by Ann Aguirre
“Nice to meet you.”
Somehow Tegan slipped past while he was greeting the rest of the party. This reunion wasn’t going at all as he’d hoped. Millie stuck close, asking about the island, and soon he lost sight of Tegan altogether. But based on the way she was headed … She must be visiting Deuce and Fade. Millie spun in a slow circle, taking in the bright houses and the cheerful chatter in the distant marketplace.
“It’s remarkable,” she breathed. “I mean, Tegan told me this was the prettiest place she’d ever seen, but I couldn’t picture it. I don’t know what to do first.”
With every fiber of his being, he wanted to chase Tegan, but that would be beyond rude to a first-time guest. “If you’ll give me a moment, I can show you around.”
He turned and bowed to Szarok, for he’d noticed that the Uroch didn’t make casual contact even among themselves, let alone with humans. “It’s good to see you again.”
That was courtesy, not strictly truth, but he’d been raised too well to greet anyone with a blunt inquiry into their business. The Uroch leader returned the bow, matching his manners.
“Is your father at home? I bear a message for him.”
Morrow nodded. “Do you remember the way?”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I can find it.”
That was easy to believe, since James and his father lived in the largest house on the island, three bedrooms instead of a cottage with a loft. In a moment more the Uroch headed away from the dock, threading behind the storage sheds on the shore. His chosen path would keep him away from the townsfolk, probably for the best. There was nothing to gain in rousing anxiety. Which left him with an excited girl, currently bouncing on the balls of her feet.
But she wasn’t oblivious to the nuances of his mood, apparently. “Are you positive you want to guide me around? It’s all right if you have other things to do.”
“I’m sure,” he said with a persuasive smile. “Who knows the best stories better than me?”
And so, the first four hours of Tegan’s return Morrow spent with Millie Faraday. They covered every inch of the market, pausing every five feet for her to exclaim or admire. She couldn’t be that much younger than Tegan, but her enthusiasm felt childlike, possibly because she’d seen so little of the world. He bought her some fresh fried fish and vegetables for the midday meal, and she got tipsy on a mug of hard cider.
Finally she stumbled a little, ready to rest. “Do you have any idea where Tegan went?”
“I have a guess,” he said.
Sure enough, he found her ensconced in the stone cottage on a rise at the far end of the village. Voices came from inside, jokes and laughter, and he followed the sound all the way in. Millie seemed less sure of her welcome, but Morrow had supper here at least once a week and sometimes he spent the night in their loft, so he had no doubts about his reception, no matter who else they might be entertaining.
“It took you longer than I thought,” Deuce said.
“I figured you’d be her shadow,” Fade added, tilting his head at Tegan.
With his eyes, he pleaded for them to shut up. His affection wasn’t a secret, but did they have to be so obvious?
Tegan only laughed. “Unless I’ve underestimated our James, he’s been playing host with Millie, demonstrating Rosemere’s charm.”
“That’s true.” Millie bobbed a curtsy to Deuce and Fade in succession.
Though Morrow doubted she realized, the girl shrank back against him, trembling in the presence of such great heroes. Lord, that must be tiring. He set a steadying hand beneath her elbow and she threw a look over one shoulder, such melting gratitude that it astounded him. But he supposed their legends had grown larger than life, so maybe it was hard being confronted with the reality. He tried to imagine how the scene looked to Millie and couldn’t superimpose her perception over his own.
The stone cottage with its hand-sewn cushions and simple furniture was basically his second home. From the herbs drying on hooks in the kitchen, to the pans and dishes stacked on the shelves, everything about this place was familiar and dear. The rafters had been polished recently, so the house smelled clean. There was a pot of something bubbling in the hearth, adding to that air of warmth.
“Come on,” Deuce said. “It’s not that cold yet, but we shouldn’t leave the door open.”
Fade grinned. “You say that like you’ll be the one chopping wood.”
