A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) (21 page)

Badger looked through a crack in the front door, crossbow in hand. Her black hair stuck every which way and she’d strapped a knife belt over her flimsy nightdress.

Wilson started to lift the locking bar and Badger grabbed his hand. More boots galloped past on the springy planks. Badger ran to the back of the house and squeezed through a small window. Wilson tossed out both crossbows and climbed after her. They ran toward the central plaza through a maze of narrow alleys. The sharp crack of rifles grew louder and a hot-metal smell filled the air.

Badger stopped at a building that bordered the square and looked around a corner. She pushed Wilson back and shot her crossbow. A man screamed out of sight and Wilson heard tribal curses. Badger switched her spent bow for Wilson’s and aimed again. Wilson reloaded and heard another scream in the crackle of gunfire.

Badger ran to the back of the building and slung the crossbow over her shoulder. She wedged her fingers and toes in gaps between the wooden slats. Wilson followed her up the side of the building and across the sharp peak of the roof.

A haze of smoke covered the front of the meeting hall and long weapons boomed from the open windows. Half a dozen dead or wounded villagers were sprawled on the steps. Directly opposite the hall, tribals leaned around corners and shot back. Bodies of villagers and buckskin-clad raiders were scattered across the gravel of the open plaza.

Badger reloaded and spoke in Wilson’s ear.

“Four shots left, make it count.”

They slid across to the eave and looked down. On the porch of the next building, raiders in yellow buckskin fired at the meeting hall.

Wilson exhaled and focused on a pale jacket. He pulled the release and the raider jerked and crumpled. Wilson pushed back from the eave of the roof and rolled onto his back. He put his left foot in the rope stirrup and pulled back on the reload lever with his right hand. He put a sharp-tipped bolt in the channel and slid to the edge. Badger had already shot again. Wilson aimed and pulled the trigger. His bolt jerked away and stuck in the neck of a falling raider. Many of the raiders were confused, and looked left and right through a haze of smoke. Wilson shot a third bolt. Something zipped past his head as he slid backwards.

“Time to move,” said Badger.

They reloaded and dropped from the building. A Westcreek stepped in front of them with an axe in his hand. Badger jumped back and Wilson shot from the hip. His bolt hit the raider in the chest and spun him into the gravel. Out of bolts, Wilson dropped the crossbow and followed Badger across the street. They scaled the side of another building using a few convenient windows.

Badger crawled across the roof and fired her last bolt. Down below, a Westcreek aimed at her but a round fired from the meeting hall exploded through his hand and rifle.

Wilson pulled out his pistol and used his left arm as support. He fired four deafening shells at the raiders. The sound made his ears feel numb, like they were stuffed with cotton. He saw a group of village men run across the square and fire their rifles.

Badger kicked his leg and Wilson looked over his shoulder. A pair of raiders aimed rifles at them from a nearby roof. Splinters flew around Wilson as the bullets missed.

He couldn’t see Badger. Wilson half-clambered and half-fell over the edge of the roof and landed in the mud.

Badger waved at him from a doorway. More villagers with guns appeared through the smoke in the plaza. The meeting hall was totally obscured by gray haze now. A few yellow flashes of muzzle fire came from what was probably the second floor.

Badger yelled in his ear. “The gate!”

They ran south. The streets were full of armed groups so they kept to the alleys.

The houses near the gate were empty and quiet. A single, massive door on rollers kept secure the main gap in the wooden palisade. The day before Wilson had seen the door rolled shut, and it took a dozen men. Two thick wooden bars kept it from opening. The bars were still in place but three beams for locking a smaller, man-sized exit were gone. Wilson found them piled nearby, over the bodies of three village men.

Wilson closed the smaller door and lifted the bars into place. He ran back to Badger in the shadows of a nearby building and reloaded his pistol. His hearing was still muddied by a high-pitched ring.

A minute later Badger touched his arm. Two raiders crept in the shadow of the palisade wall toward the gate. The first raider leaned his rifle against the gate and lifted the locking bar. Wilson fired and hit with his third shot. The other raider shot at Wilson and missed but the splinters stung Wilson in the face. As the tribal pulled back his rifle bolt, Badger stepped forward and flipped a knife into his belly. He ran a dozen steps before Badger caught up and stabbed him  in the neck.

