Outpost (32 page)

To renew my faith, I read them aloud myself. I hated doing so in class because I was slow, slower than anyone but Stalker. Not elegant. Not emotional, like some, who could make the words sound like they came from real people. I couldn’t.

But I read the words anyway.

“The king gave them the castle and lands of Watho, and there they lived and taught each other for many years that were not long. But hardly had one of them passed, before Nycteris had come to love the day best, because it was the clothing and crown of Photogen, and she saw that the day was greater than the night, and the sun more lordly than the moon; and Photogen had come to love the night best, because it was the mother and home of Nycteris.”

That felt like a promise. Except Fade was a between-child. He’d spent time both above and below. In the most accurate terms, the book meant Stalker and me. He was the one with hair like sunlight and who had been raised where it was bright. I had always lived in the dark. Suddenly unsettled—the book had lost some of its magic—I slipped it back on the shelf.

Then I went back to bed, as even those few steps exhausted me. I must have dozed, despite my best intentions, for I roused to Momma Oaks calling, “The cake will be done soon. Get ready if you can manage.”

“I can!”

It wasn’t a dishonest claim, though it took longer than I expected, mostly because I washed my hair in the basin. I hadn’t known a proper bath since the furlough, and I’d lost count of how many days that had been. I couldn’t go downstairs to greet friends and family looking like this. In order to finish, I had to request more water, which brought Momma Oaks in, clucking.

“Oh, look at your wet head. You’re going to catch your death of cold.”

“I’m fine.”

I eyed her, wishing she would help and not complain. She took the silent hint and fetched several pitchers. On her return, she set a pot of cream on the dresser. “This will reduce the redness and make your skin sting less. You’ve got quite a sunburn, in addition to those stitches.”

“I’ll take care of it before I come down,” I assured her.

She paused at the door. “Rex and his wife came to dinner last week.”

“Did they?”

“He said you called on him during your furlough.”

“I thought I should meet him since he’s my foster brother and all.” I’d also yelled at him; I wondered how much she knew, what he’d told her.

“I’m glad you did. It was beyond time he came home. So … thank you, Deuce. You’ve been a blessing to our house.”

Once Momma Oaks left, I concluded my makeshift bath in a hurry. My strength wasn’t what it should be yet, and I sank down on the edge of the bed, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. While I paused, I did up my hair in an intricate braid, prettier than the twin plaits I’d adopted for fighting, then I tied the bottom with a green ribbon. After that, I investigated the pot my foster mother had left for me. It smelled nice, but it was tacky to the touch. Because I’d promised, I used the sticky cream on my face and hands.

Once I felt a bit better, I went to my closet, but I didn’t choose the blue dress I’d worn to the festival. I might never put that on again. Too many memories came with the silky fabric, making me worry Fade and I would never be together again as we had been that night. Fighting my fear, I donned the green one that matched the ribbon in my hair. I checked my reflection, pronounced myself passable, and made my way downstairs.

There, I found a number of guests waiting for me: Edmund and Momma Oaks, Doc Tuttle, his wife, Tegan, Stalker, his foster father, Smith, and to my relief, Fade. The swelling around his eyes and jaw had gone down enough so I could make out his features again. His movements appeared tentative, as if his ribs pained him. And he didn’t smile at me. He looked away. When they noticed me, everyone spoke at once, murmuring good wishes and congratulations. Dumbstruck, I realized what Momma Oaks had done—and at such short notice too. This was a party. For
me
. I blinked away sudden, girlish tears.

Edmund took my arm, escorting me to the dining table as if he were just being polite, but I think he saw I could use the support. My stitches pulled, and two of the wounds throbbed with a low heat. But I couldn’t be induced to go back to bed under any circumstances.

“You’re looking much better,” Doc Tuttle said with a jovial smile. “Just in time for a special day, I hear. How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” I answered.

The elders all made noises about how I was growing up, and I didn’t even want to stab them. I didn’t tell them I was grown, and had been for a year. I was distracted by something else entirely.

The pile of presents.

