by Moira Young
The commander helps her onto the buggy’s rear bench. He smiles an bows his head. She almost manages a smile back. She’s made of stern stuff, this girl Rae. Whether that’ll work in our favour remains to be seen. The two Tonton climb in an settle on the front bench. The grunt ridin shotgun lays his firestick on his knees. With a slap of the reins an a sudden jolt, the buggy rumbles from the yard an into the moonpath that lights the road north Silver.
As the front door shuts, locks rattle, bars creak, we can see Rae’s dark figger on the buggy’s back bench. She twists around to take a long, last look. Then she turns to face the road ahead.
Don’t worry, girl, I says. You’ll see yer baby soon. Then I says to Cassie, We ain’t gonna need yer play actin after all. We picked the right night to come. You an Mercy git the horses. Wait fer us by the first bend along that north road. There’s some rock cover there. Jack, yer with me. Let’s go git that scrawny little baby.
The young Tonton’s easy to spot. Easy to keep in our sights. The night’s clear lit an the land lies flat an he’s the only thing movin besides us. An the light breeze carries snatches of the baby’s thin wail. So we hang back an keep low in case he glances behind him. Nero coasts along above us, but nobody’d give a second thought to a crow flyin by night. That’s if they even noticed it.
With the Tonton’s head start, he must be well on the way to wherever he’s bin told to leave the child. I’m guessin it’ll be some fair distance from the babyhouse. Far outta hearin range. Nobody could take the sound of a baby cryin outdoors all night long. Not even the Tonton. The speed this guy’s goin, a sort of runnin walk, says he’s in a hurry to git the job over with. From his gait, you can tell that he’s hunched around the baby, huggin her close to his chest. He’s probly got her unnerneath his cloak.
What a grim task. He must be bottom of the peckin order. We follow him fer half a league or so, along a path through the low scrub. It ain’t worn ground, but it’s bin trampled down enough to make easy goin. Then he’s gone. Jest like that. Disappeared from view completely.
Jack snatches up the looker that’s hangin around his neck. Where’d he go? he mutters as he sweeps the night. Dammit. C’mon!
We belt across the plain. We nearly tumble down on top of him. He’s sat cross-legged at the bottom of a dry little gully with the baby laid across his lap. We duck behind a boulder an peek out. The baby’s whimperin now, but the steep rocky sides will blanket any sound she makes. The Tonton’s took off his own sheema to wrap her. That’s somethin he ain’t meant to do. He’s makin a tidy, careful job of it as well. His firestick’s on the ground next to him.
He’s sayin, Don’t look at me like that. This ain’t my fault. Yer too small an whose fault is that? Yers, that’s who. You should of stayed inside yer ma till you was growed big enough. But oh no, you was in too much of a hurry. An fer what? Look at the pickle you got yerself into.
He talks to her like you would anybody. Jest normal conversation. It’s the only way he can do this. Me an Jack look at each other. An, fer the briefest of moments, in the starfallen night, I see the father he was fer the briefest of times. Gracie’s father. A girl child like this one. I always ferget Jack had a child. Only now does it occur to me that this might be hard fer him.
Okay, yer done, says the Tonton. He takes the baby in his arms an gits to his feet. I gotta put you somewheres outta the wind. You don’t wanna catch cold. An we don’t want them coyotes catchin wind of you. Over there? Good idea. He settles her in a nook between the rocks. There you go, look at that. Yer snug as a bug. Now listen to me, an this is real important, okay? You cain’t cry, not a peep an I mean it. If a coyote was to find you— His throat works as he fights not to cry. Suddenly, he turns an scrambles up the other side of the gully. He rushes off into the night.
Jack an me do a silent finger count to ten. He stands slowly an checks with the looker. He’s goin, he whispers.
You stay here, I says.
I pick my way down the rocks, takin good care every time I move a foot or a hand. I mustn’t make no sound. But my last step sets off a slide of pebbles. I freeze. Stare up at Jack. He checks through the looker.
He’s outta sight, he says. Go on.
The baby’s started to mew agin. I hurry to her along the gully. She gringes a feeble protest as I try to winkle her out from where she’s tucked between the rocks. I ain’t quite sure how to go about it. I don’t wanna hurt her by mistake. Shhh, I tell her. My hands feel clumsy. About as useful as feet fer the task. The Tonton’s sheema seems to be caught on somethin.
