“Siggy,” Grandpa asked, quietly, “where did you get these?” He stepped in front of me. In his hands, he held a mass of bright yarn and a pair of bone knitting needles.
I watched the cream swirl into my coffee, like a whirlpool, a gateway. The liquid ran counter-clockwise, warning of trouble to come. A red squirrel outside warned of trouble to come. The sunlight slanting in through the window was edged in red, warning of trouble to come…
“Siggy,” he repeated.
I glanced up, met his eyes, looked away. How could I tell him? How could I tell him I’d died and gone to the Underworld? How could I tell him that I’d met them, my grandma, my mama, and I’d left them both behind?
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I whispered. “Not yet.”
Coward, mocked my demon. She was back, but I ignored her. Now that I’d met the Giyeg, she seemed about as frightening as a dust bunny.
The old hands shook, and the yarn trembled, begging an answer.
“Siggy, please…”
There was a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” sang Garvin, almost knocking his chair over in his haste to get away from the tension. Before he could reach the door, however, it banged open, revealing a whole new set of demons. Monday stood silhouetted against the bright sun, Slit-Throat Dude standing close behind her, smirking.
Bear Woman within me raised her hackles and I half rose from the couch, a growl in my heart. But I was waterlogged, still weak, and my strength washed away like a handful of silt in the river.
Monday’s face split wide in a triumphant smile. Her lips were crimson against the pale, pale skin, like a vampire’s. She walked uninvited into my grandfather’s home, brushing past Garvin as if he were a chair, a hat rack, and she looked at Grandfather as if he were a bug she might crush beneath her expensive pumps. She held her hands out. One clutched a sheaf of crisp white paper, the other opened and closed toward Emily like a hungry little mouth.
“I’ve come for the child,” she purred.
“No,” Grandpa cried. He spat the word. He choked on it.
“I have a court order.” She thrust the papers at him. They were scarred, marred with evil little bits of a dark spell, laid out neat as you please in Times New Roman.
“How did you… I don’t understand…” I stared at my grandpa, tough as spruce roots, strong as the earth. I watched in horror as he folded in on himself and began to weep.
“They came in on the plane—the same one we’ll be taking.” Monday strode across the room, clack-clack-clack, eyes bright as she seized our little girl.
Emily screamed.
Grandpa wept.
Garvin stood silent as a tamed beast, clenching and unclenching his fists; a big, strong man rendered helpless by a piece of paper.
Oh, fuck this. I wobbled to my feet. The room spun about me as if I were still caught up in the whirlpool, and I felt about as strong as a half-drowned kitten.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” I croaked. “You’re not getting away with this.”
“I’d say I already have, but… that’s a bit cliché, don’t you think?” Monday laughed, a sound like knives on glass. She didn’t even mention my white hair. Slit-Throat Dude walked over to me, put two fingers against my chest, and pushed.
I toppled to the couch, gasping with pain.
“Don’t you worry, now,” Monday smiled. “We’ll take good care of her. Come on now, darlin’… be a good girl. You’re going to a better place.”
“No!” Emily screamed. “Siggy, don’t let them take me! Grandpa! Garvin, no! Nooooo!” She kicked, she fought, but in the end it did her no good. Slit-Throat Dude picked her up, and tucked her under one arm, and walked away with our Emily.
Monday gave us one last look before she closed the door, and in that moment I could see, clear as day, the creature that lurked behind her eyes.
“Demon,” I gasped, and tried to stand, but I was weak.
Monday laughed again, and her demon laughed with her.
Then they were gone.
35
“This doesn’t make any sense.” I frowned at the papers laid out on Grandpa’s table.
