Blood Red Road
Page 9
Is this Crosscreek? says Emmi.
I set down the dragger fer the last time.
I close my eyes, stand there fer a moment. My body’s so sore an stif an bone-tired I wish I never had to move it agin.
I try to ex my ngers but they stay bent. They bin curled round the damn shafts so long they’l probly stay like this til the day I die. I never thought I’d be haulin Emmi an the packs fer three days. An Em’s covered in bruises from head to toe, so she ain’t ezzackly got of light.
I unstrap her from the dragger an help her to stand. I go to pick her up but she says, No. I’m gonna walk.
You sure? I says. She nods. I shoulder our barksacks. Shove the dragger deep into the bushes where it cain’t be seen.
Leave the track. Fol ow the trail down the hil into the del .
It ain’t hardly what I cal a trail. If you didn’t know it was here, you’d never know it was. We weave our way through the trees. Pine needles soften our way, give o their warm scent as we crush ’em unnerfoot. Nero its from branch to branch over our heads. He caws, al excited, tel in us to hurry.
The ground starts to slope down. It gits steeper. Then steeper stil . The goin gits harder with the pine needles makin it al slippy. I take hold of Emmi’s hand so she don’t fal . We got a slide on our bums some times an other times go down sidewise. We go on an on.
Then. Cookin smel s tickle my nose. Meat. My mouth waters.
Is that stew? says Emmi.
I sure hope so, I says.
At last we’re at the bot om of the hil . We step out a the forest into the open an we’re in another world.
A shaggy haired pony grazes nearby in a patch of sweet green grass. He lifts his head to look at us fer a moment, then goes back to his meal.
We’re in the del that Pa told us about, at the bot om of a smal river val ey. Straight ahead of us, the land rises in a gentle slope. Two streams trickle down from the top. Near the bot om, they join to make one narrow lit le stream. Crosscreek. It winds an sparkles its way along the val ey floor.
There’s a at bridge spans the creek an there, on the far bank, shaded by pine trees, sits a smal wooden shack. Mercy’s cabin. A red bench stands next to the open door. A cookin pot hangs over a fire.
There ain’t no sound but the soft murmur of shal ow water over stones. It’s like the whole place is sleepin, quiet as a cat in the afternoon sun.I ain’t never seen such a place. Never even imagined there could be somewhere like it on this earth. Tears spring to my eyes. Pa never said it was like this. He never told us.
But he knew this place was here. He knew an he kept us by a dyin lake al these years, with food git in scarcer an life git in harder an al this only a few days’ walk. I don’t unnerstand. Why didn’t he bring us here? I guess Lugh was right. Pa didn’t care about us, didn’t care about what happened to none of us.
I move like I’m in a dream, walkin slowly.
If Mercy ain’t there, sit on the red bench by the door an listen to the creek while you wait. She won’t be long. She ain’t never far away.
I cross the bridge, drop the barksacks. I unlace my boots an kick ’em o . I walk into the creek. It’s ankle deep. I kneel an scoop up some water. Clean. Cool. Beautiful. I drink. I splash it over my face, my neck, my head.
Then I lie down. I lie on my back an let the water flow around me.
I close my eyes.
It ain’t every day I find somebody asleep in my creek, the voice says.
I open my eyes. A face hangin above me. The wrong way around. I blink. I feel slow. Stupid. Must of fel to sleep fer a second or two.
Are you upside down, I says, or is it me?
I guess that depends on your point of view.
A hairy dog face lunges at me. A long pink tongue slops at my face.
Hey! I says.
Tracker! Down, boy! A strong hand reaches out. I take it an it pul s me to my feet. As I stand, water pours of a my hair, my clothes.
It’s a woman. Standin in the stream. Tal . Lean. Tanned. Lined face with shrewd brown eyes. Sharp cheekbones. White hair cropped close to her head. Nine year ago, it was nut brown an shiny an down to her knees. A blue-eyed wolfdog with one droopy ear leans aginst her side.
I nearly missed the windchimes, I says. You sure do make it hard to find you.
I like to keep the rif raf away, she says.
She touches a finger to my birthmoon tat oo.
Saba by Silverlake. Her mouth crooks up at one corner. You’ve grown some since I last saw you. I’m Mercy.
A bit more, Emmi? says Mercy.
A bit more, Emmi? says Mercy.
Mmuh huh! Emmi shovels a last spoonful into her mouth that’s already ful . She holds her bowl out.
Didn’t your pa ever teach you manners? says Mercy.
Emmi, I frown at her. Yer s’posed to say please.
Emmi chews, gulps, chews some more. Oh, she mumbles. Yes please. More please.
She eats like a jackal, I says. Pa let her run wild.
