat’s bottom.

My knees slip, and my hands flail into the emptiness inside the canoe as it falls over me and bashes my chin. Pain sears my tongue and my jaw and all through my head, but on instinct I dive forward and twist inside, letting the boat swallow me as it rolls.

I wiggle my way as far into its empty hull as I can, dragging my feet inside just as another thunderous collision shakes me so hard I whack my head on the solid siding. Any wooden boat back in Southshaw would have been bashed to splinters, exposing me like the soft innards of a walnut cracked open by a hammer. But this one holds, and I burrow all the way in until my head is wedged into the boat’s hollow, pointed prow. I draw my knees up as far as I can, hoping it’s enough to keep my feet away from the hungry jaws.

A barking growl is followed by another pounding thump, and the boat is suddenly flipping over—with me inside rattling against its sides, helpless—once, twice... it totters on its edge and settles back down into a rut. Upright. With the two sitting holes pointing skyward. I peer down the crunched shape of my body and see my toes are tucked up well away from the moonlight falling through the opening.

Then a silhouette blocks out the moonlight, and one of the dogs leaps on top of the wobbly boat, its claws scrabbling like a frantic cat on a wooden floor as it slips off the other side. Its growling and barking echoes all through the hollow hull. It turns and tries again, this time more careful not to slip.

Its huge head eclipses the oval of moonlight. It pauses to stare at me. I can see it trying to figure out the best way to get at me, but both of us know it’s only a matter of time.

Then the dog jolts and yelps and tumbles away, and another heavy thud rocks the boat. A throaty yell follows it, and a person leaps over the hull. I hear barking, yelling, a scramble. Then a rush of wildly thrashing grass, and the sounds recede.

A moment later, the shape of a man obscures the opening.

Through rasping, heavy breaths, Tynan says, “You can come out, Freda. I don’t think he’ll come back tonight.”

I start to wobble myself back out toward the opening. It’s awkward, and blinding pain crackles all through my body. After several seconds of trying to thrash about in this constricted cell, I stop to rest, panting hard.

“Hold on,” Tynan says. “I’ll flip it over.”

“Nothing to hold on to,” I mutter as I brace myself for the turn.

It’s not nearly as gentle as I hoped, and one violent toss flips the boat upside down. But at least it dislodges me enough to worm my way out through the opening and into the mud.

Tynan slouches beside the boat, gasping, his left arm hanging unnaturally limp and low. The partial moon directly above us silvers the black river and flickers on the trembling, dripping axe blade in Tynan’s other hand. He lifts his head slowly and stares at me with unblinking eyes, the moonlight flickering in their uncertain blackness.

He waggles the axe as if to wave my attention to the side. I look to see the biggest of the three dogs lying in the dirt, blood streaming from a great gash in its side to pool and then seep into the black sand. Not far away lies one of the two dogs that hunted me, the top of its head cleaved neatly right down the middle, like a log half-split. Its tongue hangs out of its open mouth, framed by a cage of glowing white teeth.

Tynan straightens a bit as he says, “That other one will be licking its hind leg all night. He won’t be eager to come back.”

“What if he’s part of a bigger pack, though?” The thought shivers me. I glance around, and when I see the big hunting knife, I pick it up. I had hoped for some sense of strength in its grip, but I feel none. If dogs return, it will be as useless to me as it was moments ago.

Tynan looks at the grass, uncertain. “I... don’t think...”

“How do you know,” I demand.

“Freda, come on. Really. I don’t think—”

“But how can you be sure?” I know he can’t. Neither of us can be sure of anything out here. The city, left far behind with its ghosts and eerie emptiness, is beginning to feel far safer than this wilderness. “I wish we were home in Southshaw,” I whimper. I’m embarrassed at my weakness and angry with my own whining, but I can’t help it. This is too much.

“Well, we aren’t,” Tynan shouts. He lifts the axe and bangs its flat side against the hollow boat, sending a hollow thunder skyward. “Just shut up about that. There is no Southshaw. Dane made sure of that. It’s gone. Forget it.”

He raises the axe and brings it down again with another boom. “We’re going to find our new home, Freda. Just the two of us. We’re going to find Reunion Mountain. We’re going to find out what Prophecies is leading us to.”

He stands uphill, on the other side of the boat, and he breathes one deep breath of the green-black night air.

“And,” he says, “God willing, we’ll return and bring faith back to our people.”

A sudden noise in the grass startles us both, and we turn to see a huge, hulking form lumber from the reeds. I scream a little, but the animal does not seem to notice. A moment later Tynan is shushing me.

“It’s just a cow,” he says, his voice filled with the relief I feel.

Within a few seconds, we’re surrounded by a dozen or more. Each one that emerges from the tall grass pauses momentarily to consider the dog corpses, then continues on to the water’s edge to slurp noisily from the river.

