The Boys of Fire and Ash (19 page)

“Urgle,” Fiver said, “she's crazy! Get her off me!”

“Oh, pshaw,” said the woman, smacking his other knee.

I took a step closer and saw the pistol wound, which
was halfway closed by the thread she'd used to bring the skin together. It was clean and healthy.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “She's fixing you!”

“I don't care!” he yelled, grimacing. “Just make her stop!”

She looked up from his leg and said something to me, a lined smile lighting her face. She waved her hand over to a tray sitting on a stand beside the fire; several glass bottles filled with a dark brown liquid were arranged in a tidy circle.

I walked over and looked back.

“Dah, dah,”
she said, pointing to the tallest bottle.

I picked it up and she nodded, so I handed it to her. She bit off the lid and passed the bottle to Fiver.

“Now what?” he moaned. “Poison?”

“Kasi she,”
she said, and made a drinking motion with her hand.

He smelled the liquid and let out a cough. “By Rawley, that's awful!” he said, then handed it back without taking any.

She laughed and cut the thread, giving Fiver another pat on the knee before she stood and hurried over to the stove.

His gash was fully closed, the skin around it healthy save for a black thread keeping it together. I'd never seen a wound closed with anything but Sticky Willow. But she'd closed it her own way and closed it nice. I could just imagine Crow's face when we told him.

“How's Av?” Fiver asked, putting the bottle on the floor.

I wiggled my toes, feeling the warmth seeping into them. I felt relief wrap around me with the heat from the fire. If the old man was as skilled as his woman, then Av was in good hands.

“I think he's going to be all right,” I said.

Fiver nodded and inspected his leg, his fingers prodding at her work.

“Ah, ah, ah!” she yelled at him, waving a finger, and he stopped immediately. She laughed and grabbed him by the chin, planting a kiss on his cheek. At first I thought he might hit her, but instead he just rubbed his face where her lips had touched him, his eyes wide and confused.

Then the old woman hurried over and grabbed my face—her strength surprising for such a tiny old thing—and kissed me too, pressing her wet old lips hard against my cheek. She was so warm, her hand on mine and her lips pressed against my cheek, that I was surprised when I realized I'd welcomed the touch of a woman, those dark and evil creatures that had caused so many nightmares.

Her eyes fell on the belt I'd tied around my thigh, and without warning she pulled it down, revealing the gash from the Tunrar. It was black and swollen, puss seeping out of the sides.

She gasped and rushed back to the stand with all the bottles. She pulled out one with what looked like water, and scurried back to me, dunking half of it on my leg.

It stung and I jumped, but she grabbed my arms to keep me still. Then she tore away the belt altogether and tied it with new, clean dressings.

“Tu lay,”
she said with a satisfied grin, pleased with the work she'd done.

At a long scuffed wooden table at the other side of the room there were two cups and two bowls laid out. The old woman went over to it, chattering on even though I was certain she was aware we didn't speak her language. She pulled out two chairs, one in front of each place setting, and motioned for us to sit.

I looked at Fiver, who looked at me. We both weren't sure what to do, but she laughed a hearty chortle and smiled so warmly that I couldn't help but smile back. Fiver was the first to move. Getting to his feet, he accepted the seat at the table, all the while eyeing her like she was an Ashen Bear waiting to attack. I joined him, the savory smells basting the air making my stomach grumble.

I stared at the empty bowl in front of me and breathed in the aroma of whatever was cooking on top of the stove. My stomach practically roared from hunger. I was ravenous and warm, and unexpectedly at ease.

The old woman waddled over with a large pot and giant spoon and filled our bowls to the top with a beautiful chunky, meaty slop. It smelled like everything my stomach had ever wanted, and I lifted the bowl to my mouth without a second to lose.

The woman screamed and I nearly dropped the bowl. Had I offended her somehow? But she laughed when she saw the look on my face and waved her mouth, miming that the food was still hot.

Relieved, I blew on the mixture with all my might, and in moments I was face deep in chunks of vegetables, meats, and other soft, mushy, savory bites I couldn't identify, all of it swimming in a thick gravy.

