by Ann Aguirre
“Clever healer,” he said.
“Just practical.”
Whatever else he might have said, another patient interrupted. There was a steady stream for the rest of the morning, so Tegan pulled herself together. In truth, the distraction helped her. Focusing on work meant she couldn’t count down the hours, so the afternoon arrived in a flurry of snow before she realized where the time had gone. Szarok vanished, likely talking to the captain about his passage.
When Khamish returned at suppertime, Tegan had the meal ready. They ate without him, discussing the people she’d treated. “Some just wanted a gawp at ya. Made a good impression.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Where’s ya man at?”
“Not sure. He’ll be along later.”
Tegan worked feverishly on Szarok’s cloak, since it had to be ready by morning. She pricked her fingers more than once, and the stitches were definitely not pretty. But before Khamish set aside her knitting for the night, she had his mantle finished. Well, near enough to serve. Tegan held it up and Khamish inspected it.
“Not bad. Should be warm, at least. I’m after some rest,” the older woman said.
Though Tegan considered making an excuse to stay up later, waiting up wasted lamp oil and candle wax, so she left the sitting room as Khamish snuffed the flames. After washing her face, she climbed into bed alone, wondering if he was already on the ship, waiting to sail with the tide.
I’ll never forgive him if he just goes, even if it’s easier.
But as the night lengthened, Szarok slipped into the house. Tegan recognized his footfalls and the sharp coppery scent that meant he’d been hunting. He paused in the doorway without speaking. Since she said nothing, he turned and went, presumably, to rinse off. When he returned, he smelled of cool water and soap. Tegan pushed back the covers, resolved not to spend their last night away from him.
“Come to bed,” she whispered.
It’s the last time I’ll say that.
Her heart clenched, but she still opened her arms to him. With only a brief hesitation, he came to her, so chill that his skin almost burned. “Sorry. The captain said I should provide my own meat, so I—”
“I know. Thank you for coming home.”
One last time. It didn’t matter that this was a borrowed room in a house belonging to a woman they’d only just met. The word still applied as long as they were together.
“That’s the easy part.”
“I know that, too.”
She stroked his head, the soft skin behind his ear, and he nestled into her, shaking, but not entirely with cold. More than ever before, he touched her, too, firmly with his palms and delicately with his claws, as if he meant to memorize every curve and hollow. Tegan didn’t suspect he had any hidden motive, but in time, that stroking made her squirm. Her breath came in little gasps, and he drank them down with his mouth, cool at first, and then warmed with friction, and finally hot as he rubbed it over her throat. Not kissing, not quite, but … stirring. He moved, and she did, and suddenly it went irresistible. Normally he stopped, but … tonight he didn’t. Somewhere in the midst, a powerful feeling swept her and she cried into his shoulder.
“I have no words,” he said.
“Me either.”
In a frenzy of touching, they’d learned something without quite understanding it, and she wished with all her might that she had another night and another to figure out if that could be repeated. But there was only this night, this time, this moment. Tegan moved toward him, careful of her shoulder, and curved against him.
When he is gone—
No.
But her mouth wouldn’t cooperate with her will; it spoke soft words, desperate ones. “I don’t know what to do without you.”
“Whatever you did before,” he said.
“As if it’s so simple.”
Wish, hope, dream.
Study.
Yes, that was the answer. Books would save her again, as they had before. Perhaps she could learn more from Khamish and offer what she’d mastered as well. Trading knowledge seemed like the best possible cure for this awful, endless ache. She pictured all the people she could help, and it eased a little.
Szarok put a palm over her heart and took hers to cover his in turn. “You feel this? Ours is not a wordless song. If you listen, what do they say?”
I … am … here. Feeling ridiculous, she whispered the answer.
“Yes, my treasure. Listen when you miss me and know this is always true.”
“I will. I promise. Your cloak is done. It’s waiting in the other room.”
“I’ll wear it well.” He kissed her one last time, touched her cheek gently. “Then … let’s say farewell here. I cannot endure your sad face staring at me from the shore. I might swim back to you.”
“Yes,” she said.
He rewarded her with a kiss, deep and long and tasting of bittersweet. She didn’t realize he’d kissed away her tears, but he must have. She licked the salt from his lips, and then marked him with her cheek. Face, throat, shoulder. No matter where you are, you will always be mine. Yes? But she couldn’t bear to hear any other answer, so she hid the question deep in her heart.
It’s getting light outside.
Tegan listened to the roar of her pulse in her ears, this grief overshadowing every loss, every parting, until she must surely crumple beneath that weight. And she counted the impossibility of it, even in her own heartbeat, now thumping a different song:
I can’t.
I can’t.
I can’t.
On the fourth beat, her heart said:
I must.
And she let him go.
The Vanguard’s Burden
Szarok sailed with the dawn tide.
He did so with an ache that blazed stronger as the crew put him to work as the lowliest among them. They didn’t treat him as less than human, however, so that was something. At the end of a long day, he lay below, sick with the rocking of the ship and missing her. His days looped in quiet anguish. Until now he hadn’t realized that silence could feel like screaming.