“She can’t cook, either,” Tegan added. “Do you smell that? It’s awful.”
Deuce shook a fist. “That’s your laundry.”
At first Morrow suspected she was joking, but when he peered into the pot, they were definitely simmering strips of pale cloth. Millie let out a nervous laugh and settled on a pile of cushions near the fire. Since there weren’t enough chairs for everyone, he guessed she was showing respect with that gesture, and he did the same, not wanting her to feel less than everyone else.
Fade poured mugs of spiced ale and sat down in a chair big enough to hold him and Deuce. It helped that she curled into him the moment he nudged in, and Morrow glanced away from the sweetness of their comfortable intimacy. By contrast, Tegan had a seat to herself across the way, and he only wished she wanted him close. Millie swirled the liquid in her mug, watching the foam boil up.
“Do you want something else?” he whispered.
“No, it’s all right. I’ve had cider and ale before.” But she didn’t seem enthusiastic.
Not my concern.
“How are you, really?” Deuce was asking.
“It’s hard to imagine that Dr. Wilson’s gone,” Fade added.
Oh. That’s why she came.
It shouldn’t hurt—why did it?—but of course, it made sense. If her mentor were alive and well, Tegan would still be in Winterville. He didn’t realize he was leaving until he unfolded to his feet. “I should make sure Szarok found our house. Please, excuse me.”
He hurried off without waiting to see if anyone would call him back. If anything, his steps moved faster because she wouldn’t … and it would be worse if someone else did. Running, it took him only fifteen minutes to race through the village and up the winding path that led to the spacious house he’d grown up in. Funny, a girl who didn’t love him had driven him away from Rosemere, and on his travels, he’d met Tegan. Now when he saw Clara, happily married to the town smith, his heart no longer clenched.
Morrow let himself in quietly, breathing in the familiar scents of home: oil and beeswax, dried lavender, and a sachet of sweet herbs, given as a gift by one of the widows who hadn’t given up on tempting his father to remarry. With quiet steps, he headed for the governor’s office, but loud voices halted him in his tracks. I thought Szarok would’ve already been and gone.
“You’ve done nothing but hint at a second war for the past hour,” his father shouted. “How am I supposed to react? I have no authority to—”
“But you permitted my people to camp at the other end of the isle. Why is a permanent settlement too much to ask?”
A long, fraught pause followed. Finally his father sighed. “It’s too soon. Give us time to acclimate, and then we’ll talk again.”
“My people already question your rights to decide what ground we hold, where we rest, and where we’re allowed to live. I came to you because I judged you a man of reason once. I’m trying to prevent further bloodshed.” From the Uroch’s impassioned tone, Morrow guessed all of this must be true.
But it’s alarming.
“I understand all of that—I do. But only last year we were slaughtering one another. You think people are ready for Uroch neighbors? The villagers will rise up if I grant permission for you to found a colony here.”
Ferocity gave power to Szarok’s reply. “Because the Evergreen Isle is pure? Because you want to keep it that way? You’ll leave us the places you don’t want, force us to live in your ruins, and hope we don’t get sick from mechanisms we don’t even understand.”
Though eavesdropping was beyond rude, Morrow
couldn’t tear himself away.
“It’s not about purity; it’s about keeping the peace.”
“Then this is your final word?”
His father sighed. “I’m not saying no. I’m just saying … not yet.”
“How long must we wait? Do you understand that our lives burn at a different pace? While you wait for the perfect moment, you may be explaining to my offspring why you denied such a reasonable request. Or perhaps there will be no talk at all by then.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“We are a warlike people inexperienced in the pursuit of peace. If you refuse our good faith offers, I can’t guarantee the truce will hold. I can smell your fear, even now. You are uneasy at having me in your home. The rest would feel the same over allowing us to settle the other end of the island, yes?”
Another pause, then the governor confirmed, “Yes. Can you give me some time to think? I understand your position, and you’re not wrong. I don’t like myself for being so afraid.”
