Rebel Heart (11 page)

She didn’t look, I didn’t make a sound, but she knew I was awake.

He lived with our friend Mercy, I says. Far away from here. It was strange. He jest showed up. Led me right to you.

We speak in low voices, so’s not to wake th’others.

He’s been hangin around the edges of the camp fer a while now, says Auriel. I wondered about him.

I thought Mercy might be here, I says.

The dog comes an goes, she says. No one claims him. But he’s chosen you. He runs with you now. The wolfdog an the crow. Fit companions fer a warrior.

I ain’t no warrior, I says. I’m done with all that.

I drape the blanket around my shoulders. I scoop up Nero an go sit on the ground across from Auriel. I hug him to me, buryin my nose in his warm feathers. He grumbles a bit, but don’t wake. Auriel reaches down, takes a pinch of somethin from a tin beside her an throws it on the fire. It flares blue fer a second. A strange, sweet smell starts to wind around the tent.

She turns her head an looks at me. You was dreamin jest then, she says.

Not a dream, I says. I was rememberin. Somethin Pa said to me once. A long time ago, when I was a kid. I fergot all about it.

Our eyes meet in the firelight. Hers so pale an wild.

There are some people, she says, not many, who have within them the power to change things. The courage to act in the service of somethin greater than themselves.

To change things, I says.

Through their actions, she says, they can turn the tide of human affairs.

They, I says. You mean me.

The Tonton grow in strength an purpose, she says. They have a new leader, a man of vision. The Pathfinder, they call him.

The Pathfinder, I says.

A new leader fer the Tonton. I git a sudden, clear picture in my mind. Of DeMalo at Pine Top Hill. Turnin his back on Vicar Pinch, ridin away before the battle started, takin a good few Tonton with him. But that don’t mean he’d take over. Jest that he warn’t willin to put his life on the line fer a madman. He’s probly long gone.

Day after day, people arrive here, says Auriel. All with the same story. They’ve had to flee their homes. Run before they was killed by the Tonton. They’re grabbin land. Any earth good enough to work, any clean water. Then they move their own people in to work it – Stewards of the Earth. Any day now, everythin east of the Waste’ll be in Tonton hands. New Eden, they call it. An they decide who’s allowed to live there. Who’s good enough to live in their new world.

I done enough already, I says. Hopetown’s gone. Vicar Pinch is dead. All I want is fer you to fix me. Make me myself agin, so I can go west with my family. So I can be with Jack. He’s there, waitin fer me.

She throws another pinch on the fire. We all got our parts to play in this, she says. Him, yer sister, yer brother, Tommo. The wolfdog. Me. Nero. Long before you was born, Saba, a train of events was set in motion.

You mean fate, I says. I don’t believe in it.

Not fate, she says. Destiny. I’m speakin what my guides tell me, what I see in you. Fer you, Saba, all roads lead to the same place. It’s better you act now than later. Many people – not jest now but still to come – many people need you.

The same thing Pa said to me, jest before he died.

They’re gonna need you, Saba. Lugh an Emmi. An there’ll be others too. Many others. Don’t give in to fear. Be strong, like I know you are.

You an I got much to do, says Auriel, an very little time to do it in. But first, you need to sleep. She stirs the flames. The sweet smell grows stronger.

My eyelids start to droop. I lay myself by the fire, me an Nero. I close my eyes. My bones sob. Throb. I’m so weary with tryin to hold myself together. Tryin to hold back the darkness.

The heavy hands of sleep soothe me. Smooth me. Ease me down.

I look down down down to the bottom. To the ancient bed of the lake. Where the dark things crouch. Where the old things wait. Where they crouch an wait . . . fer me.

Don’t be afeared. Auriel’s voice whispers inside my head. I’ll be right here, walkin with you in yer dreams. Fer in our dreams we find ourselves. Who we were. Who we are. Who we can become. Sleep. Dream.

A old man stands by a twisted tree. His skin gleams, a rich nut brown. His white hair coils down his back. We’re alone, him an me, on a wide, flat plain. No hills, no grass, no life. There’s a darkenin sky. The wind blows hard. The tree shines silver white.

I never seen him before, yet I know him. I know him fer what he is. Warrior. Bowyer. Shaman. He holds a bow in his hands. It’s white, like the twisted tree. Pale, silvery white.

An I know why I’m here. What to do.

I go to the tree. I crouch. I wrap my arms round the trunk an pull. It comes easy. No roots. As I lift it free, I can see what lies beneath. A gravepit. A body. Somebody dead, laid out in the pit full length. The head’s bin wrapped in a dark red shawl. The body’s dressed in armour. Rusted an battered, a warrior, then. Man or woman, who knows?

I look at the man. He nods. I kneel. I draw the shawl away.

There ain’t no face. Jest a shape. A blank. Smooth as the smoothest stone. An stone to the touch, too, cold an hard. No eyes, no nose, no lips.

Then the shaman’s gone. An I’m alone. The tree bursts green with leaf. Its branches, its trunk, alive an new.

I hold the white bow in my hands. An the wild wide wind mutters my name.

Saba. Saba. Saba.

More new arrivals, says Auriel.

We stop. I squint aginst the sun, fierce an harsh. Down the far end of camp, a mulecart jolts to a halt. The driver sits there a long moment. Then she climbs out, stiff legged an clumsy. Them that’s nearby stir theirselfs to lend a hand. The lone passenger – looks to be a man – don’t move.

What’re they all doin here? I says.

They’re headed west, she says. They cain’t go back to New Eden an they cain’t stay here fer long. They’re on their way to the Big Water, to a better life. They’ve heard the stories – the good earth, the good air – jest like yer brother. That’s what they want too.

Not jest Lugh, I says. Him an me, we want the same.

