A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) (8 page)

“Is that all you have to say?” she asked.

“No, there’s more.”

They sheltered from the storm under the wide spruce trees like a pair of lonely goats. When the thunder passed and the rain faded to a soft spray they guided the animals down the mountain. Wilson kept his arm around Badger’s waist and felt the gentle rhythm in each of her steps.

“Why did the patrol take so long?”

Badger sighed. “This group of tribals kept wandering back and forth like they were looking for something. Too close to ignore and too many to fight.”

“Hunters?”

“Too much noise. They wouldn’t have caught a dead goat tied to a tree.”

“Raiders?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t get close enough to find out.”

At the dark edge of twilight they brought the herd to the corral. Wilson locked the gate and gave Blackie a large piece of dried meat. He walked with Badger hand-in-hand to the small cabin. Inside were two narrow bunks and a large pile of furs.

“You don’t have to stay,” said Wilson, holding her around the waist. “You might be missed.”

“Someone right here will miss me,” she said.

The bunks were hard and the furs musty, but it didn’t matter. Together they kept warm and forgot that anything else had ever existed.

Later, curled together under the blankets, Wilson played with one of her braids that had started come loose.

“I feel like a hooked fish,” he said. “And you’re on the other end of the line.”

Badger giggled. “I won’t throw you back yet.”

She left the bunk and felt through a pile of clothes.

“Where are you going?”

“You’re right, Will––I can’t stay here. Simpson will come looking for me.”     

“Well, they have to find out sometime.”

“Not tonight and not like this.”

Wilson stayed under the furs and stared at the antlers that hung from the roof beams.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

She jumped on top of him playfully. “What?”

“It’s about you.”

“I’m the greatest, you told me six times already.”

Wilson shook his head. “It’s about your collapse. The sickness.”

“Tell me.”

“Listen, it’s not definite. Like you said, what do the stupid priests know anyway? Maybe there’s another set of records I haven’t found yet–”

She opened her eyes wide. “WHAT is not definite?”

Wilson sighed and rubbed his cheeks.

“Your condition ... it’s fatal. Everyone in your name-line had it, including the founder. It started at different ages, but all of them had it. And ... all of them died from it.”

“You’re joking!” She left the bed and stared at him. “Don’t tell me a stupid thing like that. I feel fine. It can’t be that bad!”

“I wouldn’t tell you unless I thought it was true.”

“How long?”

“A month. Six weeks at the most.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

The look in her eyes made Wilson wish he had more than a blanket for protection.

“You were on patrol!”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Before.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

Badger pulled on her trousers, moccasins, and jacket.

“I thought you were different,” she said.

“Kira, it’s not what you think!”

She turned the latch and a draft blew into the room.

“No. You’re just like the rest of them.”

FOUR

T
he next two weeks were hell for him.

Badger avoided him outside, at mealtimes, and didn’t attend services. Wilson pushed carefully-worded letters under her door but found them torn and scattered across the corridor later. The hunters simply avoided his questions. He didn’t even know if she was in the valley or not. He began to see things, to mistake other dark-haired girls for her. He walked the underground corridors at night until the lack of sleep ground his mind into a thoughtless oblivion. When Reed wasn’t watching, he searched for her on the tracking screens.

For a distraction he scanned the strange objects from the old times with medical equipment. They were smooth with no seams or visible openings. Readings from the inside showed many complex structures, but none of the sensors gave him a single data point. Wilson gave up trying to get any information from them directly.

One day he returned from the midday meal and saw Father Reed in the medical room with a very pregnant middle-aged woman. Wilson stepped inside to help Reed put away the display and medical connectors.

“––be fine, Brownie,” said Reed. “How are the boys?”

The woman laughed. “You know as well as I do. I spend half the time chasing them around and the other half cleaning up the mess.”

“Finally, my apprentice is here,” said Reed. “Brownie came in for a minor pain but everything is normal.”

“Good evening, Citizen Allen,” said Wilson.

She chuckled. “Don’t be so formal.”