“None of this makes sense,” Grandpa said as he slumped in his chair. “It never has.” He seemed to have aged decades since they’d taken Emily. “It didn’t make any sense when they took you, and it doesn’t make sense now. They come here and tell us our kids are better off with strangers…”
“No, not that,” I interrupted. “I mean, that doesn’t make sense either, but I’m talking about this paperwork. It doesn’t add up. See here, these…” I slid the Child in Need of Aid papers across the table. “These are dated two weeks ago, but here’s ICPC verification dated last Thursday. ICPC shouldn’t even be a thing yet… it’s for an out-of-state placement, and they’ve got to at least pretend to try and keep Emily with her family first. And there’s nothing in here about ICWA, which is just wrong. Emily is Native, so ICWA definitely applies in this case. It makes no sense.”
Garvin stared as if I’d started speaking in tongues.
“I have no idea what you just said.”
I snorted. “Social services paperwork has ruled my life since I was four years old. Trust me, I know the system, and I’m telling you, none of this adds up. Something here isn’t right. I mean, these all look legit… but it’s like someone just printed off random forms and scribbled signatures on them, assuming you wouldn’t know the difference. It’s not like you could just make a phone call and verify any of this from Tsone…”
“And they’d know that.” Grandpa sat up straight, and his old eyes were angry, now, and some of the fire was back. “They’d figure we wouldn’t know there was anything wrong with the paperwork.”
“They would have been right, if it hadn’t been for our Siggy.” Garvin put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Come on, Cuz… let’s go get our Emily back.” He let go and started for the door, and Grandpa John rose to follow him.
That hug lingered, a warm blanket in a cold world.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Wait. We need to be careful. I think there’s more to these people than we know. I think they might be dangerous.” I bit my lip, wanting to say more, to warn them about Slit-Throat Dude… but how to do that without letting them know about Crazy Siggy?
Crazy Siggy, my demon echoed. They’ll kick you out, they’ll…
“I don’t have time for this shit,” I snapped, and for the first time ever she shut the hell up.
“You don’t have time for this?” Garvin stared at me, mouth open. “You don’t have time…”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I said, trying to shut it down before it started. “I was talking to… ah… myself.” Yeah, that didn’t sound lame at all. “It’s just, I think I’ve seen that guy before, the one who hangs out with Monday, and if it’s the same guy, he’s seriously dangerous. I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to stir shit up, but if I’m right, there’s more going on here, and we need to be careful.”
Okay, so that sounded wonky as shit, and Grandpa gave me a look that said we’re gonna talk about this later, but at least they were listening to me now, and not just running headlong into a trap. Because that’s what it felt like.
“Oooookay,” Garvin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you think we should do?”
“Well, I think we need a plan.” I looked longingly at Grandpa’s shotgun, but even I knew it was a bad idea to just knock down the door and jump in guns-a-blazing.
“Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“You’re asking me? I’ve never planned anything more complicated than ‘brush my teeth and drink coffee.’”
“I have an idea.” Grandpa John narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and in that moment he looked to me like an old bear. A wily, dangerous old bear. “You said you think you recognized this man, Siggy… do you think they might be after you, and not Emily?”
“I dunno,” I s
aid. “Maybe they want both of us, but yeah, I think they might be after me.” I didn’t see any need to mention that I’d watched Slit-Throat Dude die. Or that he’d burned down my shitty trailer. Or that I imagined myself slapping his head clean from his shoulders with one giant white-furred paw. Nope, one level of crazy at a time.
“Good.” Grandpa smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile. “Because you’re gonna be the bait.”
* * *
It was a good plan, too. It involved deception, and guns, and lots of duct tape. Too bad we never got the chance to put it in action.
Monday and Slit-Throat Dude had been staying in a state-owned rental that smelled of cat piss and burnt pilot bread. We could tell they’d been there recently, ’cause the kitchen trash was full, there was a half-gallon of milk—real milk, not the gross powdered stuff—in the fridge, and the flat surfaces lacked the thin film of gritty dust that covers everything in the bush. And besides…
There were four ravens in the spruce tree just outside the kitchen window. Two faced us, two faced the river.
A slight breeze rattled through the willow, and it scratched against the wood siding. A squirrel had scattered sunflower seeds from the birdfeeder. The shells weren’t cracked, so the squirrel hadn’t eaten any of them. These things told me a story, dark and terrible, of a little girl’s tears, an attempted escape, and hearts full of wicked purpose.