“Come on,” Tynan says, handing me the axe. “Pick up all this stuff.”

I begin to retrieve the tumbled things, returning them to the bag. “What now?”

“It won’t be comfortable,” Tynan says, “but I think we should sleep in the boat. I can tie us to the shore, and we can float out into the middle. Dogs won’t be able to get us there.”

I watch him going about his work, glancing now and again at the black river flowing silently past. Dogs, maybe. But dogs aren’t the only thing I fear now.

CHAPTER 21

It was impossible to get comfortable in that stupid little boat.

“Good morning,” Tynan says as I drift from a shallow sleep, pulling myself upright through throbbing aches. I open my eyes to a bright morning and a searing pain in my head.

“I lashed your breakfast to the boat. Just in front of you.”

A pale breeze lifts bits of my matted hair, and I gradually realize that we’re moving and the sun is already well above the horizon. I ask, “How late is it?” I feel like I’ve slept just an hour or two.

“It’s nearly midday,” Tynan laughs, “so I guess that would be lunch, not breakfast.”

I untie the bundle in front of me and pull it into my lap. Dried venison, and a flask filled with water.

Tynan says, “The water’s good. I boiled it this morning.”

“Thank you,” I answer, but I know he needed clean water for his wounds from the fight with the dogs last night. I would turn to look, but the pain might knock me out. “How is your shoulder?”

“Not that bad in the daylight.”

I have mixed feelings about that. I’m glad he’s not terribly hurt, but it means he can still overwhelm me if he wants to.

“That’s good,” I lie. I bite into the venison and swig a huge gulp of water. That feels so good, I take the entire flask in one long drink. Every bite and every minute in the warm sunlight make me less miserable. Tynan keeps to the middle of the river as he paddles casually downstream, letting the swift current push us between endless banks of tall grasses. Occasionally we see deer or cows wading in the shallows. Sometimes the river widens, and sometimes it constricts, but it’s never less than thirty yards wide as it serpentines smoothly across the plain. I wonder if my parents miss me yet. I wonder how Kitta and the children are getting along. I wonder if everyone thinks I perished with Dane in the fire.

“I wonder if we’ll know it when we see it,” Tynan says after a long silence, as we approach one more sharp turn in the river.

“See what?”

“The Iron Fleet. I know what iron is, and I know what a fleet is. But iron boats? That seems pretty unlikely, doesn’t it?”

I think back along all the unlikely things I’ve seen since I was taken into Subterra to meet Fobrasse for the first time. All those things that Micktuk lectured about, come to life. The cars and their wide roads. The enormous concrete and glass canyons of buildings taller than anything I’ve imagined before. The soaring domed roof over those millions of books. The
Christian
box.

I pat my hand on the side of our little craft. “Is an iron boat any more unlikely than this little thing? What is this even made out of, anyway?”

“Not iron, that’s for sure.”

“No,” I agree, “but if the ancients could make something like this, perhaps they could make iron float.”

“Perhaps.” Bitterness sharpens the edges of the word. He’s still uncomfortable with ancient technology, even when it might be exactly what we’re looking for.

We fall into silence again, each in our own thoughts as wispy clouds pass high overhead and we glide between the high banks. On our right, the pointed peak of some kind of roof rises above the tall grass but falls behind as we float on the current. Three times, at narrow points, we pass under sturdy, little bridges that have withstood the centuries.

Time and again my thoughts go back to Dane. I miss him, but I have to hide my feelings as long as I’m under Tynan’s control and protection. I don’t understand the kind of hate that drove Tynan to kill Dane, and I could never hate like that. But my understanding is irrelevant; I must keep Tynan loving me. His love, and the fact that there are parts of Prophecies I didn’t share with him, are the only things keeping me alive now.

After a long while, I break the silence. “Tynan? I want to stop.”

“Need a rest? All this sitting is making you tired?” There’s a kind of carefree mirth in his voice.

“No, though I wouldn’t mind stretching and walking about,” I say. “I have... other needs.” For a while, the need to relieve myself has been growing. I wish he didn’t force me to say it outright like that. I point at a muddy bank a hundred yards downstream. “There’s a landing spot not far ahead.”

“You’re angry,” he says, the laughter now gone from his tone.

Yes, I’m angry
.
I’m angry with you for killing my husband. I’m angry with you for destroying that beautiful building and everything inside it. I’m angry with you for striking my face, for tying me up, for dragging me off, for nearly getting me ripped apart by ferocious dogs.

I stay silent.

