Scavenger Girl: Season of Toridia

by Jennifer Arntson

  “No, Una.” He hugged me again. “If I could, I’d never leave my room.” He pecked me on the cheek. Our eyes locked. “Any reason,” he repeated as he stepped back to let my mother say her goodbyes.

  “I’ll see you in a few days, little bird.” She hugged and kissed me. “And you too.” She patted my belly.

  I kept my composure as the guards let the three of them ride through the gate, headed back to camp. Though I was glad Marsh and Trisk stayed, our friends weren’t out of sight before I started missing them. We walked back into the house quietly. There was no reason for any of us to celebrate their departure, although I can’t imagine Trisk or Marsh wouldn’t mind the extra privacy they’d gain with the others gone.

  I decided to keep the information about the mirror to myself. The last thing I needed was Calish being suspicious of every reflective surface in the house. That being said, I would refrain from being nude in front of any of them until I personally verified Nik’s claims. I trusted him; however, he was first and foremost a man. The most intimate moments between Nik and I had involved mirrors, and to satisfy my own feelings of vulnerability, I felt it appropriate to experience it myself.

  * * *

  The servants turned over the beds, preparing them for the next time we had guests. Knowing what it took to clean linens, and having so many of them to launder, I knew they would be preoccupied with the chore all day.

  Not wanting to waste the opportunity to prepare, Marsh helped me pull all the supplies out of the pantry. We sorted them into like items in the front room to see what we had, while Trisk showered upstairs.

  “Where did you get all this stuff?” he asked.

  “Our maids talked to the servants of the other houses. I guess these are things they won’t miss.”

  “Wow. We only had two pots and like six bowls at home.”

  “I know.” I walked into the dining room to fetch some tea. “You thirsty?” I shouted over my shoulder.

  “No, I’m good,” he replied.

  I returned to the parlor, my hands wrapped around the cup. In an hour or so, it would be too hot inside the house to enjoy anything other than tea over ice. “So how many bowls do we have?”

  “I’m counting two hundred fourteen or thereabouts.”

  “Qarla said there’s a hundred and ninety-six mugs, and twenty-one soup pots.” I sat on the overstuffed chair we pushed out of the way.

  “You call them soup pots”—he shook his head—“they look like bathtubs for children.” He sat on the wide arm of my chair.

  “You cannot cook the children, Marsh,” I chastised him playfully. “Do you think we’ll have enough?”

  “Not for everyone, but it’s a start. We’re going to need somewhere to wash the bowls.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “You got any bathing basins?”

  “Every house here has built-in bathtubs.”

  “Huh.” He started to tap his fingers on his knees. “Maybe Calish can come up with something.”

  Trisk came down the stairs. “Oh, hey, guys,” she greeted us. “Look at all of that!”

  “I’m impressed,” Marsh agreed. “She said this is the stuff the neighbors won’t miss; can you believe that?”

  “My parents had all sorts of things they never used,” she admitted. “What do we do now?”

  “We were waiting for you.” Marsh grabbed her and playfully bit her shoulder. The chair we shared was larger than any other I’d ever seen; still, it was not big enough for the three of us. Especially when two of the people were pawing at each other.

  Is this how he felt with me and Calish carrying on? It must have been much worse to see your siblings flirting than what I endured between my brother and my friend.

  “You two do what you want; I’m going to go collect some thistle.” I scooted myself off the chair and headed for the front door. “The house is yours. Just don’t scare the servants with your, um, activities, whatever they may be.”

  “Oh no, you don’t. We stayed here to help.” Marsh scooped up Trisk and carried her to the door, making noises like a wild animal.

  Among other things.