Nero circles overhead, caw caw cawin. He probly don’t like the baby’s shrill laments. He ain’t the only one. Does the little thing sound weaker or is it jest my imagination? Whatever, we need to git her to Rae as quick as we can.
I tug at the sheema an, bit by bit, I manage to wriggle her free. I reach in an take her. She don’t hardly weigh nuthin. She’s mainly bulky cloth. I turn to retrace my steps.
An he’s here. The Tonton. Standin in the gully. Twenny foot away. A bolt shooter aimed at my heart. He gasps as he spots my birthmoon tattoo. The Angel of Death. Fear shards his face. He scuttles back. But his gun stays on me.
How did he creep up on me without Jack seein? Without me hearin him? He knows this place an we don’t, that’s how.
I raise my voice. I’m alone, I says. I ain’t armed. D’you hear me, Jack? Stay outta sight. Don’t try nuthin.
The Tonton’s eyes widen. His breath’s shallow an high. He’s heard the stories, the rumours. The ghost of the Angel of Death. On the prowl in New Eden. Set on revenge.
I know what you think but I ain’t no ghost. I’m real enough, I says. Here. I reach out my hand to him. Go on, I says. Feel. I’m warm.
After a moment, he sidles forwards. His fingertips touch mine. A tiny nod. Show me yer clean, he says.
I keep my eyes on him as I move slowly an smoothly. I don’t want him gittin jumpy on me. I lay the baby on the ground. I slide off my coat an throw it on the rocks. I open my arms wide an turn in a circle.
He moves in an does a quick pat down, holdin his shooter on me all the while. Lookin at me all the while. Like he still ain’t sure this ain’t some ghost trick. His face is a soft boy’s face. His razor shaves peach fuzz, not bristles. He steps back. I seen the crow, he says. I thought he might hurt her.
The crow’s mine, she’s safe, I says. We look at each other, the Tonton an me. I seen you, I says. I heard you talkin to her. I’m gonna pick her up agin, okay? Don’t want her gittin cold there on the ground. I crouch an scoop the baby to my arms.
Yer holdin her wrong, says the Tonton. You gotta support her head, doncha know nuthin?
Not much, I says. He’s already holstered his gun an goes about settlin the baby proper in my arms.
Yer easy with her, I says. You got a little sister yerself?
His jaw tightens. His mouth too. That tells me all. Yes. But alive or dead, I dunno. Maybe he don’t neether. That must hurt.
I got a sister, I says. She was born weak, jest like this one. But she grew an thrived an … she’s somethin special.
Where you gonna take her? he says. When I don’t answer, he rushes on. I won’t clype on you, I swear, he says. Apology—no, more than that—shame shades his face. This boy who shed tears over a baby that ain’t nuthin to him.
I’m gonna give her back to her mother, I says.
You better hurry, he says. She ain’t doin too good. She’s awful small. He strokes the baby’s cheek with one finger.
It don’t hafta be this way, I says. Every blood tie cut. Mother from child. Brother from sister. Did they take her to Edenhome, yer sister?
I dunno, he says. Maybe.
What’s her name? I says.
Then, it’s like he suddenly realizes that he’s standin with the Angel of Death, enemy of the people, talkin to her like anybody else. His face slams shut. He steps away. Head high, stood tall, he holds his clenched right fist to his heart. Long life to the Pathfinder, he say
s.
I bring my clenched fist to my heart. I spread my first two fingers in a V. Freedom, brother, I says softly.
Raw hunger spikes his eyes. Like a spark to a wick. His fist loosens. His lips part. Ohmigawd, he’s gonna do it. He’s gonna say it. Say it. Go on. Freedom. In the sky overhead, a star dashes itself to darkness. Hope sighs across his face an slips back in the shadows.
I says, The Pathfinder ain’t what he says he is.
They really shouldn’t let him out on his own. His face gives away his every thought. He knows he shouldn’t believe such as me. But. He folds my words very small an tucks ’em away somewhere secret. To take out an ponder on later. I won’t tell on you, he says. I promise.
Then he scarpers. Scrambles up the rocks an outta the gully, racin to git back to the babyhouse before they wonder what’s takin him so long.
An Jack’s slippin out from behind the boulder an scramblin down to help me up the slope. Possibilities brew in the gleam of his eyes. Huddle in the corners of his smile. As he gives me his hand, he says, Well.
