Pandora's Genes (3 page)

“Come along, Evvy,” said the woman. The girl looked up and for a moment her plum-colored eyes met Zach’s, and he felt a chill go through him. Then she looked away and sat beside her mother at the end of the table.

“This is Evvy,” said the woman. “Evvy, this is Zach, who will take you to the Capital.”

Evvy did not answer. A bowl of porridge sat at her place, and she looked down at it but did not pick up a spoon.

No wonder, Zach thought, the Principal had sent him to this far corner of the District. Though the Principal’s tax men could not have begun to describe Evvy, they surely had made clear how extraordinary she was. Perhaps, he thought, a wild deena was in the girl.

“Please eat, love,” said the woman. “You have a long journey.” Evvy didn’t move. Zach couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Marson, bring some tea,” said the woman.

Marson, who all this time had stood by the fire, approached slowly, like a man sleepwalking, and put his own cup in front of Evvy.

She put both her hands around it and drank. Zach saw her grimace as if she were forcing herself to drink the bitter liquid as a kind of penance. There were red-and-blue bruises on her wrists, and Zach realized with shock that she had been kept tied waiting for him.

As last night, he could no longer bear to sit at the table. “I’ll get the mount ready,” he said.

In the yard Zach stood with his back to the cabin and took three deep breaths. The forest was now green in the sunlight, and he tried to calculate how far they could ride and where they would stop, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. All he could think of was the girl: the bruises on her wrists, her shining hair, and the plum-colored eyes which had met his once.

He went to his mount and adjusted the saddle, then replaced his things, making room for more bundles. When all was secure, he ducked back into the cabin and announced, “It’s time to go.”

The children were up from the table now, all but Daiv and Evvy. Daiv looked puzzled and apprehensive. The woman was bent over the table tying a woolen satchel, while Marson again stood by the fire, his back to the room. Evvy sat as before, looking down at her untouched bowl of porridge.

Zach took the bundle from the woman and stepped outside again, grateful that he would never again have to enter that room. When he had tied Evvy’s things securely to the mount, he turned and stood, waiting.

After a moment the door opened and the woman came out, followed by Evvy and then Marson.

Marson turned at the door and muttered, “Your sister is going on a trip. Stay here.”

Evvy seemed to be in a trance as her mother led her across the yard and almost formally offered her hand to Zach. He felt a physical jolt when his fingers closed around her wrist. He drew her forward.

“Have you ridden a mount before?” he asked.

Suddenly, with surprising strength, Evvy pulled her hand free and ran to the door, but Marson was blocking it.

“Please don’t send me away, Father!” She sank to her knees and threw her arms around the little man’s legs.

Marson stood, unmoving, his face pale but without expression. The woman was even paler, and she spoke through tears. “Marson,” she said. “Perhaps we—”

“No!” said Marson. Then: “Go with him, Evvy.”

“No, please.” She stood and looked at him. “I can earn money by trapping, Father. I know how to do it already. Daiv will help me.” Marson didn’t answer, but shook his head, then turned his back to her. Evvy turned to the woman. “Mama, don’t make me do it. Please, let me stay!” She was now sobbing her words, and Zach watched helplessly, his heart breaking for all of them.

At last the woman knelt and held Evvy in her arms. “We love you, Evvy. Please believe that.”

“Then don’t send me away.”

“We don’t want to. But it’s best for everyone. Please try to understand.”

“I don’t understand!” the girl cried. “You don’t love me and I hate you!” She began to run across the yard, but Marson was close behind her. He pulled her, crying and struggling, to Zach. “Take her!” he said. “Tie her if you have to.”

“I won’t tie her,” said Zach. Then, very gently: “Evvy, please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Marson pushed the girl toward him and Zach reached out, steadying her. Though still sobbing, Evvy was no longer struggling, and he held her a moment in comfort, then lifted her onto the mount. He swung up behind. “Put your leg over,” he said. Mechanically she obeyed him, then settled back between his arms, her narrow back nestled snugly against his chest. “You won’t fall,” he said. “But if you get frightened, you can hold on to the mane.”