  * * *

  Calish, Hawk, and the servants came and went as they pleased, making it appear easy. Walk to the gate. Someone opens the gate. Leave through the gate. Since I never tried to go outside the community, I hadn’t learned the protocol. As such, this guard had to talk to that guard, who had to consult with yet another person. We stood in the sun for so long, Marsh went back to the house not once but twice to bring me a glass of water. I had a feeling if I left, they would figure I’d given up and not pursue my permission to exit. Therefore, I sat on a stone bench under the watch of some acne-riddled recruit in an oversized uniform determined to keep me safe. All in all, I considered it time well spent. There were a few things we realized we forgot, and during the delay, Marsh had time to add the items to my travel bag. When word finally reached Graken, he left his assignment to investigate. It seemed he found my demand for release important enough to handle personally.

  I stood, but the palm of his hand pushed me back to my seat though he was three paces away. “You can’t leave, Una,” he said as he wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it off to the recruit next to him.

  “Calish said I could, so I can.”

  “He didn’t tell anyone else.” He adjusted his hat. “Those two can go, but not you. You will remain here just like all the other wives.”

  “You cannot force me to stay here!” I stood, trying to make myself tall, although I was still shorter than his shoulder height.

  “You’re right; I can’t force you to stay on this bench. You can go home, or I can arrest you until your husband gets back.” He folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance.

  “This is ridiculous,” Marsh mumbled.

  “What is the rule saying I can’t go outside of the neighborhood?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say we all agree it’s not safe for women to be out there without a security detail,” Graken patronized me.

  “Then assign me one of your men.”

  “Una.” He dropped his arms. “We’re all very busy.”

  “Really? Because you don’t look busy. Nor does he.” I pointed to a guard half asleep under a tree. “Or them.”

  Graken spotted the two guards playing some sort of card game in the shade and grunted.

  Marsh chuckled at my observations, but his humor ended when Graken threatened him with a single glance. I wanted to collect the thistle today, and these stupid rules were not going to keep me from doing it.

  “What do you need to leave for?” Graken sighed.

  “I wanted to get some plants.”

  “Tell me what kind, and I’ll have them collected for you.”

  “I don’t know what they’re called,” I lied.

  Graken spoke slowly with tension dripping from every word. “Then what do they look like?”

  “Green, I think. I’ll know it when I see it,” I said innocently.

  Graken closed his eyes and rubbed the area between his eyebrows. “How long will this take?”

  “Not long.”

  Graken turned to the sleeping guard and yelled, “Frap! Frak! Frett! Ergh, whatever your name is!” The novice shot up straight in his seat, repositioning his hat to its proper position. “I’m going out!”

  The young man rushed to the gate, still blinking hard to get his eyes adjusted to the sunlight.

  “You lead the way, my Lady,” Graken said in his uniquely defeated tone. I picked up my sack, put it over my shoulder, and walked out of the perimeter fence with Marsh, Trisk, and my very willing security detail behind me.

  It had been at least three moon cycles since I’d been outside the Authority neighborhood. Although I’d been watching from the upstairs bedroom, nothing prepared me for what existed off the main road. Not all the neighborhoods were washed away, but the ones remaining were in horrible condition. Many were beyond repair, leaning to one side as i
f ready to collapse at any moment. Looters had busted the glass of nearly every window, and doors were either missing or hung loose on their hinges. A few of the houses burned to the ground, while others somehow still stood. Blackened soot stained siding as if an army of demons escaped from portals somewhere within. Many of the homes had been stripped of their roof tiles, and any structure remaining had been covered in graffiti. I didn’t understand all of what I saw, but what would it be other than symbols, prayers, threats, or vulgarity? The bugs inside echoed their mating calls, creating a sharp and eerie warning against trespassers. Before the destruction, the neighborhood must have been beautiful, inviting even, but not any longer. The walkways were cracked and littered, the trees were damaged old souls stripped of their branches, and a general stench of excrement and filth hung low in the hot air.

  “It’s not safe out here,” Graken whispered in my ear. “Will you just get what you need so I can take you back, please?”

  “What I’m looking for is at the forest’s edge.”

  “Of course, it is,” he mumbled and grabbed my arm to stop me. “I don’t know what this is about, but do you really need this plant?”

  I nodded.

  “Then you need to know, my job is to protect you, not them.”

  Marsh overheard Graken’s intentions and affirmed he and Trisk understood.