As I take it, I says, Well, well.
My hands was sure itchin fer a gun, he says. That turned out innerestin, though.
Let’s hope there’s plenty like him, I says. The baby starts to grizzle agin. You take her, I says. I ain’t good with babies.
Jack makes a sling around hisself with the ends of the sheema. Then, with the baby held snug aginst his chest, we head off at a fast trot north across the scrubland. To where Mercy an Cassie wait fer us. Where the north road takes a first bend.
Past curfew. Dead night. The stars rampage the sky. An all is quiet in Sector Three. Besides us, there ain’t nobody afoot. The chill wind swings restless between north an east. My skin shivers. Maybe it’s a fallen soul passin by. People believe that on starfall nights, they hitch rides on the back of the wind to wherever it is they’re goin.
A wildcat on a field prowl fer mice pauses. Head high, he sniffs us, ever hopeful of a bigger meal. Then he carries on. The likes of him would easily take a baby left out in the open. She’s asleep now, thanks to Tam’s gentle jog an Mercy’s heartbeat. She’s cradled snugly in the sheema, tied around Mercy’s chest.
The air whispers of winter soon to come. It mumbles the musty corn stubble back into earth. Murmurs on the tips of our noses an fingers. This’ll be the first winter of my life that I ain’t spent at Silverlake. If I last that long, that is. If I don’t slip up fer DeMalo to crush me. But if I’m crushed, so will my people be. I look at the moon. It seems to grow fatter by the second.
I whisper to Cassie, How long away d’you figger the blood moon to be?
She says, Countin tonight? I’d say … five nights from now.
Jack hears me an frowns. I keep askin. Like time might be turnin backwards somehow. I gotta stop. He’ll be wonderin why I need to know.
All’s quiet at Rae’s farmstead, like the land that surrounds it. The Tonton would of dropped her off an turned right around agin. Her an her boy—called Noble—farm ten acres. There’s a sod an junk cabin an two rackety sheds. The tall wind pointer tacks to an fro with a metal click-click-click. Accordin to Cassie, their nearest neighbours ain’t jest well outta sight but they’ll be well outta hearin distance too. A baby’s cry won’t be heard.
Light bleeds out from unner the cabin door. Inside, a girl’s cryin. Loud, body-wracked, heartbroke sobs. Here, with only her boy as witness, it’s safe fer Rae to crack. The ugly sound of her pain warms hope in me.
Jack’s keepin well outta sight. The fewer people who know about him, the better. Fer now, me an Mercy hang back in the shadows too.
Hermes tosses his head. His feet shift a restless demand to gallop. He longs to run flat-out over distance, across endless plains with big skies above. That’s what he was born to. Not this closed-in land. Not this walkin in shadow edges, pickin through trees, this way, that way, around an back agin.
Yes yes, my dearie, I know, I know. Not long now to wait, my heart.
My hands soothe him, promise him. Come what may, he’ll have his freedom. I’ll make sure he ain’t slave to no Tonton.
Cassie stands at the door with the baby in her arms, wrapped in the Tonton’s sheema. My belly’s twisted. My mouth’s dry. Mercy squeezes my shoulder. My eyes meet Jack’s. We’re takin a big chance here. Much bigger’n we did at the gully. It ain’t jest that I’ll be proved right or wrong. Cassie’s riskin her life. Liftin her mask. Obedient no more.
She straightens her back. Raises her head. She takes one deep breath an she knocks. Her gentle tap barely sounds on the heavy slab of wood.
Who is it? A man’s voice raises from inside. Unwelcome. Suspicious.
Noble, it’s Cassie, she says. Steward Cassie from Midway Rock.
Quick, heavy footsteps come to the door. Cassie? It’s the middle of the night. What’re you doin here after curfew?
Open the door, she says. Hurry. Please.
There’s a fumbled rush as he lifts the bar, then a tall, husky lad fills the doorway. He lights the night with a rush lantern. There’s a firestick unner his arm. Long life to the Pathfinder, he says. What’s the matter? What’s happened?
Cassie holds out the baby.
He stiffens. What’s that? he says.
It’s yer daughter, Noble. She raises her voice. Rae, I’ve got yer baby here.
There’s a sharp cry, a rush of feet, then Rae’s there. Her arms reach desperate fer the child. Noble blocks the doorway with his body so’s she cain’t git past. She pummels his back with a snarl of rage. How did you—? You stole her? he says.