“You’re angry now, Freda, because you feel like you’ve lost something. Soon you will come to realize that you’ve lost nothing but an evil that was dragging you down. In time you’ll understand that I’m not your captor; I’m your liberator. I’ve freed you from Dane’s ignorance and evil ideas. I am stripping away all his foul grime. I’m baring your soul to the rawness of truth.”

He angles the boat toward the wide, flat beach on the western side of the river.

“I am reacquainting you with God, Freda.”

How dare he.

“I believe,” I say with a careful evenness, “that I am still acquainted with God, Tynan.”

“No. You’re not. You’ve lost your way. And I promise you, Freda. With every ounce of my flesh and every bit of my strength, I promise you I will help you find your way again.”

The boat thumps onto the sand and carves its way up onto the beach, pulling sideways with the current and threatening to break loose into the stream again. Tynan gives one hard shove of the paddle into the muddy river bottom with a pained grunt, and we inch farther out of the water and stick firmly in place.

It’s not just the need to pee that sends me clambering out of the seat and onto the firm, dry sand. I need to get away from Tynan.

I don’t dare run, though. He can’t think I’m trying to escape. So I stop and look at him, try to make my face form the shape of an embarrassed smile. “I won’t be long,” I croon. “I’ll just duck into the grasses there. I’ll only be a minute or two.”

He is already halfway out of the boat and barks, “Wait.”

I turn and start walking quickly up the beach, calling back over my shoulder, “I’ll be just a moment. No need to come with me.”

“Freda, stop.” It’s not a request. There is a cold threat in the curt word.

I pause, but then I continue walking. “I really must hurry,” I say with an embarrassed urgency.

“Stop.” His hand falls hard on my shoulder and spins me around to face him. How did he catch up so fast?

His green eyes flash under his wild hair as his fingers dig into my shoulder.

“Ow, Tynan. You’re hurting me.”

“You’re making me do this,” he says, his fingertips grinding harder into my shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you, Freda.”

“Then, stop!” I clench my teeth against the pain, but tears still blur my eyes.

I feel my knees weaken under his grip, and I start to slump down with the pain.

Suddenly he releases my shoulder and grabs my arms with a grunt, holding me up and keeping me from falling. I recover my balance, but I can’t stop my lips from trembling. Even as the pain fades away, I know the fear of that moment and his unbridled strength will stay with me a long time.

“When I tell you to stop,” he says with a fatherly gentleness, “just stop. But you don’t, Freda. And this is exactly what I mean. You have taken on bad habits, and it’s up to me to cleanse them from you.” He straightens my shirt and pats the sleeves back into place, erasing the creases where he grabbed me moments ago. He caresses my chin, and he runs one gentle finger along my cheek, across my trembling lips.

“If you would just obey me, Freda, you would have nothing to fear. I am now your shepherd. When you shared the text of Prophecies with me—when we prayed together—you took me as your guide. I think you couldn’t see it at the time, but I saw it, Freda. I saw deep into your heart, and I saw you were too afraid to admit it, even to yourself.”

Oh, God, what have I done?
All those evenings praying with him, sharing the secrets of Prophecies. I should have seen who he really was. How could I have been so blind? How could I ever have relished the fantasy of our lips touching, of our bodies blending together?

I created this, and now I am powerless to stop it. He is too strong, and I am too alone.

No
, a voice in my head whispers.
You are not alone. You are never truly alone.

Tynan studies my face, his gaze roaming all over me. He is so close. I could try to fight him. I could try to overcome him and escape.

“What are you thinking,” he muses, but he’s not really asking me. He doesn’t expect an answer.

Just hang on, Freda
, the voice whispers inside me.
Survive. Persist. Endure. There will be a time for escape, or a time for fighting. Now is not the time.

I swear the voice sounds like Judith’s voice, the voice of Dane’s mother, the voice of the First Wife. But it also sounds like my own voice.

I will endure
, I promise myself, gazing back into Tynan’s eyes with a blank subservience that hides my thoughts. I will survive. And through surviving, I will stay true. Doing what Tynan demands is not the same as giving in. It’s not the same as giving up.

“Good girl,” Tynan intones. “Good girl.”

I’ve fooled him, for now.

“Please, Tynan,” I whimper. “I really must go.”

“Of course,” he says. “I will come with you.”

“No!” I squeak, unable to help myself.

“Freda, you must obey me.”

“It would not be proper, Tynan. Although I may be widowed, you are not my husband. It would not be proper.”

He considers a moment, then nods. “You’re right. Hold on.”

He turns back to the boat and returns to me with the long rope.

“Hold this end,” he says. “When I tell you to tug on it, give it a yank. I’ll hold the other end.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do worry about you.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

And that’s final. Clearly he will not change his mind. I force a smile and take the end of the rope. I turn and head to the tall grass. Just as I’m pushing through, I look back. “It’s nice to be worried over,” I lie.