“Acknowledging fear is the first step to overcoming it,” Szarok said.
“Perhaps. I haven’t even thought about integrated towns, but that would be the next step, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s one that frightens us also, but we don’t want to be left behind, and there is much we can learn from one another if we’re brave enough.”
“Well spoken.”
Both parties seemed calmer now, so Morrow relaxed a little. He leaned against the wall, wrestling with the idea that he should go before he got caught. Yet there might be a little more to learn here, and curiosity flickered like a candle that couldn’t be blown out.
“To answer, yes, I can give you a while to consider. I’m not eager to return to the elders with a firm rejection. The situation was … volatile when I left.”
“They’re not content with Appleton?” the governor asked.
“It is a ruin. We don’t have the resources to rebuild, and we squat in filthy houses that are falling down around us.”
Morrow imagined the conditions must be awful. The horde might not care about corpses or hygiene, but the young ones, the Uroch, were doubtless overwhelmed by the squalor they had inherited. Cleaning and rebuilding an old-world city? No. It was too big an undertaking, so no wonder they wanted better land upon which to start fresh. But his father was right; the prospect of a Uroch town on the Evergreen Isle would terrify the townsfolk.
“I hadn’t even thought of that,” his father said heavily.
“What is not given must be taken.” Szarok sounded firm. “I don’t mean this as a threat, only a truth. I much prefer for you to choose generosity. But understand, this request is only a courtesy. You cannot claim all this land.”
True, the Evergreen Isle had a history of welcoming anyone who wanted to stay. Nobody quibbled over ownership; they just made room. But the immigrants were all human. It troubled Morrow that he made the mental distinction. He hadn’t realized he nurtured such prejudice until this moment, but they were only a year or so past realizing that the Uroch weren’t mindless monsters.
“You don’t have to settle here,” the governor snapped.
“So you prefer if we struggled elsewhere, where trade is difficult and we have no one to ask for help.”
“I can see we’ve reached an impasse for today.”
Movement from the office alerted Morrow to the imminent exodus, and he leapt away from the wall, backtracking until he could dart around a corner. Shamefaced, he felt about five years old as they passed his hiding spot. His father watched until Szarok left the house. Afterward his shoulders slumped and he retraced his steps.
Without thinking, he went after the Uroch leader, who was unaccountably waiting just outside the front door. He raised a brow. “You were expecting me?”
“Yes. I smelled you as soon as you stepped inside.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It seemed impolite. You must have had your reasons for skulking about.”
He clenched his jaw, ignoring the heat that washed his cheeks. “I’ll speak to my father for you. You made good, sound arguments.”
Szarok sighed. Despite the cowl, the slope of his shoulders hinted at great weariness. “Even if he agrees, this will be no easy task.”
“Maybe I can help with that, too. The villagers like me, so they might—”
“A pale thing such as ‘like’ will melt away when you request a terrifying favor. A kind offer … but stick with your stories.” With that, Szarok strode away.
Morrow might well feel the sting of that rejection for days.
Questions and Answers
Afternoon ripened into night before Tegan finished catching up with Deuce and Fade. For as long as she’d known the girl, Millie had never been quiet so long. Instead of questions, she had only admiring stares. But over dinner and two cups of ale, she loosened up enough to quiz the two about their time down below.
That suited Tegan fine. She’d already asked if they knew anyone named Catalina, and since they were newcomers, it didn’t surprise her to learn that they didn’t. I ought to ask James, she thought, but he’d taken off so fast that she didn’t have a chance. In the morning would be soon enough, however. Tonight all she really wanted was to feel clean. She hated to ask, since Fade looked so comfortable, but she couldn’t stand going to bed this way.
“If you’ll point me in the right direction, I want to draw a bath.”
With obvious reluctance, he pulled his hand from Deuce’s shoulder. “There’s a cistern out back. I’ll haul the water for you.”