“Come back for a check-up in a few days,” said Father Reed. “Yes, I see that look, and of course you’ve done this before. Think of it as a social call.”

He helped the pregnant woman slide off the table. Wilson guided her through the doors of the entrance tunnel and returned to the treatment room.

“I have a question, Father.”

He handed over the bundle of objects. Reed carefully unwrapped the cloth.

“Where did you find these?”

“In the tunnels, while fixing the hot water.”

“That was weeks ago!”

“I ... um ... I forgot.”

Reed sighed. “Never mind. These are parts of the body––gifts from the founders if you prefer––given to us during the name-giving ceremony.”

“These things are under the scars?”

“Of course! Do you need me to draw you a picture?” Reed paused. “I take it there were human bones nearby.”

Wilson nodded.

“Then we’ll need to visit the Tombs immediately.”

“With no body? These are just old scraps,” said Wilson.

“It’s more important to bury these ‘scraps’ than any dead flesh and bones.” Reed held up the yellowed cylinder. “The body is born from dust and unto dust it returns. These are sacred objects, vessels for the soul, and through them we transcend the dust of mortal life. This singular reason is why the dead pass into the Tombs.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Thank founder you’re a little caterpillar and still have time to learn, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now tell me what’s wrong with you, apprentice.”

“Sir?”

“You’ve been moping about for weeks, and today I’ve been told you’re still bothering the hunters about Airman Chen.”

“Well, I–”

“I’ll grant she’s been the unfortunate center of attention lately but there’s no reason to be so distracted from your studies.”

Wilson’s ears burned. “I’m just worried about her. If I could find–”

“Your concern is noted but misplaced. The matter is under control.”

“What about a cure for her sickness?”

“It’s being handled, Ensign.”

“But how? What’s the plan for treatment?”

Reed carefully placed the artifacts onto the cloth and bundled them up. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Wilson.

“What was that?”

“I don’t believe it!”

Reed stared. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Me? What’s wrong with you? Don’t tell me you’re working on it, because that’s not true. You’re doing nothing because you know she’s going to die!”

He stormed out of the room and the quarters.

THAT NIGHT HE SLEPT in the cabin at the corral. Robb was happy to leave and Wilson wanted to be alone. Not that he found it easy to sleep. He had the dream again. But instead of his father, he chased Badger through a field of sunflowers. She was always out of reach and gone when he woke up.

Alfie took over in the morning and Wilson walked to the village slowly, like a dead leaf nudged by the breeze. He ate breakfast at Barracks and loitered until a few villagers came in. He bundled up a bowl of honey-sweetened porridge and a large cup of spruce tea, and took them to the rectory.

Father Reed opened his door and looked as if he had just woken up. “Yes?”

“Breakfast as usual, sir.”

“How can I help you?”

Wilson struggled to hide his true feelings. “I’m sorry about yesterday, sir.”

Reed nodded. “Apology accepted. Now, are you ready to forget that distraction of yours and help me with some real work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a pile of dried herbs in the storage room.”

Wilson sorted the medicines into paper envelopes and placed them in cabinets. When he finished, Reed was in the library.

“Sir, may I ask a question?”

Reed looked up from a yellowed medical tome. “Yes?”

“Did you find the errors in the locator and the weather sensors?”

“What errors?”

“From three weeks ago. Lewis was attacked, then we missed the forecast–”

“Oh that. It wasn’t anything. It took me a week to find the logs for that specific sensor. The founders had many odd categories and naming conventions. The sensor and one of the locators just had few days of glitches, from what I could understand. Hasn’t happened since.”

“That’s good, sir.”

“Speaking of errors, Ensign––how did you know the details of Airman Chen’s condition?”

 Wilson bit his lower lip. “I used your database.”

“I’m glad that won’t happen again.”

“No, sir, it won’t.”

HE’D PROMISED ROBB and all the other boys vast piles of treasure if they saw Badger or discovered when she was coming back. As boys do, they made this into a grand adventure complete with code words and wooden knives. Wilson didn’t care what they did, he just wanted to see her.

