Raging Star (8 page)

He leans his head in close to hers. I’m crazy fer you, Molly. Marry me, he says.

She slaps him hard. Almost slaps his head off. Everybody turns at the sound. The angry crack of skin on skin. Her brown eyes spit. In a voice of low fury she says, I’ve told you an I’ve told you but you don’t pay no heed. I’m sick to death of this buck-at-the-rut pursuit. If you was a man, I’d of shot you by now. Fer once an fer all, Creed, leave me the hell alone!

She ends on a shout of frustration. There’s a fat silence as she goes to the fire an sits. Nobody dares move fer a long moment. Then they start eatin agin, with nervous caution. Not so much as a tink of a spoon. In case the sound sets her off agin.

I should never of let it come to this. Me an Slim had a talk some days ago. We agreed I oughta call Creed to order, but I bin puttin it off as ticklish work.

He looks at me with a plea in his eyes. The mark of her hand blooms ugly on his face. She’s left him half-stitched. The needle’s stuck in the wound, the thread danglin. I’m a nervous doctor but I sit down. I pull out the needle an, with clammy
hands, I start to sew. I start in on him too, my voice hushed.

You gotta stop this right now, I says. It don’t jest vex Molly, it unsettles all of us. You know she’s still mournin Ike. It’s only bin six months, fergawdsake. Show her some respect.

He’s silent, frownin.

Are you listenin to me? I says.

I gotta make her see, he says. What can I do?

Be a man, Creed, I says. Accept that she don’t want you an leave her alone. There’s too much at stake fer us to fall out. We gotta be able to depend on each other, stick tight together. Okay, I’m done here. I’ll git Emmi to bandage you, she’s got neat fingers.

I jest don’t unnerstand, he says.

I grab his knee an shake it hard. Molly ain’t fer you, I says. Accept it. Capeesh?

He looks at me. No, I mean, I was so sure, he says. That first time I seen her, my heart knew. It went … oh, it’s you, yer the one. How can that be wrong?

Yer heart, I says. More like yer britches.

I stand up an he does too. A storm brews in his grey-blue eyes. Yer really somethin, y’know that? he says. Depend on each other. Stick tight together. That’s rich, comin from you.

I start to hear the pound of war drums. What’s the problem? I says. Say what you mean an be done.

He raises his voice so all can hear. Yer the problem. That’s
what I mean. We’re all thinkin it, he says. I’m th’only one’s got the guts to say it. What the hell was that, Saba? Back at the bridge? You, chasin that fuse? We should of bin long gone, safely away. Instead you nearly got us all killed.

You know why, I says. There was innocent people there. Slaves, like Mercy.

That’s their bad luck, he says. Whose side are you on? We’re yer people, not them.

I jest bin told what went down today, says Slim. He fixes me with his watery one-eyed pebble stare. Creed’s right, he says, we agreed the plan. Set the charge, blow the bridge an skedaddle. In an out, quick an clean.

Around the fire, every head’s turned to look at me now. Emmi’s wide-eyed worried, seated at Mercy’s feet.

Killin warn’t part of the plan, I says.

It’s called collateral damage, says Slim. Would you rather yer comrades got killt? You keep yer eye on the goal an you keep discipline an that includes you.

Sometimes you gotta change tactics, I says.

Agreed, he says. But that ain’t what you did. You change tactics fer two reasons. To win the goal or save yer crew. You’d already won the goal. What you did was risk yer crew. That’s a bad leader.

Ash says, I don’t git you, Saba. What about Darktrees? The Tonton slaughtered our friends while they slept. Forty lives. Free Hawks an Raiders. Have you fergot that? An Epona an
Maev. Ike an Bram. They all died fer this fight. I’m sorry, but Creed’s right. Where’s yer loyalty?

I am loyal, I says. I ain’t fergot. Not Darktrees an not one of them you name. Far from it. But this ain’t about loyalty, I—

It is fer me, says Tommo. Loyalty.

But it’s different now, I says. Doncha see? Here in New Eden, I mean. There’s too many people caught between us an the Tonton. Innocent people.

