Raging Star
Page 16
Seemed? Couldn’t swear? Oh, yer quite the lookout, I says.
Aw, fergit it, he says. We’ll be arguin the toss all night long. Anyways, I guess if there was somebody, Tracker would of sniffed ’em out. Where is he, by the way?
Here, I says, somewheres around. I don’t dare tell him that I sent Nero an Tracker off huntin. He’d tear a strip from me an no mistake.
Jack pulls off his sheema. Ruffs his short hair to confusion. Anyways an by the way, Saba, what’s got you so edgy? he says. You must of known it was me. He flips the hot heartstone with a finger.
Some Tonton comes flyin at me outta the sky, I don’t stop to think, I fight, I says. An speakin of by the way, what’s with the gear, Jack? An the words infiltrate the Tonton better not cross yer lips.
I give him my hardest stare. His gaze slides away.
We agreed, I says. We agreed you wouldn’t, you know damn well we did.
I agree that we agreed it was too dangerous, he says. We never agreed that I never would. So I can also agree that we never agreed.
None of yer eel talk, speak plain, I says.
I only done it once or twice, he says. Today an … okay, maybe a few times. But only when I know it’s safe. Information is power, Saba. An we need as much inside information as we can git. How d’you think I found out about the bridge? Keep yer friends close an yer enemies closer, right? He gestures to his robes. Who better than me? I know their ways, how to blend in. We ain’t gonna git no closer’n this.
If only he knew how very close I bin to the enemy. He cain’t ever know. Nobody can.
What if the Tonton know you helped us at Resurrection? I says. That you warn’t one of them but a fake an a plotter? They could all have orders to find you, to watch you, follow you.
Nobody follows me, he says. He heaves a sigh. Look, he says, we demolished the place. There was fifty men killed. It was complete confusion. If anybody spared me a thought after the fact, they’d figger I got blown to the sky. Jest like yer Free Hawk gang do. If the Tonton knew about me, we’d all of us be heads on spikes by now.
Don’t ever say that. You take too many chances, I says. Don’t do this no more, Jack. Promise me. Promise.
No, he says. If we don’t risk, we don’t win. This ain’t no cakewalk, darlin.
Don’t you dare talk down to me, don’t you dare, I says. If you git yerself killed, I swear I’ll … I’ll kill you.
My fury boils. With him. With DeMalo. With the whole gawdamn world. Fury I’m beset by doubt an weakness. Reduced to a frightened girl. Me. The Angel of Death.
Take off that gear, I says. I hate you in it, I hate it, d’you hear?
I attack his Tonton robe. Start yankin at it. But it tangles in his weapons belt, so I pull that off an dump it. Jack stands there, not helpin, not hinderin. I drag off the robe, grab a fistful of shirt an walk him backwards, fast, till he hits the tree trunk. I hate it, gawdamnmit, I says.
Then I kiss him. An I kiss him. An I kiss him.
I’ll burn DeMalo from me in the fire between us. I’ll stoke the flames high with my lies an secrets. Feed ’em with my weakness an my fears. I’ll lay waste to myself in the heat of Jack’s body. Melt the flesh from my bones. Blaze my bones to ash.
A breath of night air stirs the haze of my mind. He ain’t kissin me back. He ain’t touchin me. He jest stands, not movin. His shirt hangs open. Did I do that? I don’t recall. I press closer, ever closer. My fevered hands roam him. Reckless. Hell-bent.
Uh-uh. He grabs ’em. Firmly. Stop right there, he says.
I’m dazed. Halfways to scorched, but nowhere near burnt. Why? I says. What’s wrong? You want me, you know you do.
He makes a strange noise. A strangled-at-birth kinda laugh. He’s all rumpled an ruffled an hot silver eyes. He takes a deep breath. Boy, he mutters, this is a first fer me.
We both know that ain’t true, I says. I go fer his lips agin, but he steps back. Puts space an air an coolness between us. What’s the matter? I says. Why ain’t you kissin me?
Becuz you ain’t kissin me, he says. Right now, all you want is a warm body. Mine jest happens to be the closest one. I’d say the state yer in, pretty much anybody’d do.
I bristle, shake free of his hold. How dare you? I glare. What the hell’re you talkin about?
He smiles his quirk of a smile. An cue righteous indignation, he says. Never bullshit a bullshitter. I know this one, Saba. I bin there, I done it. He shakes his head, rueful. You dish it out, eventually, somewhere down the road, somebody dishes out the same to you. I jest discovered I don’t much care fer the taste. Ain’t that how it goes. Measure fer measure.
Spare me the sermon, I says. When did you git so gawdamnn virtuous?
He swipes a gentle finger down my cheek. I dunno, he says. The moment I seen yer face?
That takes the wind from my sails. I stare at his chest. The marks an the scars. From shoulder to hip, three thick puckered lines. The rake of a hellwurm’s claws. The red risin sun inked over his heart, the blood tattoo of the Tonton. The same as DeMalo’s. DeMalo agin. Always, always DeMalo. So. There won’t be no oblivion fer me.
