Blood Red Road

by Moira Young

  I hate you! she cries. I wish they’d killed you instead of Pa!

  After that, I pull my cloak over my head so’s I cain’t hear her cryin.

  We gotta keep on.

  I gotta find Lugh.

  Third day. Dawn.

  I clean Emmi’s feet agin an we set off. She takes two tiny steps an falls to the ground. She won’t be doin no walkin today. I guess I ain’t surprised. I pick her up an lay her down on a grassy patch in some shade.

  I run my hands through my hair. Glare at the sky. I wanna scream or run around or … anythin to git rid of all the tightness inside of me. I kick the ground so hard I stub my toe. I curse mightily.

  I’m sorry, Saba, Emmi whispers.

  I try to smile, make it look like I don’t care, but I cain’t manage it. I turn my head away from her.

  It ain’t yer fault, I says. I’ll sort somethin out.

  I spend the rest of the mornin makin a dragger. I cut two of the springiest, strongest tree branches I can find. I lay ’em out on the ground an brace ’em crosswise with smaller branches to make it good an sturdy fer Em to lie on. I lash it all together with nettlecord rope. Then I make a yoke to go over my shoulders an pad it with our spare tunics.

  It’s ready by the middle of th’afternoon. I tie Emmi an our packs onto it. I swaddle my hands in cloth. The right one’s still sore from bein shot, so I wrap it in a clean bandage first. I don’t want it gittin worse.

  Then I start pullin. The dragger bumps an thumps over the ground, but Emmi don’t complain or whimper or cry. She don’t make a sound.

  The sun beats down. It’s merciless. Cruel. It makes me think cruel thoughts. Like:

  Why couldn’t they of killed Emmi, instead of Pa?

  Why couldn’t they of took Emmi, instead of Lugh?

  Emmi ain’t no use to nobody. Never was. Never will be.

  She’s slowin me down. Makin me lose time.

  My brain whispers. My heart whispers. My bones whisper.

  Leave her … leave her … walk away an leave her. What … to die? Don’t even think about it … she don’t matter … what matters is Lugh … go back to the cairn … head out across Sandsea … that’s the way they went … you could be there in a couple of hours if you walked fast …

  I give myself a shake. Shut my ears to the whisperin. I cain’t leave Emmi. I gotta take her to Crosscreek to stay with Mercy.

  Lugh said I had to keep her safe. When I find him, I gotta be able to tell him that she’s okay. That I looked after her as good as him.

  As I pull the dragger behind me, I wonder where he is. If he’s afeared. If he misses me like I miss him.

  My missin him makes my whole body ache. It’s like … emptiness. Emptiness that’s beside me, inside me an around me, all the places where Lugh used to be. I ain’t never bin without him. Not fer a single moment from the day we was born. From before we was born.

  If they touch him, if they hurt him, I’ll kill ’em. Even if they don’t, I might kill ’em anyways, as punishment fer takin him.

  My shoulders ache. My hurt hand throbs. The sun beats down. I grit my teeth an make myself go faster.

  Why don’t Emmi cry? Why don’t she whine?

  I wish she would. Then I could yell at her.

  Then I could hate her.

  I push the mean thoughts away, deep inside to the darkest places of me, where nobody can see.

  An Emmi don’t cry. Not even once.

  Fifth day. Midnight.

  We lie on the ground, in a hollow beside the trackway. We’re wrapped in our dogskin cloaks. Emmi’s tucked herself into one side of me. Nero’s huddled on th’other side, fast to sleep, his head tucked unner his wing.

  It’s a warm spring night. A soft breeze lifts the hair on my forehead. In the distance, a wolfdog howls an another answers. They’re a long ways off. Naught to worry about.

  I stare up at the sky. At the thousands an millions of stars that crowd the night. I look fer the Great Bear. The Little Bear. The Dragon. The North Star.

  I think about Pa. About what he told us. That our destiny, the story of our lives is written in the stars. An that he knew how to read ’em.

  An then I think about what Lugh said.

  Ain’t you figgered it out yet? It’s all in his head. There ain’t nuthin written in the stars. There ain’t no great plan. The world goes on. Our lives jest go on … in this gawdfersaken place. An that’s it. Till the day we die.

  I think of Pa layin out his stick circles an doin his spells an his chants, tryin to make the rain come. How he kept sayin he read it in the stars, that the stars said the rain was comin an how the rain never did come.

  Well, not till after Pa was dead. Not till it was too late. That means eether Pa was readin the stars wrong or the stars was tellin him lies.

