Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 (26 page)

“Lai’i n’ahro,” Deacon said for her.
“Right,” Cami said, smiling over at him. “They told him it was a place of great power, where the ancestors where the strongest. Paulus left before they did it, but he said that three days later, the drought broke.
“It’s also said that it was there that the warriors made their final pact. The one that allowed them to become wraiths when they died, rather than passing on to be with the ancestors.”
“Is that true?” Deacon asked Olsa.
“It doesn’t matter,” Olsa said. “There’s no song for what you want to do.”
“Well,” Cami said hesitantly, “can’t you make a new one?”
Olsa ignored Cami, but she stood up from the table. She turned on Deacon with so much anger, everybody at the table backed up a bit. She pointed a gnarled finger in his face. “H’ailoh rah si’il! Scia’loh ri hai’lou na!”
She walked slowly out of the room. Her steps were hindered by age, but there was somehow still a great deal of dignity in her exit. When she was gone, everybody turned to Deacon for explanation.
Deacon sighed. He ducked his head and rubbed his eyebrows, whether debating Olsa’s words or cursing the old woman’s stubbornness, Dante didn’t know.
“How do you know all this?” he asked Cami.
She shrugged, looking around the table with obvious discomfort. “They’re just stories. History. I don’t know. I thought everybody knew them.”
Deacon shook his head in amazement. “Well, whatever they are, they’ve got her spooked. And if Olsa’s spooked, I think we might be onto something.”
He finally turned to the pad Aren had given him. He drew a symbol on it—a circle, with two strangely curving, intersecting lines. “This is the ai’huara,” he said to Aren. Then, to the table at large, “It lays wraiths to rest.”
“So that’s it?” Frances asked. “We go to this sky place, you draw the sign, and it’s over?”
Deacon shook his head. “First, you have to do it where they died. The lai’i n’ahro may be where the pact was made, but it’s not where their spirits are anchored. Second, like Olsa said, there’s no song and no symbol for exactly what we want to do. It’s a bit bigger than just laying them to rest.”
“You have to claim it, too,” Aren said. “Combine the ai’huara and the song you use to claim something.” He blushed as he said that.
Deacon smiled at him. “You mean the marriage song?”
Aren didn’t answer, but he leaned over to take the pencil from him. He drew a single line through the ward Deacon had drawn. Had it been a clock face, the line would have gone from the nine to the six. Had the other two lines not already existed inside the circle, it would have been the BarChi brand. “Make it yours,” he said to Deacon.
“That’s good!” Cami said. “Look.” She pointed at the symbol they now had. Deacon slid the ledger into the centre of the table so she could easily reach it. “Six is the strongest number for the Ainuia, right?”
Deacon nodded. “Right. Six points on the compass.”
“Four,” Frances corrected.
Deacon shook his head. “Not for us.”
Cami pointed again to the paper. “A circle,” she said, “just like the lai’i n’ahro.” The Ainuai word came easier to her this time. “It’s said to be a tall, round mesa.” She pointed to the spots where the three lines touched the edge of the circle. They were evenly spaced around it. “Six points, one for each direction on the compass.” She looked around the table at them all. Deacon, Aren, Simon, Frances, Dante and herself. “Six of us. All we need is the song.”
Deacon leaned back heavily in his chair. He was staring at the piece of paper on the table, but Dante was sure he wasn’t really seeing it.
“Will it work?” Simon asked Deacon.
Deacon shook his head. “Hell if I know.” He took the ledger and tore the page from it as he stood up. “Only person who might know for sure is Olsa.” He turned to Aren. “Save me some supper, will you? I’m about to piss her off so bad, she won’t let me eat for a week.”

No one knew what was said between Olsa and Deacon, not because they couldn’t hear them, but because they spoke in the language of the Old People. What was known was that when Deacon came back up from her little room in the basement, he was so mad only Aren dared speak to him.

For two days, it went on. Olsa hid away in her room. Several times, Deacon went to talk to her. Sometimes he came away angry, and sometimes resigned, but never with her approval. Dante never tried to ask Deacon what the issue was, but he knew Simon and Frances both asked, and both were told it wasn’t their concern. It was Cami who finally got an answer, and she didn’t get it from Deacon.

