Scavenger Girl: Season of Toridia

by Jennifer Arntson

  Trisk let hers fall, shaking her arm to work out the tension as the men jumped to follow his orders.

  My brother carried the boy to the couch. The boy lay limp where Marsh set him.

  “He’s in shock.” Trisk cleared the sweat from her brow. “We need to keep him warm.”

  “It’s Toridia. Isn’t it hot enough?” Marsh scoffed.

  “No.” She snatched a decorative quilt off the wall and draped it over his body, careful not to disturb the festering wounds on his hands.

  Thistle stings bit so hard and the poison created a fire so hot, the body couldn’t fight it for long. With all the barbs in his hands, he teetered on the edge of consciousness. The best time to treat wounds was when a person stopped fighting, or so I’d been told. But our family had a Healer, so what did I know?

  Marsh winced as he stood over us, admitting his injuries were worse than we thought. I didn’t need to ask him; we both knew this boy needed help more than he did.

  I knelt beside the boy. “I’m going to take care of your hands. I’m afraid it’s not going to be comfortable,” I warned. He nodded his head as new tears rolled down his dirty little cheeks onto the pristine furniture.

  Chapter 12

  Wild thistle are horrible plants. While the sap of the plant is life-sustaining, the dried and crushed pulp powder is pure poison. A single Nobu dart dipped in the concentrate can kill a beast larger than Marsh. If a thorn breaks under the skin but is immediately removed, it feels much like a mud-wasp sting. Unlike an insect sting, the longer the sliver remains, the more it swells. Within the first few minutes, it will develop barb-like hooks, making it increasingly difficult to remove. Given its life-saving nutrients, it only makes sense that thistle has an equally impressive defense system to protect itself.

  Wishing my mother hadn’t left earlier in the day, I did the only thing I knew to do: get rid of the barbs, wash out the affected area, and wrap it to keep it clean. I tended to the boy, who said his name was Alux, while Trisk cared for Marsh. Alux impressed me with his ability to hold still. His whimpers were heart-wrenching, yet giving him a break would only lead to greater suffering in the long run. Marsh’s wounds were superficial and far less serious. He talked Alux through the ordeal to distract him as I pulled the barbs one at a time. Knowing more about natural medicine than I thought, my brother brought a small bowl of warmed milk and honey as I removed the last of the thorns from the kid’s right hand.

  “This should help a little,” he said, moving the boy’s hand into the solution to soak. The creamy mixture turned from white to pink. When his other hand was free of the thistle, Marsh brought a freshly steamed bowl. Alux quickly submerged his hand into it and dropped his head back on the arm of the couch. With a towel ready to dry the first hand, I handed the contaminated liquid to Trisk.

  Alux sat up, his sad eyes fixed on the bowl as it left my hands. “What are you going to do with that?”

  Trisk said, “I’m going to throw it out.”

  “Can I have it?” He licked his lip tentatively as he shifted his weight under him.

  I steadied the bowl under his other hand to keep it from spilling. “Why would you want to keep—”

  “To drink,” he begged.

  “That’ll make you sick, kiddo,” Marsh said.

  “Oh.” He sat back and let me continue to wrap up his free hand.

  “As soon as we’re done, I’ll get you something to eat.” I helped him lie back.

  He gazed beyond us, across the parlor and into the foyer, to where we counted out the cups, bowls, and pots.

  Curious what had his attention, I glanced over my shoulder to see the dishware we spread out to inventory. “We’re gathering supplies to make soup,” I said, measuring out a strip of fabric to wrap his hand.

  “That’s a lot of soup,” he commented. “Who’s it for?”

  “Whoever needs some, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  I looked to my brother for an appropriate answer.

  “Because we can,” Marsh replied.

  “Because there is enough for everybody,” I added.

  Sterle rang the little meal bell from the kitchen, signaling the servants had made lunch for us. Alux’s hands were useless with all the bandages, so I helped him eat the chowder and cheese sandwich they prepared.

