Grizelda (32 page)

“Now hold on just a minute, girl-child.
I–”

The light khipu, left on the shore, fizzled
out. Oscar squawked in distress.

“They only last so long,” she explained. “I’m
not going to light another, because I only have so many. You’ll
just have to do without.”

A pause. “Are you going to be all right
here?”

“What?”

“Are you going to be all right if I leave,
for just a minute?”

“Why?” Nasan turned her head, but of course,
she couldn’t see anything.

The stork didn’t answer. There was a
fluttering of wings from the direction of the rock he’d been on,
then nothing. No reply when she called out his name. He seemed to
have abandoned her for now. It should have been a worrisome
development, but part of her was relieved. He was an incredibly
irritating spirit.

She took advantage of the peace and quiet to
rinse the blood off as best she could, wincing over the hurt parts.
She’d never bathed totally immersed in water before. Back with the
Rattlingbones, she was used to making do with a bowl and a damp
cloth, if that. It was oddly pleasant.

When she finished she felt the way out with
her feet to the beach. Now that she was wet she was starting to
shiver. With a little toeing around in the dark she found her
clothes. They were still crusted with demon blood. Ick. But they
were all she had, so she shook herself dry as much as possible and
started putting them on one-handed.

She was halfway through pulling up her
leggings when there was a flutter of wings and a plop nearby.

“I brought your pack,” came Oscar’s
voice.

She reached out and found it in the dark. It
was torn all down one side, but all its contents were still there.
Her hand ran into the broken halves of the spear on the ground next
to it.

“You
carried
that? You’re a quarter my
size!”

His silence was a yes.

She realized she ought to be grateful to the
bird, but she wasn’t quite sure what to say. Instead of answering
she got the firesticks out of the sack. She grudgingly opened a
fire khipu up, just a little bit, enough to let out a spark. The
firestick kindled and caught fire.

It didn’t provide much light, not nearly as
good as the light khipu, but the dried, compressed horse dung of
the firestick would burn slower. This one should last her for about
an hour.

She wrapped herself up in the square of tent
canvas and huddled next to it. The flames licked at the vaguely
brick-shaped chunk without giving much heat.

“Would you like some–” She caught herself.
“Do you eat?”

“A little, yes.”

“Would you like some barley paste?” she said,
by way of an apology.

The bird hopped over to her, and she fished
around in the pack for the paste. Her hand ran into the glider’s
egg. For a moment, she paused. She’d save that for eating later.
Barley this time.

She peeled back the cloth wrapping it and
broke a chunk off for the bird. It – he – held it under a claw and
pecked at it politely. She ate, too.

“Dunno what I’m going to do when it runs
out,” she said. “I never thought this would happen to me. Running
out of food before I do water.”

And she had her arm to worry about. It still
throbbed, and it still wouldn’t move. And where the heck was
she?

“You don’t know my name, do you?” she said
suddenly.

The bird blustered.

“I can tell, you keep calling me girl-child.”
She kicked the sack away. “For another thing, what’s all this about
my destiny?”

And then something very peculiar happened to
Oscar. He seemed to be fighting with something invisible. He
wriggled his head, as if to shake it free of a net, and squinted –
was that supposed to be a grimace?

“I can’t tell you,” he said finally,
panting.

She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s against the rules,” he said. “I’m under
these rules for … reasons that I can’t talk about, either. I can
give hints, though.”

“Oh, isn’t that lovely?” She rolled her eyes
over the barley paste.

“You’re going to be doing something very
important. It has to do with the fate of the world.” The best part
was that Oscar looked utterly serious as he said it.

“Keep on telling me that, witch-spirit. Maybe
once I figure out what you are, I’ll get some more answers.” She
pulled the canvas around her and gingerly lowered herself down.
“Until then, good night.”

Then, on second thought, she levered herself
up a little. “One other thing, bird. My name’s Nasan. It means
‘life.’ I don’t have a clan name anymore.”

It was highly satisfying to see the bird just
look at her with its beak half open. She rolled over and closed her
eyes.

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