Child’s on the skinny side of scrawny, says Mercy. An if you don’t mind my sayin, you could do with a bit more meat on you too. Times tough at Silverlake?
I frown. No, I says.
You like a bit more to eat yourself?
I shove my empty bowl at her. She looks at me with one raised eyebrow.
Uh … yes please, I says.
We’re sat outside to eat. Me an Mercy on the red bench, Emmi on the front step. Nero gobbled his lot down an now he’s perched on the cabin roof, havin a good preen.
Bring your bowls, says Mercy. I ain’t no servant.
She limps over to the cookin re an Em an me fol ow behind with our bowls. She gives the pot a stir an ladles out seconds of the rabbit an root stew. I fol ow her back to the bench, stuf in mine down as I go. We sit an I nod at her foot.
What’d you do there? I says, my mouth ful .
Broke my ankle, oh … over a year ago now. Had to set it myself of course an did a bugger of a job … wel … as you can see.
How d’you manage by yerself?
She shrugs. I just do. Ain’t got no choice.
Must be hard, I says. Yer pret y old.
She gives me a hard look. An you’re pret y rude, she says. Anybody ever tel you that?
I feel myself flush red. Go al skin prickly.
I tel her al the time, says Emmi. But she don’t pay no notice. Lugh’s the nice one. You’d like him.
Shut yer trap, Em, I says. Look. We came here … we didn’t jest come to tel you about Pa an Lugh.
I didn’t think you did, says Mercy.
There’s a basin of clean water between us. She pours in a tincture from a lit le brown glass bot le, dips a cloth in an starts cleanin my sore hand.
I’m goin after Lugh, I says. I’m gonna git him back. I aim to set of in the mornin. I’m gonna leave Emmi here with you.
I see, she says. Looks at me. Like she’s waitin fer more.
Pa always said if anythin ever happened to him, we should come to you, I says.
Oh he did, did he? Mercy shakes her head. I don’t know about that.… Tracker an me’s set in our ways. We ain’t used to company.
But you was Ma’s friend, I says. Please, Mercy. Yer th’only one can help.
She don’t answer fer a long moment. Then she sighs. She’l have to work for her keep, she says.
She’l work, I says.
An what does she have to say about it? says Mercy. Emmi?
Emmi don’t say naught. She crouches over her bowl, her head down, eatin slowly. I know she’s listenin.
I set down the dragger fer the last time.
I close my eyes, stand there fer a moment. My body’s so sore an stif an bone-tired I wish I never had to move it agin.
I try to ex my ngers but they stay bent. They bin curled round the damn shafts so long they’l probly stay like this til the day I die. I never thought I’d be haulin Emmi an the packs fer three days. An Em’s covered in bruises from head to toe, so she ain’t ezzackly got of light.
I unstrap her from the dragger an help her to stand. I go to pick her up but she says, No. I’m gonna walk.
You sure? I says. She nods. I shoulder our barksacks. Shove the dragger deep into the bushes where it cain’t be seen.
Leave the track. Fol ow the trail down the hil into the del .
It ain’t hardly what I cal a trail. If you didn’t know it was here, you’d never know it was. We weave our way through the trees. Pine needles soften our way, give o their warm scent as we crush ’em unnerfoot. Nero its from branch to branch over our heads. He caws, al excited, tel in us to hurry.
The ground starts to slope down. It gits steeper. Then steeper stil . The goin gits harder with the pine needles makin it al slippy. I take hold of Emmi’s hand so she don’t fal . We got a slide on our bums some times an other times go down sidewise. We go on an on.
Then. Cookin smel s tickle my nose. Meat. My mouth waters.
Is that stew? says Emmi.
I sure hope so, I says.
At last we’re at the bot om of the hil . We step out a the forest into the open an we’re in another world.
A shaggy haired pony grazes nearby in a patch of sweet green grass. He lifts his head to look at us fer a moment, then goes back to his meal.
We’re in the del that Pa told us about, at the bot om of a smal river val ey. Straight ahead of us, the land rises in a gentle slope. Two streams trickle down from the top. Near the bot om, they join to make one narrow lit le stream. Crosscreek. It winds an sparkles its way along the val ey floor.
There’s a at bridge spans the creek an there, on the far bank, shaded by pine trees, sits a smal wooden shack. Mercy’s cabin. A red bench stands next to the open door. A cookin pot hangs over a fire.
There ain’t no sound but the soft murmur of shal ow water over stones. It’s like the whole place is sleepin, quiet as a cat in the afternoon sun.I ain’t never seen such a place. Never even imagined there could be somewhere like it on this earth. Tears spring to my eyes. Pa never said it was like this. He never told us.