They were in the kitchen, sitting together at the table, and Dante noticed how Alissa and Uma fell silent as they strained to listen in.
“It’s not that she thinks it won’t,” Aren said. “I think the problem is, she believes it
will
.”
“And she doesn’t want that?” Dante asked.
Aren pushed his food around on his plate, contemplating exactly what to say. “The settlers destroyed everything. Her people. Her family. The Ainuai’s entire culture. The only thing left is the wraiths.”
Dante wasn’t sure he understood how that justified letting the wraiths tear the prairie apart, but more of the hands came in then for their supper, and he let the matter drop. He forgot about it until later that evening, when he and Cami were alone in their room. She stood staring out the window, into the night.
“They’re so lost,” she said.
“Who?”
“The wraiths.”
Fear made his gut clench. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know. I just do. We can’t hear them here, but back at Brighton, when we could hear the voices, I could tell how tired they are. They want to go home.”
Dante shivered. “Well, we want that, too, so seems like we’re all in agreement. All but Olsa.”
“I want to talk to her. Will you come with me?”
Going to see Olsa was about the last thing in the world he wanted to do, but he couldn’t find it in him to tell her no.
He led her down the stairs to Olsa’s room. Cami knocked quietly on the door.
“Go away, Scia’loh!” Olsa called from inside.
Cami smiled over at Dante. She didn’t seem at all surprised that Olsa knew who was at her door. “Can I come in?” she asked.
“What do you think, traitorous brat? I told you to go away!”
Cami ignored her. She glanced nervously at Dante, as if asking for courage, then turned the knob and went in.
The room was tiny. Dante hadn’t seen it since he was a boy, and somehow, it had seemed far bigger then. It smelt of herbs and fresh-turned earth. Olsa sat in a wooden rocking chair in the centre of the room. “Go away,” she said again.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Cami knelt on the floor at Olsa’s feet. She tried to take Olsa’s hands, but the old lady pulled them away. Cami wasn’t dissuaded. She sat there with her hands in Olsa’s lap, her gaze locked on Olsa’s brown, wrinkled face. Olsa’s white eyes continued to stare over Cami’s head. Not, Dante knew, because she couldn’t see, but because she refused to acknowledge Cami’s presence.
“We need your help,” Cami said. “You’re the only one who can help Deacon make the song.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I do.”
“You’re a fool.” She glanced Dante’s direction. “The two of you deserve each other.”
Dante was more offended for Cami than for himself, but Cami didn’t seem to mind.
“They want to leave,” Cami said. “You must know that.”
“They’re the only thing left.”
“They’re so tired. They long to pass over and finally rest.”
Olsa sniffed and turned to look in the opposite corner, somehow dismissing Cami without saying a word.
“Olsa, I understand why you don’t want this to happen. The settlers destroyed your people, and you think only the wraiths were left to prove they’d been here at all. But the Ainuai will still be here. Their stories will go on.”
“Bah!” Olsa said, waving her hand at Cami. “Just words! What good are they?”
“They’re a legacy,” Cami said. “
Your
legacy.”
“It will be the end of the Ainuia.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“How can you change it?”
Cami took Olsa’s wrinkled hand and held it between hers. “With the stories. Every person here will know—all the maids, all the hands—and they’ll tell others. We’ll all tell the tale, to anybody who will listen. Aren will write it down, and we’ll send it to the people I know at the University in Francshire, and the people he knows in Lanstead. It will spread, like stories always do. It will be like fire burning across the prairie, leaving the world changed in its wake. And a thousand years from now, our children’s children’s children will know that despite everything the settlers did to you and your people, it was
you
who stepped up and saved Oestend.”
Olsa’s chin trembled, but she shook her head. “It won’t matter.”
“You’ll be remembered,” Cami said. “
Deacon
will be remembered.”
A single tear ran down Olsa’s cheek. Dante saw the way her hands shook.
“Deacon,” she whispered. “My Deacon. He’s always been a good boy. He deserves it more than I.”
“You made him the man he is. You taught him what he needed to know. He is your son in every way that matters. You and he together will be known forever as the Ainuia that freed us from the wraiths.”
Olsa ducked her head. Her shoulders shook. Tears spilled down her face.
Cami reached up and cupped the old woman’s cheek in her hand. “I won’t let them forget,” she said. “Not ever.”
Olsa took a deep, shuddering breath. Then another. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.
“The wraiths don’t want to be here anymore. Let’s send them home.”
“What makes you think any person in Oestend deserves to be saved?”
“Deacon deserves it,” Cami said. “And Aren. I know how much you love them. Isn’t that enough?”
Olsa sighed. She wiped her eyes again and nodded. When she looked up at Cami with her strange, sightless eyes, she seemed to be almost smiling. She reached out and took Cami’s face in her hands. She leant forward, as if she really could see into Cami’s eyes.
“You never knew your mother, did you?”
Cami shook her head. “No.”
“She was one of us, Scia’loh.”
Cami’s breath seemed to catch in her throat. “Are you sure?”
“How else would you know the heart of the wraiths? Your mother’s Ainuai blood sings in your veins.”
Now it was Cami’s turn to duck her head and cry. Dante stepped forward, thinking to comfort her, but Olsa looked up at him suddenly, stopping him.
“Go find Deacon,” she said. “Tell him to come. It’s time for us to make a new song.”