Tell me what happened today. Jack’s voice is quiet. Determined.
Fer the first time, I notice what he’s done. He’s made a bower at one end of the platform, with branches of fir to soften the floor. Rainbow shimmer discs hang all around. As they turn an swing, they play in the moonbeams. There’s a cold roast fowl, bread an a bottle.
He went to a lot of trouble. It’s beautiful. Special. It makes my heart hurt. I hug myself tight to stop it from weepin. I see you bin thievin agin, I says. Whatever happened to virtue?
Overrated, he says.
I’m sorry, I says. My timin always did stink. Especially when it comes to you.
I cain’t argue with that, he says. Let’s eat. We’ll talk.
Fate had nodded his way. Shown him the dead crow. He’d instantly known what to do. It hadn’t been dead long. He tucked it inside his shirt and went in search of Nero.
The mosstails had left a trail of broken branches in their flight. He followed it to the killsite. Nero was there. Gorging himself on the carcass of a tiny mossjack. Tracker was nowhere in sight. It looked like he’d made a quick kill for his friend and gone after a bigger beast for himself. He’d done such things before.
He couldn’t let Nero know who was taking him. His scent shouldn’t give him away. Crows had a weak sense of smell and Nero’s beak was deep in a heaven of blood and flesh. Still, he’d better make sure of it. He’d already slipped out of his coat. Now he silently scooped handfuls of rotting forest floor into it. Crows always know a face though. He wrapped his sheema around his head.
He’d only get one chance. He waited among the trees for the perfect moment. As Nero burrowed deeper into the guts, his greed was greater than his caution.
He edged closer. Closer. Close enough. He threw the coat over Nero. Then he grabbed him and hurried away.
In fact, I talk. Jack eats. An he drinks. An he listens. We sit cradled in the bed of fir boughs an I tell him how it all went aginst us. About Lugh’s brush with death. The fog that meant Ash couldn’t warn us in time. How the convoy was on top of us before we knew it. That I tried to stop the blast an failed. I talk of the slaves an the beasts. The Stewards an the Tonton. I cain’t speak of the unspeakable. The noise an the smells an the nightmare realness of the death we dealt them. I tell him it was dreadful an leave it at that. Then it’s Creed wounded, the curious joy of findin Mercy, an Creed’s challenge. I don’t tell the untellable. DeMalo. The blood moon.
Aw, fergit it, he says. We’ll be arguin the toss all night long. Anyways, I guess if there was somebody, Tracker would of sniffed ’em out. Where is he, by the way?
Here, I says, somewheres around. I don’t dare tell him that I sent Nero an Tracker off huntin. He’d tear a strip from me an no mistake.
Jack pulls off his sheema. Ruffs his short hair to confusion. Anyways an by the way, Saba, what’s got you so edgy? he says. You must of known it was me. He flips the hot heartstone with a finger.
Some Tonton comes flyin at me outta the sky, I don’t stop to think, I fight, I says. An speakin of by the way, what’s with the gear, Jack? An the words infiltrate the Tonton better not cross yer lips.
I give him my hardest stare. His gaze slides away.
We agreed, I says. We agreed you wouldn’t, you know damn well we did.
I agree that we agreed it was too dangerous, he says. We never agreed that I never would. So I can also agree that we never agreed.
None of yer eel talk, speak plain, I says.
I only done it once or twice, he says. Today an … okay, maybe a few times. But only when I know it’s safe. Information is power, Saba. An we need as much inside information as we can git. How d’you think I found out about the bridge? Keep yer friends close an yer enemies closer, right? He gestures to his robes. Who better than me? I know their ways, how to blend in. We ain’t gonna git no closer’n this.
If only he knew how very close I bin to the enemy. He cain’t ever know. Nobody can.
What if the Tonton know you helped us at Resurrection? I says. That you warn’t one of them but a fake an a plotter? They could all have orders to find you, to watch you, follow you.
Nobody follows me, he says. He heaves a sigh. Look, he says, we demolished the place. There was fifty men killed. It was complete confusion. If anybody spared me a thought after the fact, they’d figger I got blown to the sky. Jest like yer Free Hawk gang do. If the Tonton knew about me, we’d all of us be heads on spikes by now.
Don’t ever say that. You take too many chances, I says. Don’t do this no more, Jack. Promise me. Promise.
No, he says. If we don’t risk, we don’t win. This ain’t no cakewalk, darlin.
Don’t you dare talk down to me, don’t you dare, I says. If you git yerself killed, I swear I’ll … I’ll kill you.
My fury boils. With him. With DeMalo. With the whole gawdamn world. Fury I’m beset by doubt an weakness. Reduced to a frightened girl. Me. The Angel of Death.
Take off that gear, I says. I hate you in it, I hate it, d’you hear?