But he knew this place was here. He knew an he kept us by a dyin lake al these years, with food git in scarcer an life git in harder an al this only a few days’ walk. I don’t unnerstand. Why didn’t he bring us here? I guess Lugh was right. Pa didn’t care about us, didn’t care about what happened to none of us.
I move like I’m in a dream, walkin slowly.
If Mercy ain’t there, sit on the red bench by the door an listen to the creek while you wait. She won’t be long. She ain’t never far away.
I cross the bridge, drop the barksacks. I unlace my boots an kick ’em o . I walk into the creek. It’s ankle deep. I kneel an scoop up some water. Clean. Cool. Beautiful. I drink. I splash it over my face, my neck, my head.
Then I lie down. I lie on my back an let the water flow around me.
I close my eyes.
It ain’t every day I find somebody asleep in my creek, the voice says.
I open my eyes. A face hangin above me. The wrong way around. I blink. I feel slow. Stupid. Must of fel to sleep fer a second or two.
Are you upside down, I says, or is it me?
I guess that depends on your point of view.
A hairy dog face lunges at me. A long pink tongue slops at my face.
Hey! I says.
Tracker! Down, boy! A strong hand reaches out. I take it an it pul s me to my feet. As I stand, water pours of a my hair, my clothes.
It’s a woman. Standin in the stream. Tal . Lean. Tanned. Lined face with shrewd brown eyes. Sharp cheekbones. White hair cropped close to her head. Nine year ago, it was nut brown an shiny an down to her knees. A blue-eyed wolfdog with one droopy ear leans aginst her side.
I nearly missed the windchimes, I says. You sure do make it hard to find you.
I like to keep the rif raf away, she says.
She touches a finger to my birthmoon tat oo.
Saba by Silverlake. Her mouth crooks up at one corner. You’ve grown some since I last saw you. I’m Mercy.
A bit more, Emmi? says Mercy.
A bit more, Emmi? says Mercy.
Mmuh huh! Emmi shovels a last spoonful into her mouth that’s already ful . She holds her bowl out.
Didn’t your pa ever teach you manners? says Mercy.
Emmi, I frown at her. Yer s’posed to say please.
Emmi chews, gulps, chews some more. Oh, she mumbles. Yes please. More please.
She eats like a jackal, I says. Pa let her run wild.
Child’s on the skinny side of scrawny, says Mercy. An if you don’t mind my sayin, you could do with a bit more meat on you too. Times tough at Silverlake?
I frown. No, I says.
You like a bit more to eat yourself?
I shove my empty bowl at her. She looks at me with one raised eyebrow.
Uh … yes please, I says.
We’re sat outside to eat. Me an Mercy on the red bench, Emmi on the front step. Nero gobbled his lot down an now he’s perched on the cabin roof, havin a good preen.
Bring your bowls, says Mercy. I ain’t no servant.
She limps over to the cookin re an Em an me fol ow behind with our bowls. She gives the pot a stir an ladles out seconds of the rabbit an root stew. I fol ow her back to the bench, stuf in mine down as I go. We sit an I nod at her foot.
What’d you do there? I says, my mouth ful .
Broke my ankle, oh … over a year ago now. Had to set it myself of course an did a bugger of a job … wel … as you can see.
How d’you manage by yerself?
She shrugs. I just do. Ain’t got no choice.
Must be hard, I says. Yer pret y old.
She gives me a hard look. An you’re pret y rude, she says. Anybody ever tel you that?
I feel myself flush red. Go al skin prickly.
I tel her al the time, says Emmi. But she don’t pay no notice. Lugh’s the nice one. You’d like him.
Shut yer trap, Em, I says. Look. We came here … we didn’t jest come to tel you about Pa an Lugh.
I didn’t think you did, says Mercy.
There’s a basin of clean water between us. She pours in a tincture from a lit le brown glass bot le, dips a cloth in an starts cleanin my sore hand.
I’m goin after Lugh, I says. I’m gonna git him back. I aim to set of in the mornin. I’m gonna leave Emmi here with you.
I see, she says. Looks at me. Like she’s waitin fer more.
Pa always said if anythin ever happened to him, we should come to you, I says.
Oh he did, did he? Mercy shakes her head. I don’t know about that.… Tracker an me’s set in our ways. We ain’t used to company.
But you was Ma’s friend, I says. Please, Mercy. Yer th’only one can help.
She don’t answer fer a long moment. Then she sighs. She’l have to work for her keep, she says.
She’l work, I says.
An what does she have to say about it? says Mercy. Emmi?
Emmi don’t say naught. She crouches over her bowl, her head down, eatin slowly. I know she’s listenin.