The girl seemed not to hear him. She sat stiffly, her body shaking with sobs. Zach turned his mount toward the forest and rode quickly out of the yard. He did not look back.

Z
ACH RODE MECHANICALLY
,
TRYING NOT
to think. He was aware of the warmth of the girl between his arms and thighs, and as he urged his mount on to greater speed Evvy’s hands reached out and grasped the mane.

I will not do this for him
, he thought, but continued to ride steadily, guiding his mount through the hilly woods.

At last the labored breath of the mount and his own hunger forced Zach to recognize that it was time to rest. He reined in to a shady clearing by a shallow stream, then dismounted and reached up to swing the girl down. She didn’t resist. When he set her down her knees buckled and he steadied her.

“Come over here, Evvy,” he said. “Sit down.” He led her to a moss-covered rock which overlooked the stream. She was no longer crying, and she looked at the ground, breathing deeply. Zach took the mount to the stream, where she knelt to drink. Behind him he was aware of the girl, and wondered if she might try to escape. He whirled at a sudden sound, but she sat as before. An overripe fruit had fallen from a tree.

He must try to make her eat. He couldn’t bring her sick and emaciated to the Principal; her mother had said that she hadn’t eaten in two days, now three.

He still had a bit of hard cheese which he had been saving. He approached the girl and smoothed a place in front of her, then spread a large new-vine leaf as a plate. On this he put a bit of cheese and some of the bread her mother had sent.

Evvy sat like one of the remaining statues in the Capital.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” Zach muttered. He rinsed his drinking horn in the stream, filled it with cool water. He held it out to Evvy but she seemed not to notice.

He tried not to let his exasperation show. “It’s a long journey. We may not have much time to eat or drink later in the day.”

After a moment she reached out and accepted the horn. When she had finished, she held it to him for more. He refilled it for her. She had shed many tears and must be thirsty. Evvy drank most of the water in the second horn, then gave it back to Zach. He finished the water, then squatted just to the side of the rock, not facing her.

“Your mother’s bread is good,” he said conversationally. He bit into a piece of cheese and continued. “If there’s time to hunt later, I’ll try to get a rabbit. Would you like that?” He paused. She didn’t answer. “I don’t imagine you’ve tasted meat many times in your life, have you?” He waited again, but the girl remained still. He felt his annoyance growing and turned to see if she were mocking him. At his sudden movement she started back, with a small cry.

Zach’s anger vanished. “Don’t be afraid of me, Evvy. I won’t hurt you.”

He pulled off another piece of cheese. He had eaten little at the brewer’s house and was hungry. When he had finished he leaned against the rock. He could sense the girl’s eyes behind him, staring at his back.

If only she would talk to him. The Principal, of course, wouldn’t care if she talked or not. He might find it more interesting if she didn’t.

After a few minutes Zach rose and walked a short distance into the trees to relieve himself. His ears were alert for any sound Evvy might make, any movement to escape, but when he returned she was sitting where he had left her. He looked down at her, once again struck by her unusual beauty. Perhaps he could simply turn his mount around, return the girl to her home, tell the Principal he had been unable to find her, that her family had moved from the District or been murdered by outlaws.

But of course that wouldn’t do. The Principal would discover the truth sooner or later, and that would mean the end of Zach’s livelihood, if not his life.

“We must get going,” he said at last. “Will you eat?” Evvy hesitated, then reached for the bread and cheese. Before he could stop her, she stood and threw them into the water. Her face was sullen and defiant, and Zach had to suppress his anger once again. She knew how scarce food was; that was why she had made the gesture.

“Come on, then,” he said and walked toward his mount without looking back.

He pushed the mount faster than he had that morning, once using a leather thong when she began to slow. He had lost time trying to get Evvy to eat and didn’t want to spend more than one night awake tending fire.

The mount began breathing in gasps and Zach slowed, ashamed. It was no use taking out his anger on the beast or on Evvy. Neither had any control over her life, not even as much as Zach had of his own.

The shadows were deep by the time they reached the eastern slope of the mountain. Zach nodded to himself in satisfaction; if all went well there should be no difficulty reaching the foothills by tomorrow afternoon, and then he could relax and have a good night’s sleep.