Lugh dreams of a settled life, she says. He longs to plant hisself in one place, plant the land around him. His hands itch to work good earth, put food on the table that he’s grown hisself, raise children. That ain’t you. You cain’t be tied. You’ve gotta be free to soar. To fly.

She looks at me. At least, I think she does. She’s wearin a dark eyeshield. Any glint of light – the sun hittin water or metal in a certain way – it’s liable to set her off in a vision, so she’s gotta keep herself pertected. She waits. Like I oughta say somethin. Maybe I should. But I cain’t think why or what. I’m slow. Dull. My head’s still thick with the dreams of my night.

Auriel’s draped her shawl over her head. My eyes keep goin to it. It’s dark red. The colour of blood. The same as the one in my dream.

Somebody dead, laid out in the pit full length. The head’s bin wrapped in a dark red shawl.

I wish she’d take it off. The shades of the dead press on me. I don’t see ’em. But I feel ’em, so close around me I cain’t hardly breathe.

I dreamed of a old man, I says.

Yes, she says. Namid.

He gave me a bow, I says.

Yes, she says.

We pick our way down the camp, along the road between the shelters. The rain-churned earth’s dried into ruts ankle deep.

Her an me’s on walkabout. That’s what she calls it. She feels responsible fer these people. Lost souls, she calls ’em. She’s bin up since before dawn, talkin to the welcome committee an the privy detail an the health an death committee an who knows what else. She’s even thinkin she might lead everybody out west herself. She’s waitin fer a sign from the light, from her nature guides.

They need a leader, she says. These people ain’t like you, Saba. They’ve spent their lives in the dirt, cowerin at the feet of the strong. They believe it’s all they’re fit fer.

It’s a slow walkabout. Auriel’s a mighty wonder. They rush at her, to kiss her hands, to touch her tunic. She speaks to each one, askin about their child, their wife, the old woman they travelled with. Me, they only look at sidewise. Specially with Nero ridin my shoulder an Tracker by my side. But at least people ain’t holdin their charms aginst me today.

I look back. Lugh, Tommo an Em dog our footsteps, twenny paces or so behind. Auriel asked that they let her an me alone, but Lugh ain’t one to be told. He warned he’d be watchin her an he means it.

Not that there’s anythin to watch. The first thing I did today was ask her to git on with it. To gimme a potion or bleed me or read the stars or whatever it is she’s gotta do to fix me so’s we can git back on the road west. She said it don’t work that way. That I’ll know when I’m ready. After that, she wouldn’t say no more.

The next tent along on the right, two painted ladies sit out front, watchin the world go by. The younger one – plump as a pigeon – sits with her feet up, coaxin a rattly tune from the strings of a banjax. Her friend squats on a stool, her skirt hitched above her knees, smokin a pipe. She’s a handsome woman, loaded down with jangly bracelets an necklaces. There’s a ring on every toe an finger. Dozens of ’em in her ears too.

In their ragged finery they’re a strange sight among these worn-out dusty folk. Like colourful birds blown off course. Nero hops onto the pipe-smoker’s shoulder an starts pickin at her flounces.

Would you credit that, Meg? she says. He thinks I’m a crow.

Ferget the bird, Lilith. Unless my eyes deceive me, th’ Angel of Death has come to call. Meg lays her banjax aside. She sashays over, lookin me up an down, sayin, You’d be a big hit in our line of business, Angel.

She moves in so close that I can smell her. Sweat an sweetgrass. A big hit, she says. Mean . . . magnificent . . . a bit grubby. I seen you fight once. I still dream about it. She leans in. Her red painted lips brush mine. I always did wanna kiss a girl with a price on her head, she says.

A price, I says.

Lilith takes the pipe outta her mouth. Didn’t you know? Oh yeah, the Pathfinder wants you real bad. Anybody harms a hair on th’ Angel’s head gits theirs chopped off, an it’s a parcel of good New Eden land to the person who delivers you alive to Resurrection.

The Pathfinder, I says. What’s Resurrection?

His lair, she says. Back in New Eden.

I ain’t headed that way, I says.

I’d truss you up an hand you in myself fer a reward like that, she says. But whores ain’t allowed in New Eden now. It’s all temperance, duty an no fun at all. That’s right, ain’t it, Meg? No place fer the likes of us.

Saba! Lugh strides towards me. You shouldn’t oughta be talkin to . . . to these.

Meg whistles. Fans herself with her hand.

Lilith narrows her eyes. It ain’t talkin I wanna do with you, honey boy, she says.

Lugh flushes. He ain’t never seen such females in his life before. He’s tryin not to look at ’em but he cain’t help it.

A taste of ripe fruit, that’s what you need, says Lilith. Why doncha let Auntie Lil show you what it’s all about? One hour. No charge. Pure pleasure. She’s reachin out. She runs a finger up the inside of his thigh.

Don’t touch me! Lugh twists away, kickin her hand. So wild an sudden that she goes flyin offa her stool into all their stuff. Pots an tins an a lookin glass crash to the ground. Nero flaps an screeches.

Lugh storms off, tearin hisself free when Tommo grabs at his sleeve. He starts to follow an Lugh shoves him away.

Lemme be, gawdammit! he yells. You ain’t my family, Tommo! Back off!

He heads towards the river at a run. Tommo stands there a moment. Shocked. Cracked. Then he turns on his heel an walks fast th’other way. A kinda jagged lurch, huggin his hurt close.

Tommo! Em rushes after him.

Without thinkin, my feet start to go after Lugh. But they’re heavy. Slow. Like I’m wadin through sand. Auriel stops me with a hand on my arm. Lugh needs me, I says.

You got nuthin left to spare, she says.

I got nuthin to spare. I repeat her words dully, stupidly.