Fiver was snarling, snorting as he shoved the meal into his mouth with just as much ferocity as me.

She chuckled a jolly laugh and patted our heads, filling our cups with a warm, fragrant tea.

She took a seat beside Fiver and prattled on as we ate and drank. I found myself enjoying the sound of her clucking chatter, not minding that I couldn't understand a word. Fiver kept one eye on her at all times, and I could see the
struggle in his brain as he tried to decide what to think. This was the first woman he'd met, after Gorpok Juga, and anyway, Juga was sort of easier to accept. She was more like what we'd expect of a woman, I guess. Melty, sure, but evil enough. This smiley old lady, filling our bellies and warming our toes, and fixing Fiver's leg, was something else altogether. She was something hard not to like.

Finally she got up from the table and wrapped a colorful blanket around her shoulders, waving and bowing as though she were preparing to leave.

Fiver stood up as she headed for the doorway that led to the steps we'd climbed when we'd first come in. “Where's she going?” he asked as she waddled out the door, surprising me with the demand in his voice.

I shrugged.

That wasn't a good enough answer for Fiver. He rushed after her and peeked down the hall of steps. Not wanting to be left out, I jumped from my chair and rushed to join him.

As we watched, the old woman jiggled and wobbled as she made her way carefully down to the red door, but she didn't go through it. Instead, to her right, there was another door I hadn't noticed when we had first walked in. She opened it and light, music, and laughter spilled into the hall. Then, as she disappeared inside and closed the door behind her, there was silence.

“Let's go,” said Fiver.

“What?” I wasn't so sure. “We can't leave Av.”

“He's bedridden and the room she went in is just down there.”

I felt my eyebrow rise; Fiver had always taken zero interest in anybody but himself, and Wasted maybe, but this old woman certainly had his attention. He noticed my
suspicious look and moved his eyes to his feet, embarrassed. His unease made me soften, and part of me wanted to let him go after her. But I felt bad leaving Av behind when he was sick and couldn't join us.

I looked back to my bowl, which was still streaked with gravy. “I still have some food left,” I said.

Fiver rolled his eyes and looked at the table: his bowl was streaked too. He sighed and flopped into his chair again. I picked up my bowl and slid my finger along the sides, licking up the salty greasiness.

“She did an all right job with this leg.” Fiver was massaging the skin around his wound. “Maybe even better than Crow.”

That was the kind of thing Fiver would have beaten the living flame out of a Brother for saying.

He caught me watching him out of the corner of his eye and quickly put his leg back down on the floor, then lifted his bowl to his face and took a big slurp. “So how far to these Belphebans of yours?”

I sucked on my thumb, trying to put off telling him that I didn't really know. I shrugged.

“Urgle,” said Fiver, “what did Blaze say?”

I cleared my throat. “He said they're somewhere around here.”

“Somewhere where?”

I slid my tongue along the edge of the bowl, trying to get every last trace of food. He hadn't said where. Just that people in Fendar Sticks would know. I shifted in my seat. How was I supposed to ask if I didn't speak the language?

Fiver didn't seem to care that I didn't answer; his eyes were on the door, his knuckles rapping against the table as
he impatiently cleaned out his bowl with the fingers of his other hand.

“Now can we go downstairs?” asked Fiver as soon as he'd licked them clean.

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Fine. But just quick, all right?”

The two of us made a break for the steps, barreling down until we reached the right-hand door. Fiver turned the knob and it opened to a huge, busy room. A sour, pungent smell assailed our noses, and music and voices filled our ears.

There were people everywhere, men and women, old and young, drinking and dancing or just sitting and talking.

A group of men sitting at a table to the right of the door stared blankly at us, a frothy foam dripping from their beards and their mugs raised mid-sip. They wore the same clothing as the boys back in town, the mark on all their chests.

I hesitated, thinking they'd come at us the way the first ones had. Fiver must have been thinking the same thing, because he shoved past me, standing up straight and staring down the table, daring them to try and grab him again.

The now-familiar wail of our old lady sang out, and we saw her standing behind a long bar. For a moment I was worried she'd be cross that we followed, but even with her hands on her hips she still had a smile on her face.