We cain’t afford a weak leader, says Ash. Me an Creed bin down that road before, with Maev. An it leads to defeat an death. Yer strong. Certain. Single minded. You ain’t that bleedin heart we seen today. Gawdamnmit, yer the Angel of Death. Yer epic, Saba. That’s why we all lined up behind you.

Maybe you ain’t got the stummick fer this no more, says Creed.

I go cold still inside. Is that a challenge? I says.

He says, Be who we need or stand aside.

That’s enough, says Lugh. He rises to his feet from his place by the fire. He’s bin listenin all this time. What happened at the bridge was my fault, he says.

Everybody looks at him. Surprise on their faces. Puzzlement in their eyes.

How d’you figger that? says Creed.

I got spooked by them first two Tonton, Lugh says. I was unner the bridge with the blastpack. Saba ordered me not to move but I did. I slipped an fell an she came to save me. If it
warn’t fer her an Tommo, I’d be dead. I defied a direct order from my commander. I’m the one who broke discipline. I put her an the rest of yuz at risk. If Saba did anythin wrong, it’s becuz I rattled her. She couldn’t depend on me. The blame fer today is mine entirely. I’m sorry. I let everybody down.

He’s said all of this lookin straight at me an no other. My throat’s tight.

After a moment, Slim says, Well, we got lucky this time. Nobody got killt. So, I say we accept Lugh’s apology an leave it at that. We learn, we move on. But we cain’t afford no more mistakes. Not from any of us. An that includes yer contact, Angel. Whoever they are, they gave us bad info. Not on purpose, I ain’t sayin that, but if things’re changin quick here, they gotta keep pace. Our lives depend on their intel. Now, I want you two—he waves at me an Creed—to shake hands, make yer peace.

As they all turn back to their meals an quiet chat, I hold my hand out to Creed. His eyes still hold a knife to my throat. Then he’s smilin an pullin me to him fer a quick one-armed hug, sayin, Sorry, you know I git assy sometimes. Thanks fer the stitches. I hear what you say about Molly.

An I wonder if I imagined that look in his eyes.

I
T
’
S THE TIME OF YEAR WHEN THE DARK CROWDS THE LIGHT
earlier an earlier each day.

I nab Slim on his own the moment I can. When d’you think’s the blood moon? I says.

I don’t think, he says, I know. He looks at the moon, fatter than last night. Includin this one, he says, seven nights.

Could be eight though, I says. Or nine. You cain’t say fer certain.

I bin livin my life by that lady’s wax an wane goin on fifty year, he says. I know her faces an if I say it’s seven, it’s seven. Fer certain. He peers at me closely. What’s the fret about?

Nuthin, I says.

Tommo heads off to sit first watch, high atop Painted Rock. The rest of us gather around the fire. Me, to wait belly-tight with nerves. Fer the time to turn till I can leave to meet Jack at Irontree. No point goin early. He never appears before the time. I bin early to meet points more’n once an had to kick my heels while I waited fer him to show.

We settle in fer the evenin. With knees creakin, Slim grunts hisself into his slingchair to smoke a thoughtful pipe. Ash an Molly roll hemp twine fer bowstrings. Nero tucks in my coat fer a snooze while I dry my damp boots by the fire.

The waters might look calm, but I can feel it. Runnin jest
below the surface. The sour current of dissent. Another mistake by me an it’ll rise agin. I don’t hold ’em to blame. I’d feel jest the same in their place.

We gotta hold together. Hold fast. I look at them, my family, my friends. The dance of flames chases shadows on their faces. Their familiar, unknown faces. This is old, what we do, in this old place here. It runs in the blood of time. People by a fire. With dark closin in all around them. DeMalo’s words circle an tighten my thoughts.

If you keep on, more people will die. Maybe even people you care about. Weigh your chances
.

Weigh our chances. I cain’t git my thoughts straight. But I must. Right away. Seven nights. I need to talk to Jack. I try not to check the sky too often. Try not to show how antsy I am.

Lugh an me sit close together on a log, thigh to thigh. He nudges me. Got a meet tonight, huh? he whispers. I look at him. You keep checkin the sky, he says.

They all know I git regular intel about DeMalo an the Tonton an what’s goin on in New Eden. They know I cain’t say who or where they are. They think I meet with Bram’s old network. The little gang of contacts, informants an insiders that he managed to set up before he died that day on the road to Resurrection. Jack runs them now. He’s information. I’m action. Together we plan. I don’t ever meet nobody but him.