  Or maybe the truth is this. That Pa couldn’t read the stars because there ain’t nuthin there to read. An all his spells an chants was jest him bein so desperate fer rain that he’d try any old thing, no matter how crazy.

  I used to like lookin at the night sky. Liked to think how one day Pa might teach me to read what the stars had to say. Now they jest look cold an far away.

  I shiver.

  I reckon Lugh’s right. He always is.

  There ain’t nuthin written in the stars.

  They’re jest lights in the sky. To show you the way in the dark.

  But.

  But.

  Pa knew about the men. Knew they’d come fer Lugh. Before I told him.

  Are they here? Have they come?

  They cain’t be stopped, Saba. It’s begun.

  An he knew he was gonna die. Knew his story was about to end.

  My time’s nearly up. I dunno what happens after this.

  If Pa couldn’t read the stars, if the stars ain’t got nuthin to say, how did he know all that?

  How did he know?

  CROSSCREEK

  SIXTH DAY. LATE AFTERNOON.

  A breeze whispers by an, somewhere above my head, there’s a flurry of dry clicks. I stop. I look up. Three deer-bones hung together, high in a tree.

  I hear Pa’s voice in my head.

  After three days, the trackway’ll take you through a deep pine forest. Keep yer eyes peeled. When you see the windchimes in the tree you know you reached Crosscreek.

  Without the breeze, I would of missed ’em. I lick my parched lips. Emmi, I says. The windchimes. We’re here.

  I ain’t never bin so glad to be anywhere in my life. Since yesterday noon, every waterhole an every streamlet along the way’s eether bin dry or a deathwater covered in slimy yellow bloom. An we had our last meal yesterday mornin. We couldn’t of gone on much longer.

  Is this Crosscreek? says Emmi.

  I set down the dragger fer the last time.

  I close my eyes, stand there fer a moment. My body’s so sore an stiff an bone-tired I wish I never had to move it agin.

  I try to flex my fingers but they stay bent. They bin curled round the damn shafts so long they’ll probly stay like this till the day I die. I never thought I’d be haulin Emmi an the packs fer three days. An Em’s covered in bruises from head to toe, so she ain’t ezzackly got off light.

  I unstrap her from the dragger an help her to stand. I go to pick her up but she says, No. I’m gonna walk.

  You sure? I says. She nods. I shoulder our barksacks. Shove the dragger deep into the bushes where it cain’t be seen.

  Leave the track. Follow the trail down the hill into the dell.

  It ain’t hardly what I call a trail. If you didn’t know it was here, you’d never know it was. We weave our way through the trees. Pine needles soften our way, give off their warm scent as we crush ’em unnerfoot. Nero flits from branch to branch over our heads. He caws, all excited, tellin us to hurry.

  The ground starts to slope down. It gits steeper. Then steeper still. The goin gits harder with the pine needles makin it all slippy. I take hold of Emmi’s hand so she don’t fall. We gotta slide on our bums
some times an other times go down sidewise. We go on an on.

  Then. Cookin smells tickle my nose. Meat. My mouth waters.

  Is that stew? says Emmi.

  I sure hope so, I says.

  At last we’re at the bottom of the hill. We step outta the forest into the open an we’re in another world.

  A shaggy haired pony grazes nearby in a patch of sweet green grass. He lifts his head to look at us fer a moment, then goes back to his meal.

  We’re in the dell that Pa told us about, at the bottom of a small river valley. Straight ahead of us, the land rises in a gentle slope. Two streams trickle down from the top. Near the bottom, they join to make one narrow little stream. Crosscreek. It winds an sparkles its way along the valley floor.

  There’s a flat bridge spans the creek an there, on the far bank, shaded by pine trees, sits a small wooden shack. Mercy’s cabin. A red bench stands next to the open door. A cookin pot hangs over a fire.

  There ain’t no sound but the soft murmur of shallow water over stones. It’s like the whole place is sleepin, quiet as a cat in the afternoon sun.

  I ain’t never seen such a place. Never even imagined there could be somewhere like it on this earth. Tears spring to my eyes. Pa never said it was like this. He never told us.

  But he knew this place was here. He knew an he kept us by a dyin lake all these years, with food gittin scarcer an life gittin harder an all this only a few days’ walk. I don’t unnerstand. Why didn’t he bring us here? I guess Lugh was right. Pa didn’t care about us, didn’t care about what happened to none of us.

  I move like I’m in a dream, walkin slowly.

  If Mercy ain’t there, sit on the red bench by the door an listen to the creek while you wait. She won’t be long. She ain’t never far away.