  “I need thistle,” I said. “It needs to be tall and fat. The best ones are blooming with a crown of orange flowers. And I’m going to need a lot of them, as many as we can carry.”

  “I’m not carrying weeds,” Graken informed me.

  “Well, I am.” I adjusted the shoulder strap of my sack. “Now you know what we’re after. Do you want me to follow you?”

  “No, just don’t get too far ahead of me,” he instructed, his eyes searching the areas on each side of the road.

  We walked up a small hill, ignoring the beggars and foul comments and insults hurled our way. Changing his mind and opting to lead, Graken took out a telescoping baton to poke at piles or move things from our path. The first time he used it as a weapon, I didn’t expect it. Neither did the Citizen who suffered a merciless blow across the face. Even I recoiled. The punishment for being too close to us made an impression to all who witnessed it. My skin tightened against my muscles as if he’d hit me if I didn’t keep up. Graken’s justice didn’t give warnings, only lashings. If the Citizens didn’t know who we were, my escort made it clear we were privileged. The contrast between their rights and ours could not be denied.

  The three of us were not prepared for the environment we planned to enter alone. There were rules and expectations Graken understood and we had trouble learning. Graken and his baton kept us from harm. Still, his shiny rod wouldn’t protect us from all of them, and I was pretty sure everyone knew it.

  The Citizens watched us the same way I had spied on them as a Scavenger. I spent years watching those with birthrights from the unnoticed corners of the market. Waiting for an opportunity occasionally turned a monotonous day into a profitable one. There were times the interactions between the patrons provided unexpected entertainment…much like guessing who would get whacked by the uniformed man next, I supposed.

  And so they watched.

  We’d made it through to the center of the shanty town when the thistle at the wood’s edge came into view. Graken pointed out the best path to it, and he took my hand. I held on to him tightly as he led me through the campsites and over debris.

  When we reached the weeds, Marsh, Trisk, and I hurried to harvest it. Thistle is a delicate plant covered with thick, unforgiving spikes. Thank goodness that is its only defense mechanism. Its roots tend to be shallow and weak. They could be easily lifted by wedging a stick under its root ball and teasing it free from the dirt. Using force and grabbing it by its trunk causes the plant to snap where you hold it. Breaking it isn’t so bad, but if it pierces the harvester during the fall, the weeping, milky sap will poison the wound quickly. Harvesting the stuff without ever actually touching it is the only way to avoid complication.

  I straightened a large piece of canvas, and Marsh laid the first thistle plant on it using two sticks to carry it.

  Our activity brought more onlookers. Graken paced around our lot, tapping the weapon in the center of his palm. When the first canvas had several stalks on it, I carefully wrapped the sides of it around the plants and tied twine around the packaging to keep it intact for safe transport.

  “Are we done?”

  “Not yet,” I said, laying more material out. Our escort continued his efforts as the number of people standing out of his reach increased. We filled the canvas more quickly once Trisk became competent in handling the plants. She removed the thistle from the dirt nearly as fast as either of us but had a hard time carrying it to the canvas for transport, so I took it for her.

  A boy pushed himself through the crowd. “What are you doing?”

  “Step back!” Graken warned, preparing his strike.

  “It’s all right.” I put my hand out to stop him. Graken moved forward, but I wedged myself between him and his target. “He’s just asking the question of every person here.” I turned to the boy. “I’m gathering some thistle for my goats,” I lied.

  “Can I help?”

  “I have nothing to trade.”

  “I don’t care.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his head.

  “Una,” Graken warned.

  “I think we’ve got it. But thank you anyway.”

  The boy’s eyes were hollow, and his cheeks sunken. “Who are you, miss?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “You must be important if you have a guard.”

  My heart ached. I wasn’t anything special, at least there was a time I wasn’t. Marsh tied up the fourth bundle of thistle then snapped his fingers to get my attention. I’d brought many more canvas scraps, but with one look, he communicated it was time for us to leave. If he felt uncomfortable with the situation, I certainly should be, too. I stammered, trying to answer the boy’s question, finally apologizing that we had to go. In the shade, beyond the standing thistle, a great shadow moved. My eyes, unable to focus on the darkened area because of the brightness of where I stood, saw a dozen, maybe more, figures take shape.

