Rebel Heart

A little house stands in the middle of fields. The grass roof, the walls of stone an wood an mud an tyres make it look like it’s dragged itself outta the ground. There’s two planted fields, one field ploughed to earth an one – the furthest away – half-ploughed. In that one, there’s a man hard at work draggin a shoulder plough.

Looks like good land, I says.

It should be, he says. Billy worked it these past twenny year.

The door of the house stands open. A young woman hurries along the path towards the road. She waves at us.

I’m gonna stop, says Slim.

Drive on, I says.

I said I’m stoppin, says Slim.

An I said, drive on! I shove my bolt shooter into his side.

He gives me a steady look. It won’t take long, he says. Don’t say nuthin. Keep yer face hid.

Fer some reason – I cain’t say why – his calm look, his calm voice, makes me feel clumsy. Foolish. Dull-witted. Like I’m somehow . . . missin the point. But what point, I dunno.

Whoa, there, Moses. The Cosmic stops once agin. It creaks an lists as Slim climbs down. Me an Tracker jump out too. I adjust my kercheef an sheema so’s nuthin shows but my eyes.

Me an Slim move around the Cosmic untyin the right-side flap, then the left.

Saba! Lugh speaks in a low voice, but I can hear him through the wall. What’s goin on?

The people on Billy’s old place hailed us, I says.

Keep quiet inside, says Slim. Don’t move a finger. I’ll git rid of her as soon as I can.

The woman runs up. Not a woman. Another girl. Pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, trim an neat. Sixteen or so. The black quartered circle brand of the Stewards of the Earth in the middle of her forehead. A bolt shooter in her waist holster.

She brings her clenched right fist to her heart. Long life to the Pathfinder! she says. Her voice trails off as she notices Tracker. He stands beside me, my hand on his head.

Oh, don’t mind him, says Slim, he’s gentle as a lamb.

He makes the same sign as she – fist to the heart. I copy him.

Long life to the Pathfinder, says Slim. What can I do fer you?

I gotta have a baby. She speaks fast, her voice low. It’s bin too long. If I don’t git with child soon, he’ll ask fer another woman an they’ll slave me. She hesitates, jest fer a moment, then pulls a silver chain from her pocket an hands it to Slim. Will you take this in trade? she says.

Slim’s one eye looks it over keenly. Nice, he says. Family heirloom?

The girl pulls herself tall an proud, firms her chin. My only family is the Earth, she says. The Pathfinder has chosen me to heal her.

Of course he has, says Slim. I got jest the thing. Now, where did I put that tincture? He starts checkin through his bottles.

The girl casts a quick look over her shoulder. The man pullin the shoulder plough’s stopped work. He’s makin his way over the fields, headin towards us.

Hurry, please, she says.

Slim says, I seen that fella nailed to the tree back there.

Oh, the vermin, she says. Eli caught it settin fire to the new bridge. Eli an the night patrol. About a week back.

Night patrol, eh? says Slim. Folks around here bin breakin curfew?

The girl’s keepin nervous watch on Eli. But she rattles on, like she’s glad of the chance to speak to somebody. She don’t take no notice of me.

We bin havin trouble after dark, she says. Not jest us, other homesteads too. Ever since we got here. Wells gone bad, beasts missin, broke ploughs, fires, all sorts. Our horse disappeared last month. That’s how come Eli’s handploughin. So, he got everybody together an organized night patrols fer our sector. You sure you got that cure?

Slim starts lookin in the drawers. It’s here somewheres, he says. So you figger this fella to be the cause of yer troubles?

Well, we ain’t had none since Eli spiked it, she says. He says it must of bin livin rough in the woods.

Did Eli deal with the, uh . . . vermin hisself? says Slim.

I helped some. She gives a nervous giggle. It did make the most awful fuss.

Did it indeed, says Slim. Ah! Here we go. You take two drops in water twice a day. An not jest you, ma’am, yer, uh . . . Eli too. Not to be personal an you’ll pardon my sayin so, but it takes two to make one.

He hands her a tiny brown glass bottle. She shoves it in her pocket. Two drops twice a day, she says.

Fer the next ten days, says Slim. It won’t work otherwise.

RiverLee! Eli shouts her name as he charges up the path. Hair like straw. Built like a bull. Thick lips. Red-faced. He’s holdin a firestick. There’s a bolt shooter stuck in his belt.

RiverLee! he yells. Whaddya mean, hailin this scum?

I was jest askin fer news, Eli, she calls. Thought they might of heard somethin from along the road.

You! Eli grabs Slim. Quack man. Lemme see yer mark. What the hell’s this yer wearin? He shoves up the right sleeve of Slim’s pink frock, grunts when he sees the brand on the outside of his arm. He gives him a hard shove. Go on, clear off! I don’t want yer kind on my good land. If I see yuz agin, I’ll deal with you, d’you hear?

Slim an me’s rushin about, foldin the Cosmic’s flaps, tyin her up.

Loud an clear, mister! Slim calls out in a quavery voice. Long life to the Pathfinder!

I’ll give you long life! Eli shoots the firestick at Slim’s feet. Slim dances back as the shot slams into the ground. Eli laughs. Narrows his eyes as he notices Hermes tied to the back of the Cosmic.

That horse there’s way too fine fer the likes of you, he says. I believe you stole him. Jest like some vermin stole mine. I lay claim to that beast, in the name of the Pathfinder. Untie him, RiverLee.

She hurries to do his biddin. My chest’s gone tight. They cain’t take Hermes. I won’t let ’em.

Please, mister, don’t take my horse! Slim whines.

Shut up! Eli jerks his head fer Slim to move beside me. He keeps the firestick aimed at us. Tracker growls. He stops when I press my hand on his head.

I shoot mean dogs, says Eli. How come yer woman’s all covered up? She too ugly to look at?

She’s got the weepin pox, mister, says Slim.

Maybe I oughta shoot her, he says.

Nero’s flyin tight circles a little ways overhead.

Here he is, Eli, says RiverLee. But he’s awful nervy.

She’s leadin Hermes. She holds his rope too high, too tight. He tosses his head, pulls an dances.

Yer holdin him all wrong, says Eli. Dammit, RiverLee, yer too stupid to live. Loosen up his rope a little.

He’s still got us covered with the firestick. But he’s distracted. He flicks a glance their way – jest fer a moment – but it’s enough fer me to show Hermes my hand. I waggle it. He goes crazy, squealin an stompin. With one mighty tug, he yanks hisself free. RiverLee falls to the ground. She shrieks an covers her head as Hermes rears above her, flailin at the air with his front legs. Eli looks. I move.

I grab his firestick. Both hands. He hangs on. Both hands. Nero falls outta the sky at him, screechin. Tracker snaps an snarls at his legs. His hands loosen. Jest a bit. I smash the firestick into his face.

He reels back. The stick goes flyin.

Go go go! I yell at Slim.

As he hurries to jump in the front, I run to git Hermes. He’s skittered outta harm’s way. But RiverLee’s on her feet. Bolt shooter out. Aimed at me. She shoots. She misses.

I’ve pulled my own shooter by now. I raise it. A huge arm grabs me from behind. Hooks around my throat. Eli. He presses on my windpipe, chokin me. I struggle an scrabble, but he’s too strong. He chops my shooter from my hand. Digs his into my temple.