The White City (3 page)

When he’d found her three days ago during the battle between the Gog’s agents and the rougarou, he had hardly recognized her. The year spent watching over Conker as he healed in the siren well had changed her. She was stronger, more robust somehow. He wondered how he appeared to her. They had both grown up in so many ways. They were no longer the children sheltered aboard the medicine show’s train.

“Look.” Ray pointed to the left of the distant mountains. Much closer, maybe only a few miles away, the green tips of cottonwood trees peeked from a crack in the landscape. “A river’s down there. We’ll camp there tonight.”

Jolie nodded wearily but then cocked her head toward the south. Over a series of patchy hills, a black ribbon of smoke rose in the air. “The steamcoach. I am certain it is farther away. We have ridden hard all day, so why are we losing ground?”

Ray shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. “You need water. There aren’t any rivers in the direction they are traveling.”

“You …” Jolie gripped Ray’s elbow hard. “You are leading us farther from the agents because of me?”

“We’ll catch back up. Don’t worry about it.” Ray kicked his heels against the horse’s side and led them down the other side of the butte.

As night fell, Ray built a cookfire under the cottonwoods by the riverbank. The river was wide and swift-flowing, and when they had arrived, Jolie had done little more than slip down from the horse’s back and walk quietly over to disappear beneath the currents.

Eating his supper, Ray cast a glance back toward the gurgling waters. Jolie would surely not emerge until morning. He put aside his bowl and closed his eyes. After a moment, his thoughts linked with B’hoy’s.

He was high above the earth. Although the sagebrush country had grown dark gray, an orange and purple light still illuminated the cumulus cloudscape. From B’hoy’s vantage, Ray watched as the ground grew closer and soon he saw the steamcoach, stopped for the night in a dry ravine. There was Muggeridge, the gray-bearded leader, sitting before the fire and eating. Beside him was Pike, his second-in-command, and keeping watch were Murphy and another agent. De Courcy had his arm bandaged and limped stiffly over to pick up his meal. Eight survived of the fourteen that had set out from Omphalosa, the others fallen in the battle against the rougarou.

Ray had not seen the Hoarhound since the battle, but he knew it was inside the large car at the back of the steamcoach. It was guiding the agents toward the rabbit’s foot, guiding them unknowingly to Sally and not to Ray. B’hoy circled their camp, hesitating to go low enough to hear their conversations. After he and Marisol and Redfeather had been ambushed in the badlands before the battle, Ray worried that the agents had figured out that the lone, spying crow belonged to him.

As B’hoy began to return, Ray opened his eyes and got out his blanket. Unrolling it on the pebble-strewn earth, he thought of Sally. She had promised to keep the rabbit’s foot at Shuckstack. Even if she believed the golden foot was leading her to their father, why would she have left Shuckstack alone? Surely one of the others could have gone with her, Buck or Si at least.
Did they even know where Sally had gone? Had they followed her, or were Buck and Si still back at Shuckstack?

As Ray lay down, he felt his jaw tighten with worry. Sally. How could she be so foolish? She desperately wanted to believe their father was still alive. But to risk the rabbit’s foot, risk her own life, to cross the country on her hopeless quest …

B’hoy squawked as he landed on the branch of a cottonwood.

“I left you some,” Ray said.

The crow descended with a flap to the bowl and pecked at the cold mashed tubers and pemmican.

“You’re welcome,” Ray added as he cocked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

Ray woke to B’hoy’s croak. As he opened his eyes, he saw it was still dark. “Go back to sleep,” he mumbled, but before he laid his head back down, he heard the crunch of feet on stones. He drew his knife swiftly from the sheath at his side and rolled over.

Silhouetted against the deep blue dawn, Jolie walked up from the riverbank, wringing the water from her tangled hair. “I did not expect you to be awake already.”

Ray snorted and put the knife back. “Yeah, call me an early bird.” He stood and stretched, feeling stiff from the saddle and hard ground. “How do you feel?”

Jolie came closer and poked a stick into the coals. “Better.”