  Marsh lifted the bundles, but one of them fell apart due to poor ties. I turned to help my brother as he dropped the other three to fix the problem. He suffered a few scratches from the collapse, but he’d bounce back. With all the thistle work we’d done in the past, he’d survived worse. Losing a quarter of what we’d collected worried me more. I reached for my harvesting sticks, but the boy, eager to please, grabbed several of the stalks to assist in the bundle’s repair.

  “Ouch!” He pulled back, revealing prick marks in the center of his hands and barbs protruding out of his forearms. Blood flowed and covered his palms. He handled them with considerable strength to bleed so quickly.

  “Oh, dear.” I rushed to him, moving his hands upward and above his heart. “Don’t move.”

  Marsh rewrapped the bundle as I searched through my bag for the tweezers and water I brought just in case something like this happened.

  “Let’s go,” Graken ordered.

  Branches cracked in the woods. The figures obscured by the shade took shape, and behind them, another row became visible.

  “Not yet,” I shouted, and I plucked thistle thorns from the boy’s hands.

  “No, Una, now.” Graken lifted me up by my arm.

  “If we leave now, I’m bringing him with me,” I threatened.

  “He’s not my assignment, you are.” He yanked me.

  “Come with me,” I ordered the boy, but he stood frozen. “Follow me, and I’ll help you,” I said, pulling against Graken’s inescapable grip.

  Marsh held the bundles, while Trisk removed a spear gun from her pocket, loaded it, and put it in Marsh’s mouth. He pinched it between his teeth, retreating from the presence gathering beyond. Trisk readied her arrow and pointed it towar
d the wood’s edge as the first row stepped into the sunlight, knocking down the thistle with their boots to approach us. A third row appeared behind the second. They crushed the remaining plants, successfully clearing a path straight to the place we had been standing a moment ago.

  The boy scurried away from the threat, deciding to take his chances with us rather than stay behind. He tripped and fell but recovered quickly. Graken walked so fast, the boy had to run to keep up. The boy ran over the refuse in bare feet. Tears bigger than I’d ever seen trailed down his dirty face. His hands, still turned upward, had bled so badly, his forearms were a dark crimson color. Crying from the pain, and presumably fear, he struggled to keep up. He used the torn sleeves of his ragged shirt to wipe the emotion and dust from his eyes as he continued to follow us. Still, he fell behind.

  “Graken, slow down,” I demanded, but he ignored me. “You’re doing good,” I shouted to the boy. “Don’t give up. Keep coming,” I encouraged. Once we were a good distance from the threat, Marsh balanced the bundles of thistle on his shoulder with one hand and picked the boy up with his other. The boy dangled under my brother’s arm like the naughty goats would when Marsh had to carry them back to their pen. With his spear gun still clenched between his teeth, he pushed through the pain of the bundle’s barbs slipping through the stiff weave of the canvas.

  I think we all breathed a sigh of relief when we saw the Authority neighborhood come into view. My feet slowed, but Graken’s anger wouldn’t allow it. “Keep going.” He shoved me forward.

  “All right! Just let me take the bundles from Marsh.”

  Trisk threaded her upper body through her bow, letting it lay comfortably across her torso before taking a bundle. I took one and guilted Graken to carry the third. Marsh had obvious thorn marks raked across his neck, and from the bloodstains presenting on his shirt, his shoulder did too. Once free of the harvest, Marsh repositioned the boy and carried him less like an animal and more like the way a father would cradle his sleeping child.

  I tried to thank Graken for his help when we reached home, but he threw the bundle I forced him to carry at my feet before slamming the gate closed between us. Convinced I would hear about my poor judgment later, I dropped my load and ran to open the door to the house for Marsh. As I rushed past Graken, he sneered at a group of guards sitting in the shade watching us. “Don’t be lazy! Bring the ladies their things!”