As he closed the outer door of the rectory he saw a boy at the top of the steps in a too-large hunting mask.

“What is it, Alfie?”

Muffled sounds came from Alfie as Wilson walked up the steps.

“Take off the mask.”

Alfie pushed it to the top of his head.

“Father Bear! We found Momma Bear!”

“What?”

“Geez, figure it out Wilson.”

“Where is she?”

“The Bear is in her cave.”

“Alfie, I swear on my father’s grave–”

“Aww, you’re no fun anymore. Come on.”

Wilson followed him through the lemon trees on the plaza. At the concrete mouth of the Office living quarters they met another masked character who exchanged code words with Alfie. Down the steps and through the dim corridors they met others playing the game. At the corner near Badger’s room Robb waited for him. He wore a mask with red stripes.

“This is ridiculous,” said Wilson. He tried to pull off Robb’s mask but the teenager slapped his hands away.

“Stop it!” hissed Robb.

Wilson turned and walked down the corridor away from the boys.

“Father Bear is moving! Father Bear is moving!”

He stopped in front of Badger’s door and listened. Aside from the little scouts whispering back at the corner everything was quiet. He rapped his knuckles on the metal door three times. No response. He counted to ten then knocked again.

“Don’t bother me, I’m sleeping,” said Badger from inside.

Wilson put his mouth close to the door frame. “It’s me. I just want to talk.”

“No!”

He heard movement and then something delicate smashed against the door.

“Just let me explain,” he said.

“No. I’m going to count to ten and you better be gone.”

Wilson sighed. “Listen. I’m sorry about what happened and I should have told you sooner.” He glanced down the corridor. “You don’t have to come out here or see me or talk to me. I’m an idiot and what I did was stupid. That’s a fact and we all know it. But I’m not the person you think I am.”

The door opened and she stood there in a plain sleeping gown, left fist clenched at her side. Her long, unbraided hair covered her face.

“Don’t smile and don’t look at me,” she said. “I haven’t slept on a real bed for the last week. Take your little ducklings away and leave me in peace.”

He bowed his head and left the quarters with the boys trailing behind.

IT WAS TIME FOR the mid-day meal. Wilson didn’t feel like eating and instead wandered up to his hiding spot over the valley. Someone had left three carvings in the brown needles since he’d been there last. Each of the delicate figures had been carefully chipped from blonde aspen and rubbed smooth with poppyseed oil. All three were human-shaped but one was smaller, like a child.

He lay on his back and watched the feathery clouds through the pine branches. He should have been upset that someone had found his favorite spot, but instead he felt somber and detached. Maye he’d been the actual intruder these past few years. He felt miserable at the thought that he could have stolen such a relaxing place from someone.

 For the first time he thought about leaving the valley. A local tribe would accept him as medicine man easily enough. Or he could live on his own. Whatever he did had to be dramatic enough to pierce Badger’s cold heart. The afternoon sun warmed the air and Wilson fell asleep without wanting to.

Raindrops sprinkled his face. He yawned and opened his eyes to see Badger leaning over him with a water skin. She wore her usual brown jacket and trousers and had braided her hair.

Wilson cleared his throat. “Hello?”

She backed out of arm’s reach. Wilson watched a red-tailed hawk soar on the evening breeze as he waited for Badger to speak. A squirrel rummaged through the leaves and her partner screeched from a nearby tree.

“It’s not an easy life in this valley,” said Badger. “I’ve been here for eight summers and everyone still thinks of me as that fierce, wild-eyed girl that Simpson found under a pile of blankets. The thought of wild animals tearing apart everyone you know ... that’s just a bad dream for the rest of you. Wake up and it’s gone. Get dressed and eat your breakfast. You can move on with your life while I’m still in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to forget.”

“I’m sorry about your family,” said Wilson. “And if anyone has treated you badly since you came here.”

Badger shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry about. Wasn’t your father killed by tribals?”