Rebel Heart (16 page)

Nobody follows.

Tracker’s sprawled in front of Auriel’s tent. He gits to his feet the moment he sees me. I hush him with a finger to my lips. I check that nobody’s watchin, then we duck inside.

Lugh an Tommo’s left our gear to one side. It’s all packed up neat, ready fer a early start west in the mornin. I grab my barkskin sack an do a quick check of what’s in it. Full waterskin, flint, knife, blanket, jerky. The bare bones of survival.

As I pull a tunic over my head, I consider weapons. I’ll need somethin. My eyes go to Lugh’s bow an quiver. No, it wouldn’t be right. I take his slingshot instead. Stuff it down the back of my britches. I block out that I’m leavin him an Emmi an Tommo behind. Thoughts of how crazy worried they’ll be when they find me gone. I swallow down the sudden, tight fright of bein on my own. Jack’s in trouble. He needs me.

Move fast. Don’t think.

I grab Hermes’ gear. I shoulder my sack. Tracker’s sat there. Watchin. Waitin. C’mon, I says.

I check it’s all clear, then him an me slip outside agin. We hurry towards the bottom end of camp to find Hermes. Durin the day, the beasts got gathered up – horses, camels, mules an all – an penned in with a rope an peg fence in case they got spooked by the night’s noise. Along the way, I whistle fer Nero.

When the pen’s in sight, I stop. C’mere, Tracker, I says. He presses into my side. You cain’t come, I says, it’s too far. You gotta stay here with Auriel. She’ll keep you safe. While I’m talkin, I take a loop of rope from my belt – tough, made from silverberry twine – an tie it around his neck. I lead him to a big cottonwood that stands behind the last few shelters an tether him to the trunk. His pale eyes follow my every move. Don’t look at me like that, I says, it’s fer yer own good.

He shoves his head into me. My nose prickles but I clamp down firm. I ain’t got time to cry. I rub his ears an kiss his rough fur. Thanks, I whisper. Now, you stay here. Hush.

Then I leave him. Fine creature that he is, he don’t make a sound. Jest like I told him.

Nero drops outta the darkness. He lands on my shoulder, the heartstone danglin from his beak. Gimme that, you villain. I take it from him, put it around my neck. It ’ud serve you right if I tied you up an left you here, I says.

We reach the animal pen. Auriel’s there. She stands at Hermes’ head, strokin his nose. Star bright stargirl, wrapped in her dark red shawl. The glass beads in her hair glitter in the moonlight. Nero flies to perch on the rope fence beside her.

I walk up an throw my sack on the ground. I says naught. I don’t look at her. Not even a quick glance as I saddle up Hermes with horse blanket an soft reed mat, as I lift his bridle over his head.

She helps me adjust it. Our eyes meet. I look away quick.

I’m goin after Jack, I says. To New Eden. He did send a message. He’s in trouble.

I’ll say this one last time, she says. Yer dangerously open, Saba. We didn’t finish proper, we stopped at the wrong moment. Please, will you stay an let me finish.

I cain’t wait, I says. I already wasted too much time.

Okay, she says, I done all I can. I brought you this.

She goes to the fence. Picks up a bow that’s leaned aginst it, a pale, silvery white bow. I stop what I’m doin. Cold shivers chase over my skin. Then I’m duckin unner Hermes’ neck an I’m standin in front of Auriel. She holds out the bow.

Yer grandfather’s bow, I says. Namid.

Yes, she says. Before he was a shaman, he was a great warrior. Now it belongs to you.

Heartwood of the whiteoak, I says. It cain’t ever break.

You remember, she says.

I remember, I says.

I reach out. I take it. My skin tingles where it touches the wood. I feel its smoothness. Heft its weight. It’s sweet. True. Perfect.

Auriel hands me a arrow. I swing the bow up an fit a arrow to the string. It cleaves to me. Like it’s part of me. My hands stay steady an sure. No shakes. No trembles.

It’ll do, I says. I sling it on my back. She hands me a full quiver. I better make tracks, I says.

Auriel holds Hermes’ head as I mount. Music drifts, dips on the warm night breeze. The scratchy sweet whisper of a waltz.

There is a quicker route, she says. It’s fast, but it ain’t safe.

Tell me, I says.

Due north of here, you’ll run into the old Wrecker road that skirts over top of the Waste, she says. If you ride fast, if you don’t stop, you could be at the Yann Gap by sunup. The road ends there. Once you cross the Gap, yer on Tonton soil. The far north-west corner of New Eden. There ain’t nobody there, you can slip in, unseen.