He had been following a narrow stream and now began to look for a suitable spot to stay for the night. At last he found a small clearing, well protected by trees.

“This is our inn for the night, Evvy. How do you like it?” The girl didn’t answer, and Zach swung her off the mount, then unloaded and tethered the beast by the stream.

While Evvy watched, he set about making the campsite safe and comfortable. After preparing a shallow pit for a fire, he smoothed away the stones just in front of a tree and swept a heap of dried leaves over the ground. This would be a bed for Evvy. He realized with surprise that he wanted to please the girl; he had thought all fatherly feelings had died fifteen years ago.

As Zach worked, Evvy watched him silently, still brooding. At last he stood up, saying, “Now I have to gather wood for our protective fire. You may help me if you like.”

He thought that she wouldn’t respond, but evidently she felt she had a stake in her own survival or simply wanted to move about, and she followed him into the woods, stooping as he did to pick up dried twigs and branches.

“Zach.” He stopped in surprise, then turned in the direction of her voice. It was the first time she had spoken to him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve found a large log, but I can’t move it.”

“Let’s have a look at it,” said Zach. He went to where she stood and examined the object. It was thick and dry and would be ideal for the long-lasting fire he needed, but it was half-buried in the ground and would take some work to move. “This is a fine log,” he said. “Why don’t you take the kindling we’ve gathered back to camp while I try to pry it up?”

Without another word she accepted the branches he was holding and turned back to the clearing. Zach dug under the log with his knife and pushed and pried till at last it came free. With some difficulty he hefted it onto his shoulder, then returned to the campsite and placed it to the side of the fire pit he had dug. He sat a moment to get his breath. He was more tired than he had realized; the hours he had spent with the brewer’s family had drained him.

“I’m going back for more kindling,” Zach told Evvy. “Do you want to come along?” She shrugged, then stood and followed him. In a very short time they had gathered enough for the night, and Zach was about to turn back when he heard a sudden noise in the brush to his right.

A rabbit! Thank the deenas, he thought. Quickly, he unslung his bow and fitted an arrow to it, drew, and let the arrow fly. It caught the rabbit through the throat just as it started to run, and Zach felt unreasonably proud of himself. He was seldom that good a shot and was pleased that Evvy had witnessed it.

It was deep dusk by the time Zach had started a fire and prepared the meat. Evvy hadn’t spoken again, but he felt she was relaxing a bit. The smell of roasting rabbit made his mouth water, and he smiled to himself as he caught Evvy taking hungry glances at it. While he waited for it to finish cooking, Zach leaned against a tree and looked at the sky. One by one the stars appeared, twinkling pale blue. Puffing on his pipe, Zach thought how good it would be to live as people had before the Change. In another kind of world he might be sitting like this with a family around him. He thought of Leya, and the brief happiness they had had together, and for a moment his eyes misted. If she had lived, they would have had children, perhaps even a daughter like Evvy. In the firelight Evvy looked like a portrait he had once seen in an ancient book, her features so delicate and soft that they seemed to be lightly sketched in the air. Zach had counted the money paid Evvy’s parents, and he knew that had the Principal seen her, he would have offered ten times the amount.

By the time Zach had finished his pipe, the meat was done, and he set it on a flat stone and began to cut. “It’s ready, Evvy,” he said. Gravely she came over and knelt by the stone.

“It smells good,” she said.

“Too good to throw in the water?”

She gave him a swift glance but said nothing.

They ate in silence, hungrily. This was the first substantial meal Zach had eaten in over a week. There had been no opportunity to hunt on the trip to the brewer’s.

After dinner Zach bent over the stream and washed, then drank from his horn. Evvy refused his offer of the horn and instead drank from her cupped hands. He put the remainder of the rabbit in his pouch, and slung it from a tree branch to protect it from fox-cats.

“You’d better get some sleep,” Zach said to Evvy. “We have a long ride tomorrow.”

Evvy didn’t answer. She settled herself on the bed of leaves he had prepared for her and sat with her arms around her knees, her cloak over her shoulders, staring at the fire.