by Ann Aguirre
“Raiders.” Khamish practically spat the word.
That confirmed Tegan’s suspicions. “But one mast is gone and there’s a crack, so it’ll probably need to be pulled out of the water for proper repairs.”
“I know just the fellow.”
“Nobody’s been bailing for a while,” she added. “You’ll need to be quick to salvage it.”
Without further conversation, Khamish hurried out.
It took quite a while to fill the tub in the proper bathing room. Tegan had never seen anything quite like it, at least not intact. There had been bits and pieces in the ruins, where she guessed at how something might work, but this tub was actually part of the room. She and Szarok took turns washing up, though she had to be careful with her bandage. Before she’d left, Khamish hadn’t seemed to think anything about Szarok scrubbing her down, and Tegan preferred his touch to that of a kindly stranger.
She borrowed a comb, and he spent a long time working out the tangles. Sometimes it hurt, but he was gentle and patient. It had been so long since anyone had taken care of her. In Salvation, the Tuttles were kind, of course, but she didn’t get to stay with them long, and life had taught her that farewells came just as she started feeling safe and loved.
Better not to let myself feel much of anything.
But she couldn’t do that with him. Szarok had so much of her that it would be terrifying if she dwelled on it. Tegan closed her eyes, half dozing as he fiddled with her hair.
“How do you even know how to do that?” she asked.
“You’re not the only one who enjoys learning.” He’d teased her so before.
“Not funny.” But she was smiling.
“Grooming is how all animals show that they’re kin,” he said then.
She considered the implications of that, and then the question came naturally. He’d said if she wondered, to ask. “Without hair, how do the Uroch—”
“Demonstrate that kinship?”
“Yes.”
“Our skin requires tending. It’s a great kindness to rub oil on a kinsman.”
Tegan’s heart dropped when she realized she had never done that for him. I didn’t know I was supposed to. But that didn’t change the fact that he had been deprived of something that would make him feel more at home. So she levered to her feet, despite the shriek from her shoulder, and went to the bathing room, where such things were likely to be. After some searching, Tegan found a tin of herb-scented oil. It might be meant for rubbing into sore muscles, but it should suffice.
“Give me your hands.”
In answer to his inquiring look, she poured a little oil in her palms and rubbed them together to warm it. Then she took his left hand and smoothed with her thumbs. He stared at her with a strange, avid expression the entire time she massaged his palms and fingers, neatly avoiding the claws, and then working her way up his arm, each in turn.
Finally she got nervous and blurted, “Is something wrong?”
“No. It’s just … it feels different when you do it. We use our palms and the heels of our hands. You’re using your fingertips.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. It’s ours, but you’ve made it yours, too. Just like me.”
With slippery fingers, she touched his cheek, and his eyes shimmered in that look. Just as he leaned down, the door banged open in a chilly breeze.
“That’s handled. For now we best fire up a scoff and have a yarn.”
Trying to hide her disappointment, Tegan smiled at Khamish, not entirely understanding the local dialect, but when the older woman started cooking, the meaning became clear. For the first time in forever, Tegan devoured a full meal of fry bread, poached fish, boiled greens, along with fruit and cheese to finish it off. She also drank two glasses of something strong, then her head went muzzy and she couldn’t stop laughing.
She heard Khamish say, “Not much of a drinker, yer love. Get some rest.”
Then she floated for a time, and a door closed behind them. Szarok laid her down with gentle hands, but she wouldn’t let him go. She fisted her hands in his shirt until he whispered, “I’m not leaving. Just let me get ready.”
Those words meant nothing, and she complained in a low mumble until he got into bed. His bare skin was deliciously hot, and she curled into him, half floating in a memory of their time on the isle. Warm breath stirred her hair.
“What am I to do with you?”
“Don’t know for sure. Have some ideas.”
“I wasn’t really looking for an answer, my treasure.” Soft growls of laughter spilled into her hair, making her smile in reflex, even with her eyes closed.
“I have a question.”
“As I said before, ask.”
“I know you remember … how the old ones considered us food. So I’m wondering, and I probably would never say anything if I wasn’t a little, a little…” She waved her hand in a too-big-for-bed gesture and smacked him on the cheek.
Szarok took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm, then tucked it safely against his chest. A little trill of pleasure rippled through her at that, and also when he sifted through her hair with his claws, dragging with just enough pressure to make her tingle.
“Jug-bit is what Millie calls it,” he said.
“Yes. That.”
“So you’re wondering…?”
“If I make you hungry.” That was a blob of a question, floundering between them like some hideous sea monster.
He inhaled sharply, his hand stilling in her hair. “I wonder if you’ll even recall asking.”
“Who knows?”
“It doesn’t matter. If I’m honest … yes. At first. Because the old ones found your folk meaty and delicious. So I have that echo. But now that we’ve Awakened, we understand it’s wrong to eat things that can … communicate.”
That answer roused her from the dreamy stupor that the liquor had left behind. Probably she should be terrified, unnerved over letting him wet his claws with her blood. But she was only faintly dizzy, sore, and … curious. Gently, Tegan traced the lines of his face in the dark, her fingertip gliding over sharp cheekbones and the line of his jaw, formed to accommodate a different sort of teeth.