Saved her, says Cassie. They left her in a ditch fer the night beasts to take.
Give her to me! Rae scrambles like a beast herself as she tries to shove past Noble. But he ain’t movin an he’s much bigger’n she is.
You shouldn’t of took her, he says to Cassie. She must be a good fer nuthin or they wouldn’t do that. The Pathfinder knows best.
There ain’t a thing wrong with this baby, says Cassie. Nuthin that good care an love from her parents cain’t make right. Look! She’s perfect. She came early is all. Cassie pulls away the sheema, shows Noble her limbs, but he don’t look. Not even a glance. The baby starts to cry, woke by the fuss. Cassie covers her up agin, soothes her.
We don’t want no trouble, says Noble. We ain’t havin no baby here. Our only family is the Earth, you know that. If they find out, it don’t bear thinkin what they might do to us.
He tries to shut the door, but with a No! Rae shoves herself between him an it.
They won’t find out, says Cassie. I’m gonna help you. We’re all gonna help you. We’re gonna help each other. Everythin’s changin, Noble. We ain’t livin unner the boot no more. We can heal the earth, work the land, raise our children, an not at the point of a gun.
That kinda talk’ll git you slaved or worse. Take her away now, I mean it, he says. Rae, hush, please! Cain’t you see I’m tryin to do what’s right here?
Rae’s pushin him, pullin him. Let! Her! In! she says. Three words, each one jaggedly fierce.
I got a elder with me right here, says Cassie. She knows all about babies. She’ll teach you how to care fer her, what she needs. Most of all, she needs you. Her father an mother.
Ohmigawd, what’re you doin? says Noble. What’s happenin here? You can tell he’s startin to waver. Fer the first time, he looks at the baby. Well how about that, he says. She’s got a nose jest like my ma. In his voice there’s both wonder an defeat.
She’s made from yer own flesh an blood, Noble. She’s yer child, says Cassie. I got some friends here I want you to meet.
At that, me an Mercy walk outta the dark into the light of the lantern. Noble sees my tattoo right away. Ohmigawd, he says. He tries to raise his firestick, but he’s jugglin that an the lantern an keepin Rae an Cassie at bay an he was already on the verge, so his last defence crumbles.
With a cry of relief, Rae seizes the baby, Cassie slips past him an the two of ’em disappear into the cabin. I raise
my hands an me an Mercy keep on comin.
We ain’t got no weapons, Noble, I says. We ain’t armed. We’re here to help.
He flattens hisself to one side to let us pass. His face tangles in complete confusion. His hair’s askew. I smile, friendly-like. Try to look normal, not ghostly. His gaze twitches to Nero, perched on the tree in his yard. To the starwild sky an the wind pointer as it chitters to an fro. Then he looks back at me, eyes wide.
I hitched a ride on the wind, I says.
I close the door behind me. Close it on two nervous people with a newborn child an Mercy to show ’em the way. I lean aginst the door fer a moment. I let out a long, thankful breath. One baby. One tiny crack. It worked.
Everythin okay? Jack’s low, husky voice rides the dark easily. I go to him. He’s leanin aginst the shed, huddled in his cloak.
I’m okay, I says, but that baby’s got problems. Her name’s Lucky Star. Luck, fer short.
He winces. I know a tavern called the Lucky Star, he says. Scurviest dump in the livelong world.
I invite myself inside his cloak. Fold myself around his heat, his heartbeat. His arms circle my waist. But he takes his time, I notice.
So, he says. Ruthless killer sees the error of her ways. How does it feel?
Like this, I says. I take his face in my hands an I kiss him. With relief. With hope. With the newness of a day that I ain’t never seen. With somethin my dustborn soul don’t know the name of.
I wanna be with you tonight, I whisper. Jack, I—
He pulls away. His eyes pull the warmth from me as he says, I won’t have too much to lose, d’you hear?
My bones take the stab. Quick an cold. I know what he means right away. He means he will not love me. He will not give all to me. He’s lost all before. What he loved most dearly. His child. His Gracie.
Fer all he’s said to me before, how he feels about me, he’s drawin the line, steppin back from the line. But why why why? What’s brought him to this? Only two nights ago, we lay together. In the bed he’d made of fir boughs. Maybe I didn’t hear him right. Maybe he—