Three more days while Deacon and Olsa made two new songs—one that Deacon would use and one for them all. Dante had assumed only Deacon would sing, and maybe Cami, but Deacon and Olsa insisted the magic would be stronger if everybody participated, and so part of each day was spent with them all learning the song.

They’d perform the ceremony at night, because that’s when the wraiths were the strongest. Olsa and Deacon explained how it would work, the wards Deacon would paint— first on the men who were with them, then on the map—and the chant that would be sung. The song was comprised of three phrases, repeated over and over, which made it easier to learn, but the words were difficult. The vowels were the wrong shape and the inflections unnatural. Still, Olsa and Deacon assured them that their success would not be hindered by a mispronounced word.

At least, not too much.
When they weren’t learning the song, Aren and Simon studied the map, trying to estimate how far they had to go to get to the mesa and what the best route might be. Dante and Frances worked the ranch. Things had improved since Deacon’s outburst, but there were still too many people and too many animals to contend with. Dante found himself counting down the days until they were to leave.

True to her word, Cami told every hand and every maid about the wraiths, and about the plan. Dante tried to tell her maybe she should wait so they didn’t all look like complete fools if they failed, but she ignored him. “It needs to be a story,” she told him. “Whether we succeed or not.”

There was some debate over whether Cami needed to have the brand before they left. They were all counting on the BarChi mark to keep them safe in the night, but she was the only one without it. Dante wanted her to get one, just to be safe. Olsa and Deacon said if she were full-blood Ainuai, it wouldn’t matter, but as a half-blood, they didn’t know. In the end, she agreed to be marked. Dante could have done it himself, but he figured it would mean more to the Ainuai ancestors if Deacon did it, so Deacon used Aren’s penknife to carve the BarChi brand onto her right shoulder blade, as small as he could make it.

The night before they were to leave, there was a light knock on their bedroom door. Dante was surprised when he opened it to find Alissa there. Her cheeks were red, and she could barely meet his eyes, but she asked, “Can I see her?”

Alissa’s anger at Cami had faded since their return, but he knew she hadn’t exactly been friendly again, either. Dante was tempted to close the door in her face. He looked over at Cami for guidance. She was surprised, he could tell, but she nodded.

Even after he’d let Alissa in, it took her a minute to start talking. She glanced nervously his way. He was fairly certain she wanted him to leave, but unless Cami indicated the same thing, he had no intention of going anywhere.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Cami at last.
“It’s fine,” Cami said. “You don’t need to apologise.”
“Yes, I do. I was horrible to you, and it wasn’t fair.” She shook her head, holding up her

hand as if Cami had begun to argue again. “I know it’s an awful excuse, but I just feel like things are so unfair. And I know it’s not your fault. But I’ve been angry at everything else. At the rules and my father and my life. So tired of feeling like I’m in a cage. So mad that I can’t be like everyone else.” She took a deep, shaking breath.