  Alux seemed like such a sweet boy. I guessed he was around ten years old, maybe a bit younger, but his dark, sunken eyes were far older. I knew he was hungry, though his belly filled quickly. Just as I couldn’t finish bowls full of food after my incarceration, his stomach had shrunk and refused any measurable amount of substance.

  He had forced a few bites of the chowder and successfully finished half the sandwich before the day’s events caught up with him and exhaustion overcame him. His eyes struggled to stay open, and soon he fell asleep. Qarla brought a proper blanket to soothe the boy, and Alux began to snore almost immediately. Letting him rest, we took a few supplies into the backyard to process the thistle.

  Trisk once again proved to be a fast learner. Though tired, Marsh did most of the pressing, while Trisk and I bled the milk through the cheesecloth and into jars, saving the pulp for future use.

  Jeorge busied himself with house maintenance, so we didn’t see him much, but Sterle and Qarla studied our actions as they hung the linens on lines to dry in the hot sun. Eventually their curiosity got the best of them, and I explained the process. They had a lot of questions but, thankfully, never asked why we worked so hard to reserve the pulp. The fewer people who knew its potential, the better.

  “How much will a jar of the sap make?” Sterle asked.

  “About one of those large pots in the front room,” I said.

  “How many jars are you trying to make?” Qarla asked.

  “Not much.” I squeezed the milk from the cheesecloth. “We couldn’t collect as much as I wanted, but I think we’ll get maybe eight or nine starts from what we got.”

  “Don’t be disappointed, my Lady. It’s more than you had this morning.” She patted my shoulder and continued with her duties.

  Pressing and milking the thistle required more time than one would assume. The time-consuming task made aching hands wear out quickly. Preparing the starts, both tedious and mindless, could be done while chatting. Not many Scavenger chores allowed the privilege. Trisk, Marsh, and I passed the time mulling over our experience that morning, about the village and how terrible things had become. The land and river may have started the devastation, but the people made it worse. As time went on, whatever survived the landslide and flooding fell victim to the desperation and anger of the people who lived through it.

  Why would they destroy everything else? And who were the people in the woods? Why attack us? We weren’t stealing anything from anyone. We picked weeds, weeds no one else wanted.

  I hated to admit it, but Graken was right to not let me walk out of here unaccompanied. Even with Trisk and Marsh being armed and trained, I felt like we were lucky to return to the neighborhood unscathed.

  The eighth jar was filled just under half full when we squeezed the last drop from the cheesecloth. Trisk tightened the lid as I added the other jars to the items in the house. Two little rows of four didn’t look impressive next to the towers of stacked items the house staff collected. In fact, they got lost among them. The baby rolled around in my stomach as I pitied the pathetic outcome of our dangerous field trip.

  Alux stirred behind me. “Where is everybody?” he asked, forcing his eyes open.

  “Out back cleaning up,” I answered, sitting on the floor next to him. “How are your hands feeling?”

  He turned his bandaged hands and wiggled his fingers. “Numb.”

  “The honey will help to keep them that way until the infection wears off. You can stay here with us until your hands heal or as long as you want.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I’m sure my father will be worried if I don’t come back soon.”

  “I’m sure he will. Wait here. I’ll
pack some things for you to take with you for your family.” I patted his leg below the knee.

  In the kitchen, I emptied the sack I used earlier and packed honey for his hands, some dried meat and fruit, and two loaves of bread. Unsure of what else to add, I included a couple of mugs and a roll of canvas I intended to use for the thistle but didn’t. I weighed the whole thing in my arms to make sure he wouldn’t have trouble carrying it and headed back to the parlor.

  Alux sat quietly, unraveling the bandages from his hands.

  “Oh, don’t do that,” I said, setting the bag on the floor, propped up against the side table. “It’s too soon. Wait until tomorrow at least.” My mother always healed us right away, but I assumed the wrappings should remain for more than an afternoon. “I put some honey in here, but make sure you use it on your hands first. You can eat whatever is left once your hands feel better.”