Most had been hastily wrapped, and they weren’t pretty like the parcels at Justine’s house. I didn’t mind at all. Nobody expected me to bleed for these, unlike the gifts that accompanied my scars on naming day. These offerings were arrayed for my pleasure—and to show affection.

“Thank you,” I said, again and again, as I opened them.

Nobody had ever given me things because they wanted to. I’d only ever traded one object for another. It mattered not at all what the packages contained; I was delighted with the contents. I received more hair ribbons, a whetstone for my daggers, a fine leather sheath that fit neatly around my thigh.

When I thanked Edmund for the scabbard, he colored and asked, “How did you know?”

“The high quality of the work,” I answered, and my foster father was so pleased, he bent down to kiss my cheek.

Once I finished opening all my gifts, I ate cake, chatted, and drank cider. It was a beautiful party … and awful too. Because Fade acted like he wasn’t there. I didn’t know which present came from him, if anything did, and I feared approaching him after the way he’d begged me to leave him alone at the outpost. I’d die if he said that in front of everyone. So I watched him from the corner of my eyes, tracking his restless movements.

Tegan sat down beside me. “Stop it.”

My gaze snapped back. “What?”

“You’re watching him to death.” Her tone made me think she had something else to say about Fade, but this wasn’t the time to talk about it.

“Sorry.” I looked everywhere else instead. “Can you come upstairs with me?”

She nodded. “For a little while. Later.”

After the cake, we moved into the sitting room with chairs carried in as needed. Lamps were lit, and candles crackled wax in their saucers, here and there. It was a merry occasion, though disaster and death lurked outside the walls. The elders talked amongst themselves, Edmund and Smith holding a lively conversation about their various crafts. Momma Oaks chatted with Doc Tuttle and his wife.

Eventually, I crept upstairs with Tegan, and nobody seemed to notice. At least, they didn’t call to ask what we were doing. The movements pulled my stitches and made the wounds burn. She helped me to the bed and sat down beside me.

“You know what happened,” I said then. “I thought if I gave him time, that would help, but it’s not getting better. Do you have any idea why—”

“When you got me away from the Wolves, the thing I liked best about you was that you didn’t treat me like a bird with a broken wing. You gave me a weapon and expected me to fight.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with Fade.”

“But deep down, I felt … dirty. Like I wasn’t as good or as strong as you.”

“What?” I gasped.

She held up a hand to stem my shocked protest. “What happened to Fade, happened against his will. He couldn’t stop it. So if I had to guess, I’d say he feels like I did. And there’s no magic to heal him. The only cure is time.”

“So what should I do?”

Tegan shrugged and shook her head. “I wish I had the answers, Deuce, but you know him better than me. Whether you should push or let him be.”

As we went back downstairs, I hoped I made the right call. Stalker limped over to join Tegan and me, his stick carved into an elegant shape and buffed to a high shine. “You had us worried. Passing out is more Tegan’s style.”

She laughed and nudged him with one elbow. “I’d like to see you do better with a hole in your thigh. Which somebody then poked with a burning knife.”

Had they become friends after his apology? I was glad they’d made peace but I hardly recognized my world anymore. Fade was a ghost. Stalker and Tegan were joking around together. I shook my head, feeling confused, tired, and sore. The initial rush of excitement died, leaving me ready to retire, but I couldn’t be rude.

Momma Oaks soon interpreted my weariness correctly. The party broke up with smiles and more congratulations. Funny. I was old enough now, officially, not to attend school with Mrs. James. She had been such a source of misery for me when I first arrived; I’d longed for this day.

Now I didn’t care at all.

I murmured my good-nights, accepting kisses on the cheek from Tegan and Stalker. With a grin, he pressed his lips to the one she didn’t. Then the guests filed out. I turned toward the stairs. It seemed like such a long way to my room.

Halfway, a warm hand settled in the small of my back, making sure I didn’t lose my balance on the stairs. I didn’t look, too afraid to hope it could be Fade, but the unmistakable tingles identified him. The quiet between us lingered all the way up, until we reached my bedroom door.

And then he spoke:

“Happy naming day, Deuce.”

A smile built inside me. But before I could offer a reply, he went on, “Forget me. Stop staring at me with those begging eyes. I can’t be what you need now.”