“I know,” Cami said, her voice gentle. “I really do know.”
“I hate myself.” Her voice was a strained whisper, and Dante wished more than anything he’d left the room. He had no right to witness this, but leaving now would only draw attention his way. “I don’t want to be me.”
Cami reached up and stroked Alissa’s hair. “I’ve felt that way before, too,” she said quietly. “It’s exhausting, I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Uma says I should try harder to be happy, but she doesn’t know what it’s like. Nobody else understands. That’s why I wanted you to like me, because you’re the only one who seemed to know.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted.”
“It’s not your fault. I know that. I was just so heartbroken, and I took it out on you, but that wasn’t fair of me.”
“I don’t know,” Cami said. “Maybe it was.”
Alissa shook her head, but tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she didn’t seem able to speak.
“It can be better,” Cami said. “I know it feels like nothing will ever change, but it can. You just have to find a way.”
Alissa laughed bitterly. “I don’t see how.”
Cami looked over at Dante. She seemed to be trying to ask him something, but since he had no idea what, he had no way to answer. She turned back to Alissa. “When this is all over, we’re going to make Brighton whole again. Maybe you can come there.”
Alissa shook her head again. “You don’t want me.”
“As a lover? No, I don’t. I’m sorry. But as a friend? Yes. I’d love very much to have you there. And…” She glanced over at Dante again. She looked unsure of herself. “I think there will be women there,” she said, watching Dante carefully for his reaction. “Maids, instead of hands?”
Maids instead of hands? Dante had no idea how to make a ranch of women work, but if that was what she wanted, he’d figure it out.
He smiled at her in answer, and she smiled back, a silent ‘thank you’ in her eyes. She ducked her head to meet Alissa’s eyes. “It’s our ranch,” she said. “We’ll make our own rules.”
Alissa looked up at her. She was confused at first, but Dante watched as understanding slowly lit in her eyes. Her long face split into a broad smile. “Really?”
Cami laughed. “Really.”
Alissa squealed and threw her arms around Cami’s neck, knocking her a step backwards in the process. “Thank you!”
Cami hugged her back, stroking her hair. “We’ll make Brighton work. I promise.”
Alissa made a sound that might have been laughter, or might have been a hiccup. For a while they stood that way, Cami almost rocking Alissa, rubbing her back, whispering into her ear. Finally, Alissa pulled back enough to look up into Cami’s eyes. She glanced Dante’s way then slowly stood on her toes and put her lips against Cami’s.
Dante stood frozen, watching them kiss. One some level, he felt he should be annoyed, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t quite decide if he was aroused, or just embarrassed. It only lasted a second. Cami pulled away from Alissa and looked at him over the girl’s shoulder, as if asking what he thought.
He shrugged.
She smiled at him, then bent her head and kissed Alissa for real. She pulled Alissa’s thin body tight against her.
The kiss lasted longer than he expected. Dante wasn’t sure where it was going. More importantly, he didn’t know if he should stay or go. He was about to clear his throat to interrupt them when Cami broke the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. She was smiling, but she stepped back decisively, away from Alissa.
“Thank you for coming,” Cami said. “I didn’t want to leave with things ugly between us.”
“Me neither.” Alissa looked over at Dante. “Can I really come to Brighton?”
“If Cami says so.” He levelled his finger at her. “But that right there was a one-time deal. She’s with me, and I don’t share.”
Alissa laughed. “Fair enough.”
“That was about the last thing I expected,” Dante said to Cami, once Alissa was gone. The colour was still high on Cami’s cheeks. “Are you mad?”
“Not at all.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a girl.”
“And how was it?”
She shrugged, smiling. “Nice enough, I guess. But I don’t think it’s for me.”
“I’m awful glad to hear that.” He took her hand and pulled her into his arms. He bent to kiss her neck. “And the next time she says men can do whatever they want and women can’t, you remind her of that kiss. ‘Cause if she’d have been a man, I’d have skinned her alive.”
Cami laughed. “I’ll let her know.”
He kissed her neck again. She put her arms around him and sighed happily, melting into him, her thin body warm and supple against his. He reached up and began to undo the buttons on her blouse. “This’ll be our last night for a while in a real bed. What do you say we make the most of it?”
“I’d say that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”