Raging Star

This time we’re in is after.

After is like this man Pa told us about. He got gangrene in his arm an had to have it chopped off, jest below the shoulder. He’d bin without it fer years when Pa met him, but he swore blue he could feel that arm still. The weight of it. The urge to reach out with his long-gone hand. I could never imagine that. Not at all. Then Lugh got took from me. The first cut was made. An before we knew it, before eether of us could stop it, he got cut from me an me from him. By fate an chance an destiny. By death an betrayal. By wounds to the soul too big to be spoke of. By secrets an half-truths an lies.

When I lived in before, I never thought there’d be after. Now I know how that man must of felt.

I still got stones in my boots from the bridge an Mercy’s badly in need of water an food. A half league on from the farm, I call a rest stop at the ruins of a small Wrecker temple. The few pine trees growin within its crumbly stone walls grant us some welcome shade.

As the stolen pony gits to work on a patch of late nettles, I tip a stream of tiny pebbles from my boots. As Mercy loosens the cords on hers, a shadow of pain tightens her lips.

You okay? I says.

She nods. I hand her the waterskin an she takes a long, parched pull. That’s good, she says.

I drink an pour some in the cap fer Nero. Once he’s dibbled his fill, I trickle the rest over his head to cool him. He shutters his eyes in pleasure. I rummage in my sack for eatables. A cake of dried bitter-root wrapped in a leaf. That’s it. Sorry, I says. It’s slim pickins.

Not to me, she says.

I give her it all. I ain’t hungry. I gather a lapful of fallen pine cones an crack ’em open fer the nuts. I give most to Mercy. A few to Nero fer a treat.

She chews slowly. Makin each bite last. Pine nuts an bitter-root, the taste of freedom, she says. Who’d have thought? An who’d have thought it ’ud be you come to my rescue? The ways of chance are strange indeed.

Some chance, I says. Meant to be, I’d say.

She smiles. There speaks the daughter of a star reader, she says. Who knows? You may be right.

We’re silent as she eats. The weight of our unasked questions grows ever heavier. Hers to me. Mine to her. An I feel somethin else growin too. Inside of me. The need to say somethin. To tell. To confess.

A lot happened after I left you, I says. When we got to Hopetown—you did warn me it was a bad place. It was worse than bad. I done some … things. So many things along the way. I killed some people. Not becuz I wanted to, I had to. It was kill or be killed. Is that wrong?

I didn’t mean to say all that. I really hadn’t. Hell.

That’s a big question, says Mercy. Is it ever right to kill another person?

I’m jest openin my mouth, jest about to ask how she got slaved when she says,

The Tonton came to Crosscreek one day. To run me off or … burn me out or kill me an take my land. That’s the first time I felt the lash of a whip. But when they found out I heal, they decided I’d be useful. I was set to work in one of their babyhouses. I’ll help any woman give birth. I will not be party to leavin a newborn outside overnight, to be took by a beast or killed by the cold. That’s what they do with the weak ones.

So I’m told, I says.

Exposure, they call it, she says. The baby’s left out, naked. If they make it through the night, they’re judged tough enough. They git another chance. But I ain’t never seen one brought back. I used to sneak out to try an save ’em. Oh, I had all kinds of schemes, but I never managed it. Always got caught. They whipped me plenty, but I kept on tryin. They got fed up with me in the end. Decided to wring the last little bit of life outta me labourin on their roads. We was headed to start work on a new one when you blew the bridge.

What’s all that about? I says. A new road in the Raze an settlers. The Raze is a deadland.

No idea, says Mercy. I’ll tell you this, though. Them big hounds that was runnin the woods—

Yeah, I lost ’em in some water, I says.

—they came with this Tonton, she says. He showed up with the dogs when we was well on our way. He just started ridin at the back. None of ’em said a word, but they knew who he was all right. They rode a lot taller from then on. If they send somebody important like him, I figger it means the job’s important.

I figger you might be right, I says.

I’ll tell you this too, she says. That road in the Raze would have bin my last. There ain’t much left of me.

We’ll git you strong agin, I says.

She pops another nut in her mouth. With a frown, she eases the iron slave collar.

Is it heavy? I says.

The worst thing is how fast you get used to it, she says. She tips her head back an closes her eyes. Where Nero pecked an scratched her, the blood’s dried. On her arms an shoulders an a couple places on her neck. I dig my medicine bag from my pack. I wet the end of my sheema from the waterskin, kneel at her side an commence to dab her clean. At the first touch, a little smile curves her lips.

Don’t git yer hopes up, I says. I ain’t no good at doctorin, not like you. Remember you fixed my hand that got shot? I show her my right hand. You did a neat job, I says. I tell you, I collected a good few scars since then. I got goatweed unction. You want some?

Thanks, she says. As I smear it on her wounds with a careful pinky, she looks at the heartstone. Our eyes meet. My face starts to warm. I drop my gaze to my task.

Feels like a lifetime ago I gave you that, she says.

What is it? It’s pretty, says Emmi.

The pale rosy stone feels smooth an cool. Shaped like a bird’s egg. A thumb’s length in size. The light gleams through it, milky an dull.

A heartstone, said Mercy. It leads you to your heart’s desire. The closer you get, the hotter it burns.

It burns fer Jack. It burns fer DeMalo. Desire, yes. An danger. An betrayal. That’s what the heartstone’s led me to.

I remember that mornin well, says Mercy. Crosscreek looked like paradise. After a moment, she says, We slept in these wooden sheds. Us slaves, I mean. Crammed together, chained together, men an women. My first night, I was lyin there an it was silent but … there was such a clamour from all them souls. So, after a while I said, My name is Mercy. My home is Crosscreek. A sweet green valley that sleeps in the sun. They was all quiet. Then one of the men said, The name’s Cade. I ain’t got no home but the road. Don’t need no roof but the sky. One by one, we all spoke. Our name an where we come from. After that, we did the same every night. Just before we went to sleep. Every night without fail. To remind ourselfs. So’s we didn’t forget.

Jest like me at Hopetown, I think. That’s what I did. Night after night, in that cellblock. In the dark, on my own, with little left to anchor me to this earth. Knowin that the day would see me brought to the Cage, to fight fer my life, agin an agin. I came so close to losin myself. So very very close.

Right, I says. I’m done here. We better make tracks. I pack my barksack an she cords her boots. I reach down a hand an help her up. Slim’s got a junkjimmy friend’ll git that collar offa you, I says. He can be trusted not to talk.

She grips my hand tight. So can I, she says. An I’m a good listener too.

Thanks, I says. I’m okay.

She touches my cheek. You look so like Willem, she says softly. He was the finest man I ever laid eyes on.

It’s the way she says his name. As if, long ago, it flamed in her like a sunburst. An suddenly I know. She loved Pa. Mercy loved my father.