Bone, Fog, Ash & Star (15 page)

“Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.”

They descended the hill and Foss tried to make himself comfortable on the marshy ground among the cypress and tupelo trees. Eliza left the backpack and the Gehemmis with him and limped along the grassy ridges marking out the rice fields, where long, bright green stalks stood tall in the water, their tips waving and rippling in the breeze. She knocked on the door of the nearest farmhouse, an unpainted wood structure with broken steps and a corrugated tin roof. The hungry-looking dog chained up outside started to bark when she approached but soon calmed down and came to lick her hand. She tried to shoo it away; its unnatural friendliness was a dead giveaway that she was Sorma, and people around here were distrustful of the Sorma’s mysterious ways. Eliza had been to this region before, when she and her father fled the bandit raids in Quan years ago, and they had not received a particularly warm welcome. But Rom Tok was a grown man and obviously Sorma, whereas Eliza’s mixed heritage was more difficult to place and she was still not much more than a child. She hoped she would receive a friendlier reception this time.

A red-faced woman in a stained apron opened the door. Her mouth was a pursed little trap, lines shooting out from it angrily.

“What?” she asked in a bark.

“Pardon me,” said Eliza, putting her hands together in a gesture of supplication. “I’m dead tired and I haven’t had a bite to eat for two days. I’ve heard of the generosity of the folks living along the Noxoni and hoped you could spare me a bite to eat and a roof for the night.”

“You heard wrong if you think we’re generous with what we don’t got,” snapped the woman. “You’re not from around here, so where are you from?”

“Huir-Kosta, originally,” improvised Eliza. “I’ve been living in Quan with my parents, but the town got raided and I had to run.”

“Hadn’t heard of any raids in Quan lately.”

“It just happened.”

“Those border towns are dangerous places. Don’t know why anybody lives out there. No way to make a living.”

Now that she was so close to a place to rest and eat, Eliza’s stomach was cramping with hunger and her knees were ready to give way beneath her. She leaned against the doorway, not needing to feign her weakness.

“Please,” she said. “Whatever you can spare.”

The woman frowned at her.

“Where your folks?”

“We got separated,” said Eliza. Tears rose easily to her eyes. She had never lied so effectively in her life. Desperation was a powerful motivator.

“You walked from Quan? Impossible.”

“I had a car. I drove partway but it broke down in the hills. I’ve been walking for two days.”

The woman appeared ready to relent.

“Well, I suppose we might be able to do something for you.” She looked Eliza over and then her eyes froze around thigh height. Eliza felt a cold despair close around her. She let her eyes fall shut a moment.

“What’s that?” The woman’s voice had gone hard as flint. Eliza didn’t have to look at her to know she had seen the end of the scabbard beneath her jacket.

“Nothing,” she breathed.

“Looks like some kinda weapon.” There was fear in the woman’s voice now. “Thorton!” she bleated.

It was no good. They weren’t going to take her in having seen the dagger. Eliza turned miserably and staggered away into the dusk. The immediate neighbors would be no good either, since no doubt the woman would call them and say what she had seen. Eliza walked towards the river, the woman a silhouette behind her in the bright doorway, watching her go. Perhaps she could get somebody to take her across and she could try one of the houses on the opposite side.

It was dark by the time she reached the only light by the river she could see. It was a little boathouse with a bar attached. Two grizzled fishermen were seated at the bar, chatting with the barkeep. In this part of the world, Eliza knew, the men fished and the women farmed, and still there was barely enough for a family to get by on. She was an odd sight here: a dark-skinned young woman on her own. Nobody came here who didn’t live here, because what was there to come for? But fishermen with a few drinks in them might be more hospitable than the woman protecting her home. She tightened the scabbard’s shoulder strap and pulled her jacket tight around her. The bar was small and shabby but the glow of light outside made it seem a friendly place.

“What’s this?” the barkeep called out when she entered. He peered at her over the counter.

“If you have anything you could feed me,” she said, cursing the sob that quavered at the back of her voice, “anything at all, I’d be grateful.”

“Got money?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Eliza.

“We don’t feed ’em for free, you know,” said the barkeep. “This isn’t a poorhouse. It’s a pub.”

“Give the girl a break. Can’t you see she’s about to pass out?” one of the men scolded him. He fished a crumpled bill out of his pocket and pushed it across the counter at the barkeep. “Here. Give her something to eat.”

Eliza nearly wept with gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said to the man, her eyes flooding with tears.

“Hey now, no crying,” he said. He was in his sixties, or so he looked, with thinning hair and a face like an old potato. His mouth was only half full of teeth, but his eyes were kind beneath straggly brows. “I hope someone’ll buy me a meal, I ever get as hungry as you look.”

“So where you from?” asked the other man, a yellow-haired fellow with a nose that looked as if it had been broken several times, peering around his friend to get a good look at her. The barkeep had snatched the bill off the counter and disappeared into the back of the shack.

“Huir-Kosta,” she replied wearily. She fed them the same story of bandits and her long walk. They gaped at her and took long gulps of their drinks. A few minutes later the barkeep came out with a plate of bony fish, a big spoonful of cold rice, and a couple of tired-looking carrots. Eliza left only the bones of the fish on the plate, sucked dry. The men laughed, watching her eat, and even the barkeep warmed up to her and gave her a glass of cider. It warmed her belly and she began to feel sleepy. As she lifted the near-empty glass to her lips, the man who had paid for her meal said, “Hey, whassat?” He was pointing at her hand.

She put down the glass and put her hand flat on the counter, staring at it stupidly.

She couldn’t think of anything to say.

“She got something on her hand,” the man told the barkeep, who had come over to see what they were talking about. “Show us your hand!”

“No.” She pressed it to the table.