“And now?”
“You make me hungry in an entirely different way,” he whispered. “And that … is difficult. My people would say I’ve studied your kind too much in becoming the vanguard, lost some of what makes me Uroch.”
“I’m sorry.” Probably she should move away, but she’d just found the best position for her wound and—
I don’t want to. He can go if he must. I won’t.
His touch heated, and a flood of memories washed over her. At first she didn’t understand what she was seeing, because it was her own face, again and again, at first awful and repugnant, and then later tinged with a warmth of affection that became beauty. These are his memories, she realized. This is how he sees me. When that profound gift ceased, she was crying and she couldn’t stop.
“It’s nothing that needs an apology. Though others may not understand, I have chosen you. And you said today, in one ridiculous leap, ‘Beloved, I would die for you.’ So each time my heart beats and yours answers, our song is complete.”
I Am Here
Peckinpaugh was a revelation.
It was the largest settlement Tegan had ever set foot in. As her wound healed, she and Szarok explored what the place had to offer. In the mornings, she saw patients while Khamish took care of town business. While she wasn’t anything so official as a mayor, governor, or chief, citizens looked to her to settle disputes and for good advice.
“I reckon it’s because I’m oldest,” Khamish said when Tegan asked at the breakfast the next day. “And before you ask, no. I’m not telling.”
“All right. Before, you said the Catalina passed through…?”
“I did.”
“Were they well?” Tegan wondered how Millie and James were doing, now that she had some mental energy to spare. Maybe it made he
r a bad person, but before, she could only focus on their immediate survival.
“So far’s I know. They came late and didn’t bide long. Should be in Baybridge by now, if they didn’t run into trouble.”
“I wish I’d completed the season with her, like I promised.”
“Advika won’t blame you. There’s always another run. Until there isn’t.” Khamish smiled over a plate of fry bread and then wiped her mouth. “Ya know the deal by now. If anybody comes, treat ’em.”
“Got it,” Tegan said.
In silence, Szarok helped her clean up the kitchen. Clearly something was troubling him, as he hadn’t spoken a word yet today, just nods and subverbal sounds of acknowledgment that she understood from her Uroch lessons but only confused Khamish. She let it go until they finished the household work.
“What’s wrong?”
He only shook his head. “Let me change your bandage.”
While she considered arguing, it would serve no purpose. He’d talk when he was ready and not a moment before. But she definitely registered that he had a burden he was currently shouldering alone. He’d gone out by himself a couple of times while she was seeing patients, so maybe something had happened?
No point in guessing.
Tegan sat down and let him tend to her, asking fact-finding questions. “Is there any heat? Red streaks? Has it sealed properly?”
Szarok described what he saw and she nodded in satisfaction. “You did good work. It’s healing just fine. When I can move my arm without so much pain, I’ll start training the muscles to get back some range of motion.”
As he finished wrapping the fresh cloth, someone knocked on the cottage door. She went to answer and Szarok hid, as usual. A young mother brought her baby girl in. When Tegan offered a smile, the other girl just stared. Tegan touched her face and then her hair, wondering if the braids had come undone.
“Is something the matter?”
“Ya are so young. I heard a proper doctor had come from away, but ya…” She didn’t seem convinced Tegan could know much of anything.
“I’ve apprenticed with two different doctors,” Tegan said quietly. “But it’s up to you if you want me to examine your little one, or if you’d rather wait for Khamish.”
As if on cue, the child let out a fretful wail. “She won’t eat a bite, and just cries.”
“Let me wash up and then I’ll have a look.”
After a thorough check, Tegan could report, “It’s nothing serious. A touch of fever, probably brought on by teething. Soak a rag in this and let her chew on it. Give her this at bedtime. Once the tooth pops up, you’ll both get some rest. Feel where it’s pressing, here?” The baby clamped down on her finger and seemed like she meant to gum it off.
“S’what my ma said, but I was some worried.”
“You wanted confirmation. What seems like a bit of nothing can turn terrifying so quick, especially when they’re small.”
Or old. How well I know it.
“Thank ya. My ma’s the weaver hereabouts, so I brought some cloth. Is it enough?”
“Of course,” she said automatically.
And then she saw how much, but the girl had already bundled up her baby and was heading out the door. Since arriving in Peckinpaugh, the weather had been more shade, then sun with wintry clouds hovering and frosty winds cutting through her ragged clothes. Tegan wished she had something fine and warm left from her foster mother’s sewing kit, but those had been ruined long ago, with so much bloody wear.
“What will you do with that?” Szarok stepped out of the room they slept in, seeming as if he’d resolved some internal conflict.
Good. Maybe he’ll share it soon.
Lifting the dark fabric, she unfolded it to show him. “There’s enough to make me a jacket and you a new cloak.”
“You know how?” he asked.
“Don’t look so surprised. The mattress I made on the island would’ve been nicer if I’d had better supplies. My foster mother thought I should be able to put stitches in a shirt as well as people. I never got to her level, but I’m … competent.”