As a flame grew, it illuminated her face. “You look like it,” Ray said.

He squatted and took a piece of pemmican from his rucksack, tearing it in half and handing part to Jolie. “I think there
are more river crossings ahead, flowing out of those mountains. We should be fine.”

Jolie ate with her eyes cast down and after a few moments murmured, “I wish I had brought the waters …”

“What waters?” Ray asked.

“From Élodie’s Spring,” she replied. “From the well where Conker healed. I took waters from there. Healing waters. But when your sister snuck away from the Wolf Tree and I followed her, I left them with Conker. If I had only thought to take them, I would not need to sleep in these rivers and we could reach Sally faster.”

“You didn’t know when you left.” He shrugged. Then, wrinkling his brow, he said, “I keep trying to figure out why Sally didn’t tell you who she was. She’s never met you or Conker, but she must have known who you were.”

“She knew us,” Jolie said. “But when we met, she introduced herself as ‘Coyote.’ She kept her true name from us.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand. Why would she do that?”

“Do you not see, Ray?” Jolie said. “She must have worried we would try to stop her. She has the rabbit’s foot. She believes it is leading her to Little Bill, to your father.”

“Is it?” Ray asked, uncertain himself whether he could believe after all this time his father was actually alive and trapped in the Gloaming.

Jolie shook her head. “I do not know. I loved Little Bill. I would like to believe he is alive, but I feel uncertain. Still, I hold a hope. You should too.”

Ray frowned. “If he is alive, then she’s leading those agents right to him.”

“She may not know the Hoarhound follows her,” Jolie replied. “Or the steamcoach. Which is why we have to move faster. We cannot let those agents catch her. We are losing too much ground, Ray.” Her gaze hardened. “Next time, do not delay us without at least telling me first.”

Ray held up his hands defensively. “I knew you wouldn’t let me leave our course.”

Jolie’s eyes flashed with anger.

“You can’t survive without the rivers,” Ray added. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Come on,” Jolie said, walking over to the horse.

Ray stepped up into the saddle before helping Jolie on behind him. “We’ll ride swiftly now that we’re rested,” he said. “We’ll get ahead of them. Don’t worry.”

They rode hard throughout the morning, keeping the distant smoke of the steamcoach in their sight. At midday, they stopped to let the horse drink from the puddles in a nearly dry stream. Jolie got down to stretch her legs. As she went over to smooth the horse’s mane, she said, “This horse is strong.”

“Yeah, she’s a tough one,” Ray said, still sitting in the saddle. He took off his hat to wipe his hand through his damp hair and then brought the hat down lower over his brow to shield his eyes from the sun’s hard glare.

“She should have a name,” Jolie said.

Ray chuckled. “I’m guessing you already have one in mind.”

Jolie nodded. “Élodie.”

He held out a hand to help her back up. “That the well? Conker’s well?”

“Yes.” Jolie climbed on behind him. “The waters that
healed him were made because Élodie died. When a siren dies for love, her heart brings forth healing waters.”

“Did you know Élodie?” Ray asked.

“She was my mother.”

Ray turned to look back over his shoulder at Jolie. “Your mother? You’ve never told me anything about your mother.”

Jolie frowned and lowered her gaze. When she said no more, Ray shook the reins, and they set off across the scrub brush and dust, picking up speed.

After a time, Jolie leaned closer so Ray could hear her. “My mother died when I was very young. I do not even remember her.”

“How did she die?” Ray asked.

“My sisters say her heart was poisoned,” Jolie said. “By my father. He was an outlaw who took refuge in the Terrebonne. My mother loved him. This was wrong.”

“Didn’t he love her?”

“My sisters never told me. They would not have acknowledged it if he had.” Jolie paused as if thinking and then said, “I think he must have, if my mother felt so deeply for him. He had to have loved her.”

Ray still didn’t understand. “Then what was wrong with her loving him?” he asked.

“It is not our way,” Jolie replied. “Sirens love only their sisters. Sirens care for no others. Our songs to father children enchant men, but they are not loved. My mother violated this law when she fell in love with my father.”