I ain’t never heard of no north road, I says.

That’s becuz them that take it, rarely make it. They call it the Wraithway, she says. There’s all kinds of stories about it. The Wrecker spirits that ride its length, seekin vengeance fer their lost lives. Strange beasts. Skull collectors.

I’ll take my chances, I says.

What’ll I tell Lugh? she says. He’s gonna come after you, y’know.

That’s why I need a head start, I says. Stall him. Lie to him, whatever you gotta do. Jest buy me some time.

I start to move Hermes, but she grabs hold of his bridle.

Have a care fer yer brother, she says. He’s— There’s some wounds that run too deep to be seen. They’re the most dangerous. An remember what I said about Tommo, he—

I ain’t got time fer this, Auriel. Leave go of me.

This is important, you really—

I said, let go!

DeMalo, she says.

My stummick clenches. What about him? I says.

He’s the Pathfinder, she says. You’ll meet him agin. You ain’t ready.

My palms go clammy. I’ll try to steer clear of him, I says.

Saba, she says, yer only jest beginnin to know who you are, what you can do, who you can be. Remember, in the tent, in yer vision . . . yer right, DeMalo does know the shadows. His own, yers, the rest of us. We all have ’em. They’re a powerful part of you, but you must learn to—

She stops on a breath. I can see her listenin to her voices agin, her guides. She nods. The time’s outta joint, she says. The world moves on too fast. You’ll hafta do this on yer own. Be very careful.

I gotta go, I says.

Nero takes off from the fence. He circles above, silent scout of the night.

She lets go the bridle. She steps back, huggin her shawl tight around her.

Don’t stop on the Wraithway, she says. No matter what.

G’bye, Auriel, I says.

An don’t lose sight of what you believe in, she says. If you do, we’re all lost.

I nod a farewell as I leave. I set a course due north. An I don’t look back.

Half a league outta camp, Nero circles back. He swoops past me, callin, callin, callin.

I turn to see what’s his fuss.

Tracker comes runnin outta the darkness. He catches up with Hermes.

Tracker. Last seen tied to a cottonwood tree. There ain’t no sign of his tether.

He don’t say nuthin. Not a bark, not a glance of reproach. He jest settles into a steady lope alongside Hermes.

My heart gladdens. Lightens. It swells to fill my chest. What was it Auriel said?

He runs with you now. The wolfdog an the crow. Fit companions fer a warrior.

My crow. An now – it seems – my wolfdog.

He won’t be left behind. I was wrong to do it. I won’t do it agin. I should of known he wouldn’t be tied.

We ride through a land of stony plains. Of rock-bound lakes an spruce-choked forests, where the air stands heavy an chill. A place of the thick dark. The deep old.

The night’s black. No stars. The moon shines white an hard. My every nerve’s hummin. Hermes ain’t easy. If I gave him his head, he’d fly. But, bad as I’d like that, I hold him steady. Steady, always steady. We got a long ways yet to go.

His hoofs drum the ground. The sound falls dull. Muffled. Somewhere in the distance, far, far away, I think I hear the beat of drums. Or do I? Hard to tell. Then nuthin. Gone. Stoneheart country like this conjures up bogeys in a person’s mind. The Wraithway. Wrecker ghosts. Travellers who set off but never arrive.

I know all about ghosts now. Unquiet spirits. They don’t hold no fears fer me. I reach fer the heartstone around my neck an I think . . . I think about Jack. Of how it’ll be when I see him agin. When he’s holdin me tight an I’m holdin him tighter an the heartstone’s burnin my skin.

I think of what we might say. Him to me. Me to him. I ain’t no soft girl. I don’t know no soft words.

Be with me, Jack. That’s what I’ll say. Burn with me. Shine with me.

Nero flies ahead. Tracker runs behind. I check to my left an my right. I’m alert, full of purpose, free. An fer the first time in a long time, I can breathe.

Here. Now. Alone. With none but my own heart fer witness, I’ll say it. Without Lugh, I’m able to breathe.

He smothers me. Chokes me. Pens me in. Tethers me to him with his worry an sorrow an anger an fear.

Once I find Jack, once we’re all together, I’ll find a way to help him. I must. I swear I will. Jack an me, we’ll find some way to help Lugh.

I see no wraiths on the Wraithway. But there’s somethin ain’t right. There’s a deadness to the air. A flatness. It’s a place that ain’t one thing or th’other. Not quite alive, not quite dead. It waits. Like the moment between livin an dyin.