Oh, and Grandpa found Emily’s footprints in the dirt outside, so I didn’t have to explain any of this.
“We don’t know who these people are—who they really are—all we know for sure is that they’ve got Emily,” he said in a voice filled with quiet rage. “They’ve got our little girl. But we’re gonna get her back.” The footprints were near the old spruce tree. It looked as if she had gotten loose and tried to run away, but had been caught again. Not before grinding her foot back and forth and leaving us some nice tracks, though.
“She did it on purpose. Brave Emily.” Garvin leaned close to the tracks, and when he straightened, he had tears in his eyes. “When we catch these two, maybe we should just drop them in the river. People go missing out here all the… hey!” He snatched at a low branch. “Hey, look!”
In his hand he held a gaudy locket on a nice gold chain. There were dark hairs tangled in the gold, and the locket was dented.
“I got this for my mom in Anchorage, when I was in second grade.” Garvin’s voice was thick and harsh. “I saved up for this all year.” He popped it open, and inside I saw tiny infant faces peering out—his and Emily’s, I guessed.
“They have Trudy, too,” Grandpa growled. “And Mike, I’ll bet.” His eyes were hard as skipping-stones.
“I definitely vote we drop them in the river,” I said.
Deep in my heart, Bear Sister growled her approval.
36
We were halfway back to Grandpa’s cabin—we needed more guns—when we heard the sound of a plane, coming in low.
No… planes. It sounded like a whole fleet of them. Unless it’s just another swarm of mosquitoes, I thought grumpily. We reached the cabin, and I finally got my hands on that shotgun, hallelujah. Then we headed down to the river. If those assholes thought they’d just hop the next flight outta Tsone, they had another think coming. No bush pilot was likely to agree to fly our little girl out of the village without a call to the proper authorities, and by the time they got to Tsone we’d have our people back.
Some days you hunt the bear… some days the bear hunts you.
When we got to the slip, however, we didn’t find Monday waiting for her ride. We found something waaaay better. The cavalry had arrived, and booyah they were the good guys. I was torn between amazement that Sam had acted so quickly, and aggravation that it had taken so long. Jetlag is nothing compared to the time difference between worlds.
Sam hopped off her plane’s float and tossed the rope to some guy I didn’t know. I counted six planes on the river, three more in the air, and heard the whud-whud-whud-whud of a helicopter, as well.
“Hey, Cuz, I brought some help,” Sam deadpanned. She clapped me on the shoulder, hard, but her grin faded as she took in our guns and the looks on our faces. “More trouble?”
“More trouble,” Garvin acknowledged. “Some folks pretending to be OCS took Emily… we’re pretty sure they’ve got Mom and Mike, too.”
“They can’t be too far.” Grandpa didn’t look so old anymore. He still looked mad as hell, though. “Seth brought them here, so they don’t have a plane.”
“I’ll make sure none of my guys take ’em anywhere. We’ll shut down the skies… they’re not going anywhere.”
“They might steal a boat,” Garvin pointed out. “I would. If I was a criminal, I mean.” I shot him a look, but didn’t pursue it. It wasn’t the time.
“They might try to force one of your pilots to take them,” I added. “I know Sli… I know that guy with Monday has at least one gun.”
Sam laughed. “Shit, Cuz, you’re talking about bush pilots. You can’t scare us… we’re crazy fuckers.” Then she got serious again. “I’ll warn my guys, and have them out looking, Grandpa. We’ll find them. Only… I called in some favors, and the troopers are gonna be out looking, too.”
The whud-whud-whud grew louder.
“That’s good, right?” I asked. “The more eyes the better? If Monday tries to talk her way out of this, those troopers can check into their story. I’m pretty sure OCS has never heard of these bozos…” My voice trailed off as they just stood there staring at me. “What?”
“Troopers would arrest them.” Garvin said. “Take ’em into town, check their stories out, give them a trial…”
Grandpa rocked back on his heels as they waited for me to catch up.