The potato-faced man’s eyes turned into slits and his mouth turned down in an ugly scowl. “I buy you a nice dinner and you won’t show me your hand!” he snarled.

“Show him your hand,” chimed in the barkeep menacingly.

Eliza got up off the stool and held her hand up. They all stared at the tattoo of the black bird.

“Whassat?” he asked, bewildered.

“Something we do in Huir-Kosta,” she said. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Weird girl,” said the potato-face, shaking his head and returning to his drink.

“Hang on there,” the yellow-haired one said, sliding off his stool and barring her way as she went for the door. “Hold up a moment. Stranger from out of town, how about you stay and drink with us a while?” He leered unpleasantly.

Eliza met his eyes. They were cold and watery.

“I’ve got to go,” she said clearly. She wasn’t afraid of the poor drunk, but if he tried anything she was reluctant to use Magic. If she worked a spell here, everybody all along the Noxoni would hear of her in no time. Something in her voice or her gaze warned him off, anyway. He shrugged and slouched back to his stool, muttering, “Suit yerself.”

The night was cold. She had nowhere to sleep and contemplated going back towards the hills to find Foss, but she was too tired to make the walk and her ankle was throbbing. She wandered down among the boats tied up to the wharf and climbed into one. A black cat shot out of a corner of the boat, hissing at her. Eliza stumbled backwards, startled. The cat arched its long back, tail lashing, and opened its mouth in a yowl. Its tongue was red as flame. For a moment, it did not look like a cat at all. An awful voice echoed in her bones:
I am waiting for you, little one. You will bring me your beloved.

The cat was gone, but the black water lapping against the side of the boat reminded her of the river of death hurtling between the paws of the great panther. Eliza huddled in a corner of the boat, her heart still racing. She pulled a tangle of fishing net around her as if it were a blanket and tried to sleep.

~~~

She was woken before dawn by a sharp nudge in her side. A hairy face was scowling down at her.

“Outta my boat!”

She scrambled to her feet and got out, feeling how stiff and cold she was as she did so. She put a bit of weight gingerly on her hurt ankle. It was better than yesterday, at least.

“Any chance you can take a couple of passengers east?” she asked hopefully.

“I can take passengers anywhere they like if they can pay,” the hairy fellow shot back. Black teeth and pale eyes showed in his shaggy mane of a face. “Can you pay?”

“Yes,” she replied automatically, trying to think how.

“Let’s see the money. I want thirty lyrs a day if I’m taking two.”

“I cannay pay with money,” said Eliza. “But I can pay with fish.”

He scoffed. “How’s that?”

Her confidence grew. She had eaten and slept. This would work.

“Take me out and I’ll show you.”

He was just curious enough that he consented. She could see hundreds of little boats pushing out onto the dark water already, to begin their long day competing for whatever meager fish the river had to offer, which was fewer every year.

“I’m Eliza,” she told the man.

“Brouton,” he replied gruffly. She sat at the bow of the boat and concentrated on what was below. She murmured under her breath, drawing the fish she could feel down there into his net. The will of a fish was a slippery but feeble thing and it was easy to assert her own over it. Within minutes, his net was full. He stared at her with slow-dawning astonishment.

“You’re a witch,” he said fearfully, making no move to drawn his net in.

“If you want to call it that,” said Eliza. This was risky but she didn’t know what else to do. “I dinnay mean you harm, but I
will
Curse you if you speak a word of this. I want you to wait for me at the wharf until I come back with my friend. Then I want you to take us as far as you can east. I can promise you netfuls like that all along the way. You can stop to sell where you like.”

Brouton nodded, his eyes afraid and his mouth hanging open. He took her back to the wharf and she got out. “Nary a word to anyone,” she reminded him sternly. The last thing they needed was a witch-hunt drawing attention to their whereabouts. She walked back to the edge of the floodplains and found Foss where she had left him, in among the trees.

“You look well,” he said. “You have eaten. Good. Your foot?”

“Not too bad,” she said, thinking that he did not look quite so well. “I found a fellow who’ll take us by boat.”

“Won’t the train be faster?”

“Yes, but we’ve no money and everybody will be able to see you on the train. You cannay just walk around Di Shang. People willnay know what you are, they’ll be terrified, and word will get back to the Mancers right away. This way is easier. You can keep low in the boat, aye, and he’ll accept payment in fish. I just have to enchant them into his net.”

“Very clever.” Foss rose and they crossed the rice fields together. Eliza felt horribly self-conscious; even from a distance Foss was glowing and huge. Surely anyone out and about would spot him from a long way off and know he was not human. The woman from the farmhouse from the previous night was feeding chickens in her yard and saw them pass. She stood staring for a minute and then ran back indoors.

“Quick,” said Eliza. The wharf was deserted, all the fishermen already out on the water, except for Brouton, who was waiting in his boat with his big hands dangling between his knees. When he saw Foss his eyes widened. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Eliza and Foss climbed into the boat. She threw one of the nets around Foss’s shoulders, to take the glare out of his robe, and he folded his big body down into the bottom of the boat, where he would be less visible.

“Not taking that!” Brouton whispered.

“Yes, you are,” said Eliza firmly. She briefly considered telling him that Foss was a Mancer, but that would require too much explanation and he probably wouldn’t believe her. “I promise you it will be worth it. Come on. East.”

Brouton obeyed fearfully, starting up the engine. They chugged along the broad muddy river. Foss peered out over the gunwales, curious to see the world. Farms and dirty fishing villages were scattered along the riverbank. Small children ran up and down with barking dogs. Eliza thought back on her own girlhood, so solitary before Holburg, never included in these gangs. If she had felt like an outsider then, she could never have imagined she would come to seem so strange to the world outside, with her dagger and her tattooed palms.