I looked back to the group of men, but they'd already
forgotten us, laughing amongst themselves and chugging from their mugs.

The old woman threw up her hands with a hearty laugh and motioned for us to sit at a booth near the window.

Fiver quickly limped to the booth and sat down. I followed, bouncing on the soft red cushion of the seat in front of him.

In an instant, the plump lady was standing in front of the table with two fine-looking goblets in her hand. They were filled to the brim with a red liquid. I took a long, happy sniff and my nose wrinkled at the sour, earthy smell. Like fermented Baublenotts.

The old woman erupted with laughter at the look on my face and motioned for me to drink.

Fiver needed no invitation. He'd already knocked back the entire glass.

“Oh! Hoh!” cried the old lady, and laughed again, pinching Fiver's cheek.

He glowed under the praise and blushed when she hugged his head close to her.

She said something that sounded happy and then patted my head, and I watched as she made her way back behind the bar.

Fiver watched too, his feet swinging beneath him.

“What?” he said, when he caught me watching again.

“Nothing,” I said. “You just look…”

Fiver's glow was gone and his stare bored into me, daring me to say what I was thinking.

“Nothing,” I said, biting back a grin and looking away. Whatever had caused the change in Fiver, I knew I preferred him this way.

Men slouched on stools and propped their heads on their
hands in front of the old lady as she gobbled and gabbed. They also didn't seem to mind. Every other one seemed to be wearing the cloth with the mark on it.

“What's it they're trying to keep out, do you think?” said Fiver.

“What?”

He nodded at the group of men sitting by the door where we'd come in.

“Keep out?” I asked.

“Seemed that way to me, back there with those scrawny Cavy farts. I thought they were going to tell us to turn back.”

He was right. It was like the Shibotsa back at Abish Village. Blaze told us it was to keep out the Beginning's fight. The Holy War, he called it. A knot twisted in my stomach as I thought of the short boy looking at my neck, the same spot where Blaze had his mark. Something told me Beginners were not wanted here.

Fiver kicked me.

“What?”

“I said, what do you think they were looking for?”

I shrugged, not wanting to tell him what was going through my head. It didn't matter anyway. What mattered was getting Cubby back. What mattered was finding the Belphebans. But how? Blaze said the men of Fendar Sticks would know, but what good was that? I didn't speak the language. My entire body felt heavy, exhausted by the whole situation. We were in the middle of a world we didn't understand.

You wouldn't know it to look at Fiver. He'd lost interest in our conversation, enjoying another refill of the sour drink and reclining lazily in his seat. I wished I could relax like
that, but as long as Cubby was with Krepin, I couldn't. My gut was twisting, telling me to get up, to get moving. But with Av upstairs and injured, there was no going anywhere. Not for the moment.

My eyes wandered as I took a small sip of the sour drink and it warmed my throat all the way down to my stomach. Beside the bar sat a group of men, each playing a different instrument. In the Ikkuma Pit we had music. Drums and shakers, simple things completely unlike this. Two of the instruments I especially liked. They held one end with a hand, the other under their chin, and slid a stringed stick back and forth to make a melody that had nearly everyone on their feet. I found my foot tapping to the sound.

A glass shattered in the far corner behind Fiver where a group of people were dancing. A woman, young and tall, dark hair cut to her chin, had fallen to the floor. She was laughing obnoxiously as a burly man chuckled and helped her to her feet. Another woman, just as tall and youthful, blond locks tied back from her face, stomped up to the fallen girl and shoved the man away. She helped the woman to her feet and scolded her for being so clumsy.

A man with a nasal voice and dark beard stumbled across to our table and sniggered as he forced his way in beside Fiver. He was dressed in the clothes with the mark too. The mark was everywhere in this town, but what did that mean? What was the Beginning to them?

The man's eyes twinkled with mischief and Fiver angled himself away, shunning the intruder with his shoulder. Even from across the table I could smell the man, as though he'd bathed in the red drink our old lady friend had brought for us. He kept putting his hand out, holding it just above the floor as he spoke, then rubbing his thick beard and
scratching Fiver's chin fluff. He was either pointing out that we were short or we were young. I couldn't be sure which.