We pass a long line of rusted-out, crumblin cars. One after another, on an on fer a league an more. Nose to tail, all facin west. Like they was headed to the same place at the same time, but stopped fer some reason when they got this far.

Pa used to tell of when he was a boy an the winds unburied a car with four Wreckers inside. They still had their skins, shrivelled onto their bones like dry seed pods. I’m thankful there ain’t no dead inside these cars. The Wraithway’s spooked enough.

When the night’s half-spent its darkness, the country begins to change. I start to see wide, deep gashes in the rock. Scars as big as canyons. The earth’s skin’s bin scraped away. Its body blasted open. Over an over fer league upon league. Nature took no hand in this. The hands of people did. People long since dead. The Wreckers.

I slow Hermes to a walk. By the pale, cold of the moon, I look on their violent work. Their earth hate. The hulks of their great machines. The skellentons of their buildins. The toppled chimleys. The tangled heaps of iron an metal. All rusted. Silent.

No tree grows here. No moss. Not like most Wrecker places, where all of this ’ud be covered up. Hidden by the years, the countless years, of dirt an grass an scrub an trees as the earth gathers in what’s dead an gone. But nuthin lives here. Only fire. Thin rivers, small lakes of fire. Wherever there’s water, it burns. Low an ugly. Slow an thick. It oozes an roils, black an red. Like poisoned blood seeps from a fatal wound.

From the gashed ground, plumes of steam sigh.

If restless spirits ride the Wraithway, they ain’t Wreckers. They’re nature spirits. The spirits of earth an water. Of air an plants an creatures. With every right to ride vengeance on men.

No, Wrecker souls don’t roam the road. This place, this hell, is their home. They’re caught in their rivers of fire, always an ferever drownin. Never, ever to be free. Their voices gutter in the flames. Take pity, fergive me, have mercy on me. Prisoners of their own destruction. Trapped till the end of time.

I hear them call. I make no answer. I turn my face from the murdered land.

We ride into kinder country. The rocky trail softens to earth in places. There’s the open straggle of pine forests an small hills. There ain’t bin no sign of traffic this whole time – no wheelruts, beast tracks, bootprints, nuthin. Looks like Auriel was right. Nobody travels the Wraithway.

When the sky’s still dark, but you can sense the promise of day, we come upon a tipped-over wagon. It’s blockin the trail. I slow Hermes to a walk while we go around.

It’s bin smashed with a vengeance. There’s a few scraps of pathetic stuff scattered about. Well-used eatin tins, a man’s worn boot. Tracker noses an sniffs all around. Nero swoops down on somethin. He picks it up in his beak an shows me what it is. A child’s rag doll.

Leave it, I says.

Whatever went down here, it warn’t friendly. An not more’n a couple days ago, I’d say. The wheelruts still read clear. There’s the hoofprints of a panicked pony. An some other tracks . . . beast, not human, but no creature I ever seen before. Each track’s bigger’n my two hands spread out, side by side. A two-toed beast. The inside toe’s long, much longer’n the outside one. With a nail on it. It looks kinda like a hoof. But it ain’t.

It’s called the Wraithway. Them that take it, rarely make it.

I peer into the trees. The forest broods thickly on both sides of the trail, presses in, dark an unfriendly. Was that a movement, jest there? Tracker stares that way an growls. Maybe it ain’t such kind country after all.

Tracker, c’mon! I says.

It cain’t be far to the Yann Gap now. We hurry on. But Tracker keeps glancin to the right, into the trees on the south side of the trail. We go on another league or so. Tracker seems to relax an I can hear the rush of water up ahead.

Sure enough, a narrow stream cuts across the trail. It hurries outta the trees, gabblin to itself in a nervous rush. Hermes starts to slow as we approach. He tosses his head in complaint when I urge him on. He slows, then comes to a stubborn halt.

Don’t stop on the Wraithway, no matter what.

No matter what. Well, I only got one horse an he needs a drink. Tracker too, he’s bin runnin all night. We won’t be long. A few seconds, that’s all. I slide down from Hermes.The water’s runnin fast an shallow over rocks.

Hang on, I says. I’ll check it out, make sure it’s—

Hermes pushes past me with a huffle as Tracker rushes into the stream an begins to drink. Nero lands on a rock an dips his beak in.

Guess it’s okay, I says.