Ray twisted in the saddle to peer back at Jolie. “You sound as if you think she was wrong for loving your father.”

Jolie had a hardness to her expression. “She should never
have left her sisters to search for that bandit. She should have stayed with them.”

Ray said bitterly, “Like your sisters should have stayed with you.”

Jolie was silent. The horse Élodie galloped through the sagebrush. Finally Jolie said, “My sisters have returned.”

“What?” Ray gasped. “How do you know?”

“When I was watching over Conker, one of my sisters, Cleoma, came to the well.” Jolie took a deep breath before continuing. “She told me they are once more in the Terrebonne. I have forgiven them.”

Ray bit at his lip, not sure what to say. He resented Jolie’s sisters for abandoning her. He knew how much they had hurt her. Jolie might have found some way to put aside her resentment, but he couldn’t.

“Cleoma, my sister,” Jolie said, “she told me that they heard a strange voice coming from the waters of the Mississippi. I heard this voice too when Conker and I recovered the Nine Pound Hammer. Even last night, in this river. I cannot say who or what is calling out to the sirens, but I do not think it is in menace.

“Some sisters followed the voice up and into other rivers flowing out from the prairies. Cleoma said that the sisters turned back when they reached an unnatural night covering the prairie. They came back not knowing what this voice was or why it was calling them, but when they had returned, the ones that had gone out grew sick.”

“Sick?” Ray asked. “How? Were they coughing? Did they go blind?”

“I do not know. Yes, I think Cleoma said they lost their sight. Why?”

“It’s the Darkness. Your sisters went into the Darkness.”

“The one you said covered the town—”

“Yes, Omphalosa. It must be.” Then he hesitated before continuing, “Jolie, I’m not sure there’s a cure for this sickness. Nel gave me and Redfeather and Marisol charms to protect us from it, but he didn’t know how to cure it. A man came to Shuckstack who escaped from the Darkness. Nel couldn’t find any way to save him. He died. I hope your sisters … I’m sorry …”

“Do not be,” she said. “Cleoma carried waters back from Élodie’s Spring. I am certain they have healed my sisters.”

“You’re sure?” Ray asked.

“There is nothing the siren springs cannot heal. Conker’s body was broken by the train’s explosion. And now he is whole. More than that. He is stronger yet. Who knows what he can endure having slept a year in Élodie’s waters!”

“I wish I could have seen him,” Ray said. “I’ve missed him.” He added after a moment, “I’ve missed you too.”

Jolie said nothing, but after a moment she tightened her grip around his waist.

Ray drove the horse, Élodie, farther across the plains, growing ever closer to the steamcoach. By nightfall, they spied a ribbon of thin, skeletal trees. Ray stopped the horse when they reached them and looked down on cracked brown mudflats.

“I thought there would be a river here,” Ray said. “It looked like it from a distance.”

“It is okay,” Jolie said, getting down from Élodie. “I am still all right. I do not need to sleep beneath the waters yet.”

As they made camp and ate their meager supper, Ray sent B’hoy out into the gathering night. He found the steamcoach not more than twenty miles to the west. They would catch up with it soon.

But beyond, the crow saw only a worsening land—barren and without even sagebrush for vegetation. There was little water, and there were no more rivers.

B
EFORE THEY RODE OUT THE FOLLOWING MORNING
, R
AY
knelt to cut stems from the silvery sagebrush. Jolie, who was already seated on Élodie, called down to him, “Why are you taking that shrub? It grows all over these plains.”

“Not ahead, I’m afraid,” Ray replied as he sheathed the knife and tied the bunches to the saddle horn.

Jolie extended a hand to help him into the saddle before her. “Will we eat it?”

“No,” Ray chuckled. “I hope it won’t get that bad. We’ll burn it. I’ve heard about this western sage. It’s not like the sage back home. It has different properties, different hoodoo. There’s a resin in the leaves and bark that makes a thin smoke. It’ll help shield us from view, at least from a distance.”