  “Thank you, Miss Una.” He stood. “I think I should find my father now.”

  “You can’t go without saying goodbye to Marsh. He’d be so sad if he didn’t see you off. In fact, he’ll probably help you find your father,” I said then waddle-ran to the back of the house to fetch my brother.

  I poked my head out the door, getting Marsh’s attention. “Alux wants to get back to his family. I thought you’d like to say goodbye.”

  He set down the bucket he’d been using to collect the waste. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.” He followed me inside.

  When we turned the corner, we caught sight of Alux sneaking out the front door. I called his name, but when he saw the two of us approaching, he took off. I made it to the porch in time to watch him sprint across the lawns toward the fence line. He ran faster than I could ever hope to catch him, even with the canvas bag clutched against his chest.

  The guards were more attentive than they were earlier in the day. They drew their weapons at the intruder running toward the gate with something that clearly didn’t belong to him.

  “Stop!” I shouted, an instruction meant for the men, not the child.

  A command the men misunderstood. The archers readied their arrows, pacing their sharpened tips with the boy’s gait.

  “No! Stand down!”

  Their orders were specific. Protect the community, its residents, and its interests. Besides, women didn’t give instructions.

  Marsh shouted a similar order, but I doubt they even heard his voice. They were too focused on the task at hand and organizing their defense.

  It all happened in an instant.

  Alux didn’t slow down until the first arrow hit the back of his leg. His knee turned inward, crippling him from behind. His arms dropped the bag I’d packed for him, and its contents tumbled across the dirt as he fell forward.

  “No!” I screamed as I ran. “Alux! Alux!”

  The boy turned on his hip and grabbed his thigh around the protruding arrowhead. Howling from the pain, he pushed himself up onto his uninjured knee. His head rose first, then his chest, one hand squeezing his thigh, the other reaching out for me.

  I was almost there.

  The screams of the child were drowned out by the men giving orders to him, or each other, or me; I didn’t know. Alux shuffled forward, not by much, but enough by someone’s standards.

  I was three steps away when the second arrow cut through the air between us. With the accuracy of an incredibly skilled marksman, it ripped through Alux’s chest, throwing him backward in the face of the unforgiving sun.

  “Alux!” I wailed.

  His mouth opened and relaxed like a fish pulled from the river. When I lifted him in my arms, he was already limp. A deep red blossom bloomed across his tattered shirt, despite my attempt to press the wound closed. His tiny frame sprawled, his bandaged hands soiled with blood and sand. I lifted him into my embrace as his life seeped from his back.

  “No, Alux.” I sobbed. “Please, Alux. I’m so sorry.” I rocked him, holding him close, my lips pressed against his forehead, knowing there was nothing to be done.

  The little boy’s lungs filled with blood and labored his breathing. He choked as he drowned, a victim of his own fluids. His eyes were scared. They begged me to help him until his spirit gave up, and he exhaled for the last time. Holding him against my heaving chest, I tilted my head back and screamed at the sky.

  Alux’s body hung heavy, but I held him anyway. I kissed his sweet, peaceful little face as he stared blankly into the sun. I closed his eyes with my fingertips.

  Alux was gone. His death was my fault.

  Marsh fell to his knees across from me and sobbed. Together, we held him and each other, careful to avoid the arrow’s tip.

  “Why did he run?” I cried.

  “I don’t know, Una.”

  “He was just a boy!”

  “I know.” Marsh sniffled and pressed his head to mine. “It was a clean hit. He didn’t suffer long.”

  “You’re wrong. This boy suffered entirely too long.” I wiped the tears from my face with a part of my arm not covered in blood and glared at the portrait-perfect neighborhood. At each door, people stood gawking at the three of us, as if we were some display of entertainment for them.

  “What are you looking at?” I yelled, freeing myself from Marsh’s embrace. “He’s just a boy! A hungry little boy! You killed him! For two loaves of bread?” I pushed back the hair from my face, smearing blood along with it. “You have everything! It wasn’t even yours! You stole it! You’re worse than Scavengers; you’re fucking thieving murderous cowards!” I screamed so loudly I hoped the wolves would hear me in the caves.