We drink long an deep. The water ripples an swirls, black in this light. It’s icy cold an tastes flat, like stone. I look up at the sky as I sluice my face an arms. Dark clouds hide the moon. The last dregs of night tangle with forest shadows so’s you cain’t tell one from th’other. I squint. Looks like somebody’s cut a path into the trees on the north side of the Wraithway.

Nero takes off with a squawk. I go fer a last scoop of water. Ow! I whip my hands out, an suck at my left wrist. The iron taste of blood. I must of nicked it on a stone. I plunge it back in the water, swish it about to wash off the blood.

We better git goin, I says.

In a flash, Tracker’s outta the stream. He stares at it, stiff-legged, growlin.

I frown. What’s the matter with you? I says.

Somethin slips around my skin. Somethin long an sleek. I snatch my hand out an peer into the stream. I cain’t see proper, the light’s so bad, the water’s so dark.

The clouds clear the moon.

The stream’s alive with snakes. Long, black, thick-bodied serpents, wrigglin an squirmin, more an more all the time. Suddenly, I realize my blood’s still drippin. The water starts to boil with snakes.

Ahh! I scramble back. Tracker’s goin crazy, barkin. Hermes screams an rears. There’s a snake writhin up his front leg. I lunge an fling it off. I grab a rock an wham it down on top of the thing. As I smash it dead, Hermes bolts fer safety. With a squeal of panic, he crashes off into the trees, down the path I noticed before.

No! I drop the rock an take off after him, Tracker at my heels.

Tracker an me run after Hermes. He’s already well outta sight. We’re on a good, bushwhacked trail that somebody’s takin care to keep clear. Maybe hunters, maybe somebody else. It’s the first real sign of life since we started this night-time ride, but I don’t welcome it. The quicker I find Hermes an git outta here, the better.

Our feet fall silent on the forest floor, soft an deep with fallen needle. I slide my bow off, pluck a arrow an string it as I run. I keep turnin, checkin my back, my sides, ready fer anythin. I can hear Nero above the trees, cawin to let me know he’s with us.

The night’s startin to wane in earnest, the day gainin ground fast. It’s much easier to see now, even here among the trees. Not far ahead, I can see that they open up. Looks like it might be a clearin. To be on the safe side, I move offa the trail an slip along between the trees. Tracker keeps close to my side. A strange smell starts to tickle my nose, prickle the hairs on the back of my neck. It’s sickly, thickly sweet. Then, sure enough, we’re at the edge of a clearin.

An lookin at a huge Wrecker temple. A mighty ruin that’s bein kept from fallin down completely by props, tarps an sheets of metal. Back when, it must of bin a sight to take yer breath away. Its stone walls still stand tall an proud, with arched window holes, fancy carvin work all around where the great door used to be. There’s a iron cross, tall as the trees around it.

There ain’t nobody in sight. Jest Hermes. He’s standin in the doorway, takin a look.

Hermes, I hiss.

With a swish of his tail, he steps inside.

I curse to myself. Bow at the ready, I start to inch my way outta the trees, checkin, checkin, checkin in every direction. That funny, sweet smell’s makin my scalp twitch.

Nero lands on the makeshift roof, peers in through a wide gap, then drops down an disappears. Great. First my horse an now my crow gone inside. But there ain’t no sounds of alarm – beast or otherwise – so that’s somethin at least.

I tread on silent feet across the clearin. Step around a pile of beast scat I don’t recognize. Tracker takes one sniff an backs away, whinin.

I spot a feather, caught on a tree branch at shoulder height. White an fluffy. But not from no bird I know.

With my back to the temple wall, I sidle myself towards the black hole of the doorway. I peer in. The faint light of grey sky slants in through holes an gaps. Nuthin moves. It’s all clear. I step inside.

I freeze. My skin goosebumps. Every hair on my head stands on end.

It’s full of skellentons. Big an small an every size in between. They sit close packed, side by side, on long wooden benches. They gleam whitely, dully, in the dim light. They’re all faced towards a raised stone platform at the far end. The wall behind it is covered, floor to roof, in skulls.

I take in the temple. It’s one great room, much longer than it is wide. A long aisle splits it in half down its length, makin a straight path from where I’m standin, jest inside the door, to that high wall of skulls. The rows of benches sit both sides of the aisle. Along the side walls stand wire cages full of bones. In the middle of the stone platform, there’s a shallow pit with a fire burnin. A heavy metal drum sits on a grill on top of the flames. Steam rises from the drum. That’s where the hair-frazzlin reek’s comin from.