Creed’s bin mendin this little hand squeezebox that Slim got from Bobby French, a trader pal of his. Now, he tries it
out fer the first time. Sweet melancholy wheezes from its cracked leather lungs.

Good gawd, it works, says Ash. Where’d you learn to play?

Travellin show, he says. Squeezebox, tightrope, fire jugglin … y’know, the usual.

Ash looks at him askance. Tall tale or truth, with Creed it’s sometimes hard to know. You was never a showman, she says.

You think I tell you everythin? he says.

Huh. Well, she says, it would explain a lot.

He noodles quietly on the squeezebox while a skin of Molly’s latest brew gits passed around. Stink currant rum this time, but it’s always the same. Brain-killer hooch with a kick like white pain. I give it a miss. I need a clear head.

Emmi comes to sprawl across our laps. She buries her nose in Lugh’s shirt. I know jest how he smells to her. Safe. Home.

An it strikes me. We ain’t ever bin like we are at this moment. Never. I mean, the three of us takin comfert from each other’s nearness an company. It was always me an Lugh, with Em on the outside. Fer the very first time, this feels like brother an sisters together. Lugh smiles at me over Em’s head. I smile back. Tonight he seems lighter somehow. He seems … lifted.

I cain’t bear to think of sendin Emmi to Auriel. Of bein without her. But I must. It’s the only way to keep her safe. I’ll speak to Lugh in the mornin.

As the stars shoot the sky, Creed idles their way on the
squeezebox. Its ancient sighs fade the echo of harsh words. Smooth balm over anger. Drift our troubled day to the night.

I ain’t ever known a star season like this one. Molly watches ’em, shakin her head in amazement. So many shooters, she says. If they keep on at this rate, there won’t be none left.

Mercy’s bin lookin at Lugh. Really starin, like she cain’t help herself. It’s makin him flushed an shifty. At last she says, It’s uncanny how like her you are. Your eyes, they’re just the same. The face, the smile, even how you turn your head.

She’s right. Lugh’s the spit of Ma. He shrugs, but you can tell he’s pleased. Time creeps. My stummick’s in knots. Hurry on, hurry on, I need to see Jack.

Ash stands an stretches mightily. My watch, she says. Better go relieve Tommo. None too gently, she nudges Slim with her boot. Hey, sleepin beauty, don’t you be late fer me.

He cracks open his good eye. Fret ye not, he says.

On silent feet, bow in hand, Ash heads into the shadows.

Emmi says, What’s that tune, Creed?

No idea, he says. Probly the last song this old thing played. It’s like it’s bin waitin. It ain’t quite ready to come, but it will. In its own time, it’ll come. He keeps playin softly an, sure enough, before long, the song shows itself. It’s slow. Spare. Worn an warm from its passage down the ages. Ah, says Creed.

My throat thickens as I reckanize it. As it sounds in my
heart. The tune settles. It waits. Fer the right voice to claim it. It waits. Fer Molly. An she sings.

Memory slashes me. Ma, singin me an Lugh to sleep. The sun scent of her skin. Her fingers smoothin my hair. It’s bin ten year. But this music cuts deep. To the place where the wounds never heal. Lugh’s arm circles my shoulders. He hugs me close.

The song halts from Molly, raggedly tender. An I know, without knowin it, that she sang this to Gracie. Her child with Jack, fever-dead after five months of life. Em leaves us, goes around the fire an lays down with her head in Molly’s lap. Music at Silverlake died with Ma. Not once was there a lullaby fer Emmi.

Molly sings while Creed plays. There’s a truce, even a smile in their eyes fer each other.

One more note, I’ll be undone. An at last it’s time fer me to go. I give Lugh’s hand a squeeze. Then I slip away, Nero still huddled inside my coat. Tracker rises from his spot at Mercy’s feet. Slim raises his pipe to my goin. Creed nods. Molly smiles.
They’re all used to my night-time junkets by now.

I scoop up my quiver an bow. I leave the warm an the light an my folk an Ma’s song. With Tracker at my side, I head fer the night-deep woods.