  One by one, the onlookers stepped into their haughty dwellings and closed their stained and polished doors. A guard handed me the bag with all the contents put back inside. “Here you are, my Lady.”

  I snatched it from his hands and threw it back at him. “I don’t want it!” I growled. “I gave it to him to take to his family!”

  The tactless guard apologized while bowing and stepped away.

  On the grass, two jars of thistle starts rolled out of the bag.

  That’s why he ran.

  I bit my lower lip. I would have gladly given him all of them if I’d known he wanted them. I set Alux down tenderly and asked Marsh to get a blanket from the house. While my brother was gone, I freed the arrow from the boy’s chest and broke it across my knee.

  This thing will never kill again.

  I laid the broken pieces aside. What kind of a man kills a child?

  Marsh returned with a light blue linen, the type Citizens used to protect their mattress from the people who slept on them. My brother covered the boy, making sure to shield his face from the sun while I watched on my knees. Beads of blood speckled the sheet. Death refused to be ignored, not that it should have been.

  When I closed my eyes, I saw the expressions of Alux’s face—first smiling, then vacant—and my teeth clenched tightly together. My breathing calmed, and when my eyes opened again, the boy still lay dead and his murderer still lived.

  With the broken arrow firmly in my grip, I rose with supernatural strength to my feet. No one assisted me up. My shoulders felt wide and strong, my muscles thick with tension. I stepped over the body, my eyes burning into the man standing at the gate. As I approached, he pulled his hand from the hilt of his blade to a more submissive pose. A growl rolled in my throat as the world around me fell silent. My footfalls lightened, and my body readied itself for a challenge. I stalked him even though he stared right at me. Our eyes locked, and he straightened up, inching back when he felt I was too close.

  “You’re in charge,” I purred.

  “Actually, my Lady—”

  I grabbed his neck, digging my nails into his flesh as I did so. His pulse quickened, making me suddenly thirsty.

  “I said you are in charge.” I licked my lips, pulling him into a higher posture before releasing him. He massaged his neck while trying to catch his breath.

  “You will find me men to bury my guest properly. Make sure one of them is the owner of this sti
ck”—I slapped the two halves of the arrow against his chest—“or I’ll rip your throat out and watch you bleed.”

  He shivered, taking hold of them and nodding his intention to follow my directions. “Where, my Lady?”

  “The river.”

  His posture faltered.

  “Scared?”

  He stood at attention. “No, ma’am.”

  “Then get ready.” I turned, heading for the house. “You don’t have much time.”

  Chapter 13

  We’d drawn quite an audience down by the river. It wasn’t every day that a pregnant woman covered in dried blood had two armed guards of the Authority bury a transient boy against their will. It was also uncommon for the activity to be happening during the heat of the day. When they finally laid Alux to rest, I collected river stones, placing them on top of the freshly turned soil. Two unfamiliar women, most likely sisters, approached with smoothed rocks in their hands but were stopped by the guards.

  “Do not prevent them from mourning this boy,” I snapped. “This place is not yours to control.”

  “Are one of you his mother?” The guard ignored my order, and I would not have it.

  Once, when I was younger, one of us had left the bridge over the gulch and a coyote wandered onto our property. The squeaking of the pigs summoned us from the house. I remembered it being night, but the full moon lit the entire hill. Father grabbed his bow and arrow in one hand and his blade with the other. He knew the sound of animals in distress, but I had not experienced it myself until then.

  It didn’t take long to put the intruder down. The tattered, dog-like enemy didn’t seem so vicious panting and whining. I begged my father not to slit its throat. “Once he’s recovered, I’ll teach him to be kind.”

  As the blood flowed from its neck and darkened its fur, my father tried to explain the flaw of my plan. “Wild animals cannot be tamed, Una. Despite training, there are times when he will forget what he’s learned and he’ll return to his nature.”