Though the days were long and cold, there were no threatening sea creatures, only boundless waves and inclement weather. He ate the meat he’d hunted outside Peckinpaugh, and counted himself lucky it was cold enough to keep it fresh. As it had been before Tegan, he hid his habits and spoke to no one, apart from the necessities.
The farther south they sailed, the easier their progress. Fair winds filled the sails, and they reached Antecost half a day ahead of schedule. The snow hadn’t settled here yet, and he wondered how it was in Peckinpaugh. To finish his term of service, he helped unload the vessel, torn between a desperate desire to return to her and a wild anxiety that something dreadful might have happened in Appleton while he was away.
Hunting was already scarce.
It would be difficult to convince his people to travel such a long way on multiple boats. Before it will be feasible, I must teach them to swim. That seemed like an impossible task, and it hurt all over again. Those lessons with her shone in his memory with a terrible radiance, immutable by time or distance. A small part of him wished that they hadn’t escaped the island—that a ship had never come—and then he couldn’t be blamed or held responsible.
“You’re alive!”
Startled, Szarok turned and came face-to-face with the village chief. If anyone had ever introduced them, he couldn’t recall the man’s name, but his voluminous facial hair made him instantly recognizable. He offered a wary half bow, as the last time Szarok had been in Port-Mer, they’d wanted to hang him. Yet this was the only route he’d found open to the south, and he had no idea how he’d get to Rosemere from here. Once he reached the Evergreen Isle, he trusted a boatman would ferry him across, no matter when he arrived, as the river never seemed to freeze.
“I’m so grateful to see you hale and whole,” the man was saying.
“What?” That was nothing like he expected.
&nb
sp; “We owe you an abject apology.” Then the chief explained how the Catalina had returned to port with the men responsible for Malena’s death and that he’d felt guilty ever since. “I hope you’ll allow us to host a feast in your honor as a means to make amends.”
“It’s a kind thought,” he said, “but there’s no time.”
The village chief tilted his head, a sympathetic light in his eyes despite the furrowed brow. “You have urgent matters pressing?”
While he suspected it wouldn’t do any good to share his troubles with this human, Szarok decided it would do no harm, either. So he summarized his people’s plight in Appleton and concluded with, “If you would truly aid me, I’d ask for a boat to carry me as far as Rosemere. I can make my own way from there.”
“And what then?” the chief asked. “No, sir. This is no talk for the docks. We’ll have you on a boat in the morning, if that’s your choice, but you’ll be my guest tonight.”
“I will?”
Somewhat astounded, he followed the chief through town, receiving nods and bows from villagers who seemed genuinely remorseful. The man stopped outside a large house, nearly double in height compared to the rest around it. Before he could follow the chief inside, a woman tapped his shoulder to draw his attention.
“Yes?”
She was an older woman with lines bracketing her mouth, her gray-streaked hair bundled at the back of her head. Human faces no longer troubled him, but sometimes he found it tough to tell them apart by looking at them. Their scents usually told a more interesting story. This female, for instance, had been baking up until recently. A yeasty smell wafted from her clothes in bright puffs, and she’d eaten fish for breakfast.
She rubbed her fingers together in a gesture unfamiliar to him. “I’m told the men who murdered my Malena tried to kill you as well.”
“Yes.” There seemed no point in elaboration since she already knew the gist of the story.
“I’m glad they didn’t succeed. If you’ll wait here a moment, I’d like to give you some fresh bread. My husband was part of the mob that … well. I’m just sorry, that’s all.”
Without waiting for a reply, she rushed off. Szarok didn’t know if he should stand right there or go inside. Would the woman knock if she didn’t find him? While he debated, the chief came out to see what was keeping him.
“Any trouble, sir?”
The formal address stunned him. While he’d heard it used for people of importance, he’d never been accorded that respect, even when they knew he came as the vanguard, the official ambassador for his people. “I … no. But there may be a visitor for me presently.”
“Not a problem. My wife will see to it. I don’t think we’ve met properly. I’m Byron Littleberry. You’ll meet Carys when she brings refreshments.”
Port-Mer hadn’t struck him as especially hospitable last time. The shift made him nervous, but he didn’t smell any signs of trouble. No fear sweat, no acrid tinge that suggested cloaked intentions. So he sat down gingerly on a padded chair and took in the paintings on the wall and the touches of nature in the dried flowers and herb bundles.
“Now then. As I understand it, you’re looking for a place to settle?”
“Yes, sir.” It seemed polite to reciprocate the respect he’d been given.
“Please, no. Littleberry is fine. Only my mother called me Byron, and she’s been gone for twenty years.”
The Uroch had less of a sense of time than humans, though he understood the concept. The People lived until they died, and that was that. But he wasn’t sure what he should say in response, so he only nodded. He had been with Tegan too long, perhaps, because he’d grown used to her clarity. She never left him in any doubt of what she thought or felt. By contrast, other humans seemed even stranger.
“Littleberry, then,” he said, as the man seemed to be waiting for … something.
“Excellent. Well, Antecost is much bigger than Rosemere. Better game, too. And … unlike Governor Morrow, we realize we don’t own this land.”