A group of villagers appeared and grabbed the rifles and cartridges from the bodies. Most decided to stay in front of the gate but a few climbed the nearby roof.

Wilson jogged with Badger back to the central square. Only twenty minutes had passed since the shooting had started. Clumps of villagers stood around, some armed and some wounded. Nurses and helpers were carrying the bloodiest cases into the meeting hall. Around the square, villagers used knives to finish off the wounded Westcreeks. In the center of the plaza was a large pile of their bodies.

Wilson and Badger walked into the meeting hall. Teacher stood talking with a group of older villagers. Blood streaked the front of his white robe and a girl bandaged his right arm.

“Are you hurt?” Wilson asked.

“I’ll survive. Others weren’t so lucky. You’ve probably discovered that we were attacked again.”

“We just came from the south gate.”

“Is it secure?” asked Teacher.

“Now it is. I think that’s where they got in.”

Teacher pulled on his beard. “A group of traders came in yesterday. I’ll send for them.”

“Do you need anything?”

“You’ve helped enough already. I recommend you check on your friends from Station.”

The expedition was scattered in three houses around the village. Yishai’s house was close to the eastern gate, and there Mast and a few boys in Yishai’s family had fought with the raiders. Mina’s brother had taken a bullet to the shoulder, but everyone else was fine and accounted for. When they returned to the square Badger retrieved the dropped crossbows and Wilson salvaged a few bolts from the dead tribals.

The night sky turned a morning gray as they walked back to their rooms. Wilson lay under his sheepskin but found it hard to sleep.

SUNSHINE WARMED HIS ARM. Wilson realized he had overslept and scrambled for his clothes. Badger’s room upstairs was empty and her gear missing.

Wilson walked toward a rumble and buzz coming from the village square. A large number of men, women, and children were crowded around the travelers from Station. Badger stood in a group with Mina and a few other village girls. Nearby, Father Reed moved his lips as he read from a small book.

“Good morning,” said Wilson.

“What? Oh yes. The prodigal son has returned,” said Father Reed.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Wilson with a forced calmness.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’ve arrived ready to travel just as we’re leaving. Therefore, I take it you––the prodigal son––are making the wise choice to return with us.”

“Son?”

“A figure of speech.”

“No, it’s not and I’m sick of these games. I know who Teacher is and you meant it literally. What good was it to keep him a secret? Wait, you don’t have to explain. You can save your breath. I know you’ll say it was to protect me. You love putting things in boxes and ‘protecting’ them until they die.”

“Don’t speak to me like that. I did what I could to change his mind. Your father and I ... we had other problems. We were like two stubborn goats. We fought about things that didn’t matter. The ones that did ... that was my fault. When you’re older you’ll understand why none of us wanted to talk about it, and why it was kept secret.”

The door on the meeting hall opened. Yishai and Teacher appeared with a group of village hunters. They greeted everyone and moved slowly through the crowd toward Wilson and Reed. All except Yishai wore dark traveling leathers and carried packs and rifles. His father’s right arm and shoulder were wrapped in bandages. A belt around his waist held pouches and knives. Instead of a rifle he carried a walking staff.

“Now I see what’s happened,” said Reed. “I know what choice you’ve made.”

Wilson sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I blame myself,” said Reed. “I thought taking you as apprentice was my atonement. I thought I could wipe out those old mistakes, but I was wrong. Don’t give dogs what is sacred; don’t throw your pearls before swine.”

“What’s this about swine?” asked Teacher brightly. “Is that something you need for your trip, Reed?”

“No. It’s from a book you couldn’t possibly remember.”

“Oh but I do,” said Teacher. “As a dog returns to its vomit, so do fools repeat their folly.”

“That’s very good, Simon.”

Teacher lost his smile. “That’s not my name here, Alan. Call me Teacher.”

“Why are you dressed like that?” asked Wilson. He pointed at Teacher’s outfit.

“Can’t I walk with my friends a short distance? Not to change the subject, but we know more about the raid last night.”