“Bush justice,” Sam whispered, and she smiled. It wasn’t a pretty smile, but I liked it. “Grandpa, you still got my rifle?”
“In the cabin.”
Whud-whud WHUD whud-whud WHUD. A chopper came into view.
“Oh,” I said, finally catching on. “Oh. When you said we were going to drop them in the river, I thought you were joking.”
“Course we were joking.” Garvin smiled grimly. “We’re law-abiding citizens.”
“Welcome to the bush, Cuz.” Sam slung an arm around my shoulder, and her grin was wide as morning. “Let’s roll!”
I’m surrounded by crazy people, I realized.
I’d never been happier in my life.
37
Turns out when the family said “Let’s roll,” what they really meant was, “Let the rest of us go catch the bad guys and save the day while Siggy stays home and sleeps because she got a little bit wet and besides she’s a city girl and might get lost.”
Fuck that.
They’d know me better hereafter.
As soon as everyone was gone, leaving the gun racks half empty and dirty footprints all over the floor, I put on my raggedy Army surplus jacket and shit-kicking boots, slung the shotgun across my shoulder, and filled my pockets with slugs. Oh, yeah, I was Rambo with tits, all right. Then I stuck the Giyeg’s odd knife in a leather sheath and clipped it to my belt, and looped the ravenstone on its thong around my neck, because I’m also a nutsoid bitch who talks to demons and witches and three-headed demon dogs made out of yarn.
Hey, it works for me. I may be crazy, but at least I’m not half-assed crazy. As I jogged down the trail to the river, pockets full of ammo, a sleek raven burst from the spruce overhead. He laughed at me, qa’hoq, and I laughed back, waving.
“Wish me luck, Grandfather!”
This was gonna be fun.
* * *
A grosbeak called to me from the cranberry bushes, telling me where to go. The drying grasses whispered and laughed, telling me where to go. A stone turned underfoot, urging me to hurry, hurry, telling me where to go.
All these things and more—the taste of the river in the air, the smell of rotting logs, the way a spruce tree’s bark looked like crumbling leather—told me which path to take, as if
there was any room for doubt. When I reached the boats I saw that one of them was missing. Pressing the ravenstone to my eye I saw the bright oil slick of magic glowing and swirling upon the Kuskokwim. It just confirmed what I already knew—they’d taken my Emily to Oldtown, and they meant to do her harm.
Not on my fuckin’ watch.
I practically lifted Garvin’s boat and flung it into the water, leaping into it and starting the motor before the river had quite gotten over the shock. I tore upstream as if I’d been doing this all my life. Barely skimming the water, dipping and weaving a complex path between the snags and the sandbar, slipping between crosscurrents sleek as a pike.
Hurry, hurry, chugged the motor, and Siggy, Siggy whispered the willows. Once I felt a cold, cold presence beneath me, and I imagined Sedna lifting her face to watch me pass.
Hurry, she urged, a stream of bubbles rising from her angry blue mouth. Hurry, hurry.
I ducked low in the boat, gunned that little motor, and I flew.
I took the wrong turn in the river again, this time on purpose. Again I felt the brooding regard of spirits among the spruce trees on the island. Dark, they were—dark and hungry and dangerous.
Then again, so was I.
As the island fell away I could feel them calling to me.
Kinswoman, they cried, come back, come back to us. Come back.
Another day, perhaps. I had my family to rescue, a demon to slay, and bad guys to stomp into mud. My schedule was swamped.
There was the whirlpool, wide as a damn bus and all lit up green and blue and streaks of dark red. Like the breath of a dead thing, or the path to the Underworld. How the fuck I’d missed seeing it the first time was a mystery. If I’d been that blind, maybe I’d deserved to drown. I gave it a wide, wide berth—I didn’t have time to die again today—and gave the motor one final, vicious twist so that the front of my boat lifted clear out of the water and up onto the riverbank.
Split Feather Page 21