And then he went away, all ice and air, and left me dying in the silence.

Legacy

Doc Tuttle came later in the week to remove my stitches. His hands were steady and capable as he snipped, making small talk to lessen my embarrassment at having his hands in places I would never let anyone but Fade touch. Mindful of the proprieties, Momma Oaks stood by, reassuring me with a hand on my hair.

I’d never had so many people who cared whether my flesh mended. They both exclaimed over the scars I had on shoulder and stomach, mementoes of battles won. The ones on my arms I had earned through personal valor—and they didn’t admire them, either. The loss of status didn’t bother me as much anymore. I’d established my worth this summer.

Momma Oaks sighed. “I hate seeing how you’ve been hurt.”

“Everybody in Salvation should be this strong,” Doc Tuttle complimented me. “No malingering now.”

Once he left, I asked, “What does that mean?”

“Pretending to feel worse than you do to get out of work.”

“I’d never.” I was genuinely insulted and tired of being babied.

Things hadn’t improved with Fade. He spent his days with Edmund, learning to work with leather. I didn’t see him as a shoemaker, but he could tool armor if he kept up the craft, which meant we’d have Tegan for healing, Stalker for weapons, and Fade for gear. That left me feeling like I needed to do something other than fight.

I spent my time mending with Momma Oaks and mulling dark thoughts. I couldn’t believe Stalker hadn’t come to see me even once. Not that I wanted him to. I was glad he’d finally decided to leave me alone. I
was
. But it stung a little that both boys had abandoned me.

When I had healed enough, Elder Bigwater sent for me. My foster mother did her utmost to keep the grim news from reaching me, but it came in trickles, and on this particular day, a messenger arrived with word. It was the same boy who had come to advise us that the wagons were safe. I recognized him, then, as I’d met Zachariah Bigwater the night of the dance.

Justine’s older brother was a town hero—with people clamoring for his time and attention—but he stayed to escort me to see his father. Zach resembled Justine a little but his hair was darker, more like the grain I’d cut in those bloody fields. His eyes shone the same remarkable blue, though. His features were stronger as well, but he didn’t look much like his dad.

“You fought with my friend, Frank Wilson,” he said as we walked.

“He was a good man.”

Zach must be hurting.

The boy nodded. “We went to school together.”

“Did you want to know something particular?” I asked gently.

Clearly he did or he wouldn’t have broached the subject. If it were me, I’d want to know exactly what happened. The endless uncertainty would haunt me otherwise, my mind conjuring worse fates. Only it was impossible to imagine a man leaving this world in a more awful manner; Zach just didn’t know that. His fears were probably comforting in comparison.

His steps slowed. “Did he die well?”

No,
I thought. Nobody did. They just died.

Dishonesty was foreign to me, but the truth would only haunt Zach’s dreams if I repeated Fade’s tale of how Frank had been murdered and deboned. So I lied, though the heartening words stuck in my throat. “He fought until the very end. Fade said he never gave up.”

Not even when they butchered him.

Zach hunched his shoulders as we approached the house. As I recalled, it was nice, large as one might expect, and freshly whitewashed. Mrs. Bigwater had an herb garden to the side and flowers out front that rioted in pink and orange. Out back, she probably had a vegetable patch. I knew there was a green yard on the other side, where Justine had held her party.

“I wanted to volunteer,” he said then. “My mother wouldn’t let me.”

If he had, he probably wouldn’t be standing here. So few of us made it back. The last stand lingered in my memory, burned into sharp relief, all ashes and salt. I couldn’t smile at him, wishing for glory or to feel worthy of his friend’s valiant death. I just couldn’t. The truth was too sharp and stark.

“It’s better you didn’t,” I rasped, surprised at the thickness in my throat.

Longshot.

“Did you kill a lot of Muties?”

So many. Too many.
It no longer felt brave to me, only inevitable. “As many as I had to,” I answered. “And your message came just in time … without it, none of us would have made it back.” In my mind’s eye, I saw again that wave, coming after the first. Another minute and we wouldn’t have been able to outrun them. Strange to think I owed my life to Zach Bigwater. “So thank you.”