That might be stretching it, but she had made clothing. Khamish had a sewing box with good needles and plenty of thread. Tegan would have to find a way to pay for what she used, along with their food and lodging. But so far the other woman wouldn’t talk about recompense.
Trying to remember how Ma Tuttle had done it, she measured Szarok and wrote his numbers down; then she draped the thick brown fabric and checked her work. Before she could mark or cut, another patient came. This time Szarok only went into the kitchen. She saw two more people, elderly sisters, one with a persistent cough that might turn for the worse and the other with a wrenched arm from carrying things she shouldn’t. They listened to her advice with great care and then paid her with a tin of sweet bread. She opened it immediately and crammed a slice into her mouth. Her eyes closed as the honey burst on her tongue.
“This is what you were born to do.”
“Eat cake? How lucky I am.” Licking her thumb, she grinned at him around a mouthful of deliciousness. “I’m untrained but willing to make this my life’s work.”
“Not precisely what I meant.”
“Doctoring, then, you think?”
“I know. People come with heavy hearts and you lift them. Even if they’re sick, they feel better after just talking to you.”
Since she’d promised they all belonged to him, she offered a simple truth. “It’s much easier to care a little for lots of people than to care greatly for one.”
“Yes,” he said.
From that simple word, Tegan knew he understood. A weight lifted and she went to him, wanting the kiss she had been denied days ago. She pressed into him until his heat became hers. He brought her closer still with the odd near embrace of his claws curved over her shoulders. For a long moment his gleaming gaze lingered on her upturned face, so intense that she shivered. Smiling, Tegan looped her arm around his neck. He was used to it and no longer recoiled; instead she got a nuzzle, cheek to cheek, cheek to throat.
She luxuriated in his closeness. “Scent-marking is nice. But so is breath-marking.”
“Are you asking?”
“Do I have to?”
“Never,” he whispered.
His lips met hers softly. As if it was a private ritual, he always kissed as she’d taught him that first time, first by playing, then sucking, and finally deepening with teases of tongue. He made a savoring sound in his throat, and he licked the sweetness from her lips.
“I didn’t know you liked cake.”
“Only when you eat it.”
A hot flush blazed in her cheeks, and she hid her face against his shoulder. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Even when they’re true?”
She mumbled an incomprehensible reply.
Szarok rested his cheek on the top of her head, slowly rubbing back and forth. “You smell of flowers. I will miss this.”
At first the words seemed too impossible to make sense, and then she realized. He’s only saying that because—
“You’re leaving,” she guessed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. I found a ship heading to Antecost. It is the last before winter sets in.”
Tegan closed her eyes. I promised never to ask him to choose.
“I’m so glad you can get back before the big ice, as they say up this way.”
That’s the right tone. People always leave. They go or they die. It’s all the same.
I can bear this. I can.
Somehow the bullet hole in her shoulder didn’t hurt as much anymore, compared to the white-hot blaze incinerating her heart. She couldn’t meet his gaze, so she resisted when he tried to peel her cheek away from his chest. I’m not crying.
“Tegan…” The way he said her name—it was all heartbreak and longing.
Resolutely, she willed the tears away, until they only tightened the back of her throat. She couldn�
��t dig deep enough for a smile. “This is no surprise. You were never meant to stay with me. So I’m telling you, go in good heart tomorrow. Finish your work. Save your people.”
“I wanted to stay until you healed, but—”
“There’s no need. I’m fine. And you can’t miss the last boat bound for Antecost.”
“I’ve decided,” he said gravely. “The lands there are plentiful. We can build without asking, and if the closest settlements choose not to trade with us, we will survive. I have learned a great deal on this journey, many things that will be useful.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “Y-you know how much I enjoy learning.”
“Yes. But there is one thing I don’t know … and cannot figure out, no matter how hard I puzzle over it.”
She swallowed, staring at his chin. “What’s that?”
“How I am to leave you. How I sail away without you. But those are basic questions. The more difficult ones are impossible.”
“Like what?”
“How do I sleep without you next to me? How do I begin a new day if you are not there to say”—he growled wake and rise in Uroch—“so badly that it makes me smile? When I imagine the day that I no longer smell of you, I hurt so much that I might die.”
“You’re making it really tough for me to be strong,” she got out.
“I don’t think you ever promised me that. You promised me truth.”
With a muffled sob, Tegan wrapped her good arm around him. “Would that make it better? If I said that being separated from you is worse than being shot?”
“Yes.”
“I could…” This was impossible, but she had to offer. Otherwise she’d always regret not being brave enough. “Come with you?”
His heart leapt beneath her ear; she listened to the pounding rhythm for a while. His silence didn’t hint at anything good.
Finally he said, “I wish you could. But my people won’t understand. And I have … obligations. I will try to explain … us, but it would be dangerous for you to accompany me. They may see you as a corrupting influence or an obstacle to be removed.”
“That makes sense.” Her breath hitched as if she’d actually cried instead of swallowing all those tears. “If I’d have to leave you in Port-Mer anyway, I should stay here. I’ll heal better with Khamish than on a ship.”