“So all that forest…?”
“There aren’t a lot of us, scattered among the villages. There’re far more deer and salmon than we could ever eat. Trout and moose, too. So if you’re looking for a home, Antecost will have you gladly. Tell us how many ships you need, and we’ll send them for your people.”
He couldn’t speak. This offer seemed like a miracle, something so generous and good, that it must be a trap. But he couldn’t smell one. Finally he got out, “Why?”
“We’re told you fought for Malena. You confronted the men who hurt her, just like she was one of yours. And such valor for a girl whose people treated you like we did? It shames me. If we don’t make it right, my heart will never be at ease.”
That isn’t why, he wanted to say. But he barely remembered how that argument had gone, as they’d enraged him by threatening his healer. In the end, he had pronounced their guilt and been thrown at watery death as a result. Is it wrong to accept this gratitude?
“Since they hurt her, they would have harmed others,” he said. “It had to be done.”
Littleberry nodded. “If that’s representative of how your people think, we’ll be better for having you among us.”
Such a small matter to hang our fates on. Like Millie Faraday’s kindness. The People will honor Malena hereafter. He would see to it.
“Are you sure there won’t be … problems?”
He shook his head. “I know we treated you poorly, but the word’s spread like wildfire. To be honest, it feels like a heaven-sent chance to have you in port again. We’d only heard stories before, you see, and we let them poison our minds.”
It was easy to imagine what travelers had said, given the atrocities that lingered in his mind and … occasionally tempted him. “Then I accept with great appreciation.”
“Seal the deal?” Littleberry offered a handshake, and Szarok made a rare exception, not wanting to insult his benefactor.
A round woman with white hair and amber skin carried a tray into the room then. “Hello, I’m Carys. My, what big eyes you have.” She gave a nervous laugh when her husband nudged her. “Sorry, just a little joke.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Oh, it’s just a little thing from one of our books. I could—”
“No need,” Littleberry cut in. “Thank you, dear. We have no time for children’s stories.”
Szarok avoided the sweet cakes and buns with seeds and dry fruit in them, though he did have some tea. Most human food barely qualified as such. If he ate too much of it, over time it left him dizzy and sick. But Littleberry didn’t appear to notice his caution.
“Well, then. I’ll just give you this parcel. It’s from Malena’s mother.”
He understood that it was rude to refuse gifts, so he accepted the bundle of bread. “Thank her for me.”
“Certainly. His manners are lovely,” she added to her man in the softest whisper, probably thinking he couldn’t hear.
That’s some progress. Last time they called me “it.”
“We’ll speak later,” the chief said.
With a final smile, she went out. The smell of her anxious interest lingered, but at least she didn’t reek of fear. This would be a good place to build, more welcoming than the lands farther north. Easier to travel here as well.
“To answer you…” Szarok told the human about Appleton, the lack of resources and their inability to make good use of old-world salvage. He closed by estimating how many Uroch would be moving.
“So … ten ships, most like. It’ll be cramped, even then. If you can get to the southern tip of the Evergreen Isle, that would be some help.”
“The governor may not be pleased if we—”
“Let him complain. It’ll be a day or two at most. I’ll take responsibility if he argues.”
“You’re willing to take our side?” Szarok said, startled.
Littleberry nodded, his mustache bobbing in emphasis. “Our side. Exactly right.
You’re of Port-Mer now, and we’ll look after you like our own.”
“What about the other villages?”
“Those who have settled the cragged coast don’t associate much with outsiders anyway. If they chose a spot where ships can’t come in, there’s a reason for it. But they don’t bother us, and I’ll ensure they don’t make trouble for you and yours.”
“Thank you,” he said. “While I can get my people to the river, the isle may be difficult. It was hard enough to get our bravest warriors on the rafts, let alone—”
“I’ll let the captains know. Mainland side of the river it is. That impacts the boats that can safely traverse the waters, but let me worry about that. When do you plan to move?” Littleberry seemed to understand his difficulties.
The deepest, coldest part of the year lay before them. After some thought, he answered, “We can last one more season with our stores. Spring will be better.”
“Best not to rush,” Littleberry agreed. “The weather will make the journey kinder on your folk, too. I’ll send your boats by the first day of spring, you have my word.”
I have much to teach them when I return.
The People had not done well in the cold, but since Awakening, their tolerance had increased. We must improve our hunting and learn to do better dressed in other skins. But such small adaptations shouldn’t prove impossible, considering the odds they’d already overcome.
“I look forward to it,” he said.
That night they feasted him as promised and there was plenty of meat. It was no hardship to eat it grilled or roasted. The Uroch had experimented with fire after they worked out how to keep the flame alive, but in the end his people decided it served better for offense than cooking, as meat tasted delicious as it was. There weren’t many guests, but they all treated him with great courtesy, even if some shivered in his presence.
And in the morning he got on a boat where he did not need to work for his passage. Instead the sailors saluted him with two fingers and bobbed their heads when he went by. He handed the packet of bread to the captain, who had undertaken this trip so late in the year as a special favor to Littleberry. The woman smelled the gift and then beamed.