That spurred Deuce into action, and she fetched a cauldron large enough to stand in. “This is what we usually use, and here’s the dipper for rinsing.”
“Would it be too much trouble for me to wash up as well?” Millie asked.
Tegan smiled. “We might as well do it together. I suspect they’ll be happier when we scrub the stink off.”
Laughing, Deuce said, “It’s been a while since I lived so rough, but the smell has not gotten better.”
After he brought in several buckets, Fade took off. Tegan appreciated his discretion, since the house didn’t offer much privacy. It might be fine for Deuce to strip off in front of her man, but as for Millie and herself, this was best. Deuce heated the water a little at a time, enough to wash and rinse. Tegan grimaced at how cloudy and scummed the water was by the time they’d finished. Sighing with pleasure, Millie put on clean clothes. While Tegan did the same, Deuce dumped the dirty water onto her kitchen garden.
“Careful you don’t kill your vegetables,” Tegan teased.
“Eh, they’re already growing in dirt.”
This made Millie laugh, but then she clapped both hands over her mouth as if she weren’t sure she was allowed to find the Huntress so entertaining. Tegan encouraged her with a smile. Though these were her comrades, they had to seem larger than life to Millie. She tried to imagine what it would’ve been like to live quietly in Otterburn and then suddenly have the greatest heroes in the free territories show up and pronounce that she’d played a role in saving the human race.
It’s no wonder she’s nervous.
As a distraction and out of real curiosity, she asked, “What was that we used to wash with? It wasn’t the same as what they use in Winterville.”
Soapmaking was a huge undertaking, and half the town turned out to cooperate. They used a mixture of ashes and animal fat with enormous vats for stirring and cooling, and the end result was tan and soft, given out in cups to everyone who participated. But Deuce had shaved what looked like a chip of wood directly into the washing water and then agitated until it turned white with suds. Tegan had never seen anything like it.
“It’s some root that grows around here. You can dig it up in the fall,” Deuce answered.
“And it requires no processing?” After Tegan asked, she read the impatience in her friend’s expression. Yes, I did forget who I was asking. Sorry. If it wasn’t a weapon, Deuce had relatively little interest in
learning more about it. Or at least, that used to be the case.
But she answered anyway, indulging Tegan’s spectrum of curiosity. “No. It’s not easy to find, though, and it grows deep. There’s a man in town who makes his living on searching for it.”
“They had so many things at the market,” Millie put in. “Life must be easier here. In Otterburn, we didn’t make anything that wasn’t useful, and it was like that in Winterville, too.”
She must be talking about the jewelry and scrimshaw. Tegan recalled her own first impression of Rosemere, how she’d marveled at the beautiful bone carving of a fanciful creature that James had told her truly existed. Dolphin. From that day on, she’d longed to see one, just once, leaping in the sea.
“It’s like a dream,” Deuce admitted, cleaning up after their bath. “You can’t imagine how it was down below. The sun scared me half to death when I first came topside with Fade.”
“You truly grew up under the ruins of Gotham?” Millie ventured to ask.
“So they tell me. Our elders told us the above world was all poison and death. We thought being exiled was the same as an execution.”
Tegan considered this, comparing it to her own childhood. Her mother had lived with a small pocket of survivors in what they’d called a university. Teaching her to read while they hid from the gangs and the occasional monster had been the best gift her mom had been able to offer, despite her physical weakness. Tegan couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother fight; she was all bones and eyes and fear. Once, she’d asked about her father and received only sobbing in response and such a look of heartrending grief that she never dared again. She remembered uncles, one so old that he looked like a statue, and aunties as well, but dying came so easy.
By thirteen, she was alone.
And at fourteen, the Wolves found her.
She clenched her teeth against a wave of rage. When Tegan lifted her gaze, she found Deuce watching her with a worried expression, but she couldn’t bring herself to force a smile. Some things were beyond forgiveness, and some evils left only poison at the bottom of the well. She glanced at Millie, relaxed now before the fire.