“How did they get in?” asked Wilson.

“The traders. We found their bodies in the square. My best guess is they killed their escorts and the guards at the south gate, then opened it. Normally we would have been more diligent about watching any outsiders, but there was the excitement of Mina’s return and the wedding. Since the raiders went straight to the meeting hall we think they wanted to kill either Yishai or me.”

“Knowing the other tribes and especially the Lagos, I would say the trick is on the Creeks,” said Wilson.

“Why do you say that?” asked Reed.

“Flora was behind the first attack here. Her men from Lagos are probably burning Westcreek to the ground.”

“She’s got a bag full of tricks but wouldn’t do that,” said Teacher. “They’re both part of the Circle. That’s the slave-trading group I mentioned before.”

“So that’s where the tattoos come from,” said Wilson. “Have they asked you to join?”

“Last year. But we can manufacture our own rifles. Not as high quality as some of the Circle rifles, but we can do it. It doesn’t matter because the only trade these people are interested in is slaves and old machines. Slavery is unconscionable to me and we don’t have any ancient machinery.”

“Did these men speak English?” asked Wilson.

“Yes, English and the dialect.”

“Negotiate with them,” said Reed. “If they’re literate men, they’ll be open to reason.”

“I doubt it,” said Teacher. “I wanted to trade furs, but they wouldn’t accept anything but ‘the standard contract.’ And like I said, that means slaves.”

“How unfortunate,” said Reed.

“Stay far away from them. If they discover you live in a place like Station with working machinery they won’t stop until they’ve murdered everyone and clawed it away.”

Father Reed sighed. “That much I can believe.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

Teacher and Yishai returned to the steps of the meeting hall and faced the crowd. Teacher slowly thumped his walking stick on the wooden porch. Villagers joined in the rhythm by clapping their hands or stomping the gravel. The square thundered until Teacher raised his hand.

“Citizens and believers. The last few days have been filled with happiness and grief. My heart is heavy, remembering the sons and daughters who perished last night defending the village. We’ve fought twice against evil in the past few days and won. It’s all thanks to the blessings of God and the sacrifice of those brave friends.”

Teacher paused. “But good has come in this time of trouble like a flower sprouting from the muck. Two beautiful daughters of the village whom we thought dead have been welcomed back. The fathers and mothers who hear my voice know there is no greater love than a parent for their child, and no greater pain than when they are separate. The reunion is a blessing from above.”

Teacher held a hand over his heart. “All of you know I came from the west. What you don’t know is that I was a father. I was forced to leave my son behind.” He extended a hand to Wilson. “Today, father and son have been reunited!”

The crowd erupted in cheers and villagers pushed Wilson forward. He climbed the steps and gave his father a hug. Both wiped tears from their faces and faced the crowd. Teacher held Wilson’s hand high in the air. The crowd cheered until his father lowered it.

“My son is on a journey to save the life of someone he cares for deeply. His path is dangerous and full of peril. I can’t let him face this alone.”

He gave his walking stick to Wilson and removed the silver cross from around his neck.

“I will return in one week. In that time Yishai will provide you guidance from above.”

Murmurs rolled through the crowd. Teacher raised a hand and the villagers became quiet.

“We’ve been friends for many years. I promise to return soon. During that time, remember the words I’ve taught you. In famine the Lord will deliver you from death, and in battle from the stroke of the sword.”

There was a commotion in the crowd. Wilson saw a crowd of villagers bending to the ground and pushed his way to them.

Mina looked at him. “What’s wrong with her?”

Badger lay on her side, shaking. Wilson sat down and held her head in his lap. Reed knelt beside him. The priest slid up Badger’s left sleeve and put his fingers on the forearm scar, then pressed the sequence. After a few seconds Badger’s arms and legs stopped moving. Wilson brushed hair out of her eyes and pressed a hand to her cheek. He looked up to see Reed watching him.

“You two certainly have a flair for the dramatic,” the priest said.

AFTER BADGER RECOVERED ENOUGH to yell indelicate phrases at everyone, the two groups of travelers gathered to leave. The crowd followed them through the streets of the village and out the main gate. Everyone stopped outside the walls.