I attack his Tonton robe. Start yankin at it. But it tangles in his weapons belt, so I pull that off an dump it. Jack stands there, not helpin, not hinderin. I drag off the robe, grab a fistful of shirt an walk him backwards, fast, till he hits the tree trunk. I hate it, gawdamnmit, I says.
Then I kiss him. An I kiss him. An I kiss him.
I’ll burn DeMalo from me in the fire between us. I’ll stoke the flames high with my lies an secrets. Feed ’em with my weakness an my fears. I’ll lay waste to myself in the heat of Jack’s body. Melt the flesh from my bones. Blaze my bones to ash.
A breath of night air stirs the haze of my mind. He ain’t kissin me back. He ain’t touchin me. He jest stands, not movin. His shirt hangs open. Did I do that? I don’t recall. I press closer, ever closer. My fevered hands roam him. Reckless. Hell-bent.
Uh-uh. He grabs ’em. Firmly. Stop right there, he says.
I’m dazed. Halfways to scorched, but nowhere near burnt. Why? I says. What’s wrong? You want me, you know you do.
He makes a strange noise. A strangled-at-birth kinda laugh. He’s all rumpled an ruffled an hot silver eyes. He takes a deep breath. Boy, he mutters, this is a first fer me.
We both know that ain’t true, I says. I go fer his lips agin, but he steps back. Puts space an air an coolness between us. What’s the matter? I says. Why ain’t you kissin me?
Becuz you ain’t kissin me, he says. Right now, all you want is a warm body. Mine jest happens to be the closest one. I’d say the state yer in, pretty much anybody’d do.
I bristle, shake free of his hold. How dare you? I glare. What the hell’re you talkin about?
He smiles his quirk of a smile. An cue righteous indignation, he says. Never bullshit a bullshitter. I know this one, Saba. I bin there, I done it. He shakes his head, rueful. You dish it out, eventually, somewhere down the road, somebody dishes out the same to you. I jest discovered I don’t much care fer the taste. Ain’t that how it goes. Measure fer measure.
Spare me the sermon, I says. When did you git so gawdamnn virtuous?
He swipes a gentle finger down my cheek. I dunno, he says. The moment I seen yer face?
That takes the wind from my sails. I stare at his chest. The marks an the scars. From shoulder to hip, three thick puckered lines. The rake of a hellwurm’s claws. The red risin sun inked over his heart, the blood tattoo of the Tonton. The same as DeMalo’s. DeMalo agin. Always, always DeMalo. So. There won’t be no oblivion fer me.
Tell me what happened today. Jack’s voice is quiet. Determined.
Fer the first time, I notice what he’s done. He’s made a bower at one end of the platform, with branches of fir to soften the floor. Rainbow shimmer discs hang all around. As they turn an swing, they play in the moonbeams. There’s a cold roast fowl, bread an a bottle.
He went to a lot of trouble. It’s beautiful. Special. It makes my heart hurt. I hug myself tight to stop it from weepin. I see you bin thievin agin, I says. Whatever happened to virtue?
Overrated, he says.
I’m sorry, I says. My timin always did stink. Especially when it comes to you.
I cain’t argue with that, he says. Let’s eat. We’ll talk.
Fate had nodded his way. Shown him the dead crow. He’d instantly known what to do. It hadn’t been dead long. He tucked it inside his shirt and went in search of Nero.
The mosstails had left a trail of broken branches in their flight. He followed it to the killsite. Nero was there. Gorging himself on the carcass of a tiny mossjack. Tracker was nowhere in sight. It looked like he’d made a quick kill for his friend and gone after a bigger beast for himself. He’d done such things before.
He couldn’t let Nero know who was taking him. His scent shouldn’t give him away. Crows had a weak sense of smell and Nero’s beak was deep in a heaven of blood and flesh. Still, he’d better make sure of it. He’d already slipped out of his coat. Now he silently scooped handfuls of rotting forest floor into it. Crows always know a face though. He wrapped his sheema around his head.
He’d only get one chance. He waited among the trees for the perfect moment. As Nero burrowed deeper into the guts, his greed was greater than his caution.
He edged closer. Closer. Close enough. He threw the coat over Nero. Then he grabbed him and hurried away.
In fact, I talk. Jack eats. An he drinks. An he listens. We sit cradled in the bed of fir boughs an I tell him how it all went aginst us. About Lugh’s brush with death. The fog that meant Ash couldn’t warn us in time. How the convoy was on top of us before we knew it. That I tried to stop the blast an failed. I talk of the slaves an the beasts. The Stewards an the Tonton. I cain’t speak of the unspeakable. The noise an the smells an the nightmare realness of the death we dealt them. I tell him it was dreadful an leave it at that. Then it’s Creed wounded, the curious joy of findin Mercy, an Creed’s challenge. I don’t tell the untellable. DeMalo. The blood moon.