  I cross the bridge, drop the barksacks. I unlace my boots an kick ’em off. I walk into the creek. It’s ankle deep. I kneel an scoop up some water. Clean. Cool. Beautiful. I drink. I splash it over my face, my neck, my head.

  Then I lie down. I lie on my back an let the water flow around me.

  I close my eyes.

  It ain’t every day I find somebody asleep in my creek, the voice says.

  I open my eyes. A face hangin above me. The wrong way around. I blink. I feel slow. Stupid. Must of fell to sleep fer a second or two.

  Are you upside down, I says, or is it me?

  I guess that depends on your point of view.

  A hairy dog face lunges at me. A long pink tongue slops at my face.

  Hey! I says.

  Tracker! Down, boy! A strong hand reaches out. I take it an it pulls me to my feet. As I stand, water pours offa my hair, my clothes.

  It’s a woman. Standin in the stream. Tall. Lean. Tanned. Lined face with shrewd brown eyes. Sharp cheekbones. White hair cropped close to her head. Nine year ago, it was nut brown an shiny an down to her knees. A blue-eyed wolfdog with one droopy ear leans aginst her side.

  I nearly missed the windchimes, I says. You sure do make it hard to find you.

  I like to keep the riff raff away, she says.

  She touches a finger to my birthmoon tattoo.

  Saba by Silverlake. Her mouth crooks up at one corner. You’ve grown some since I last saw you. I’m Mercy.

  A bit more, Emmi? says Mercy.

  Mmuh huh! Emmi shovels a last spoonful into her mouth that’s already full. She holds her bowl out.

  Didn’t your pa ever teach you manners? says Mercy.

  Emmi, I frown at her. Yer s’posed to say please.

  Emmi chews, gulps, chews some more. Oh, she mumbles. Yes please. More please.

  She eats like a jackal, I says. Pa let her run wild.

  Child’s on the skinny side of scrawny, says Mercy. An if you don’t mind my sayin, you could do with a bit more meat on you too. Times tough at Silverlake?

  I frown. No, I says.

  You like a bit more to eat yourself?

  I shove my empty bowl at her. She looks at me with one raised eyebrow.

  Uh … yes please, I says.

  We’re sat outside to eat. Me an Mercy on the red bench, Emmi on the front step. Nero gobbled his lot down an now he’s perched on the cabin roof, havin a good preen.

  Bring your bowls, says Mercy. I ain’t no servant.

  She limps over to the cookin fire an Em an me follow behind with our bowls. She gives the pot a stir an ladles out seconds of the rabbit an root stew. I follow her back to the bench, stuffin mine down as I go. We sit an I nod at her foot.

  What’d you do there? I says, my mouth full.

  Broke my ankle, oh … over a year ago now. Had to set it myself of course an did a bugger of a job … well … as you can see.

  How d’you manage by yerself?

  She shrugs. I just do. Ain’t got no choice.

  Must be hard, I says. Yer pretty old.

  She gives me a hard look. An you’re pretty rude, she says. Anybody ever tell you that?

  I feel myself flush red. Go all skin prickly.

  I tell her all the time, says Emmi. But she don’t pay no notice. Lugh’s the nice one. You’d like him.

  Shut yer trap, Em, I says. Look. We came here … we didn’t jest come to tell you about Pa an Lugh.

  I didn’t think you did, says Mercy.

  There’s a basin of clean water between us. She pours in a tincture from a little brown glass bottle, dips a cloth in an starts cleanin my sore hand.

  I’m goin after Lugh, I says. I’m gonna git him back. I aim to set off in the mornin. I’m gonna leave Emmi here with you.

  I see, she says. Looks at me. Like she’s waitin fer more.

  Pa always said if anythin ever happened to him, we should come to you, I says.

  Oh he did, did he? Mercy shakes her head. I don’t know about that.… Tracker an me’s set in our ways. We ain’t used to company.

  But you was Ma’s friend, I says. Please, Mercy. Yer th’only one can help.

  She don’t answer fer a long moment. Then she sighs. She’ll have to work for her keep, she says.

  She’ll work, I says.

  An what does she have to say about it? says Mercy. Emmi?

  Emmi don’t say naught. She crouches over her bowl, her head down, eatin slowly. I know she’s listenin.

  Stop playin deaf, Emmi, I says. Mercy says are you happy to stay here an help her out while I go find Lugh?

  Emmi lifts a blank face. Shrugs. She drops her head over her bowl agin.

  I shake my head. She’ll come round, I says.

  I hope so, says Mercy.

  She won’t give you no trouble, I says. I promise.

  What was our ma like? says Emmi.

  Tracker’s got his head laid in Mercy’s lap. She rubs behind his ears an his eyes close in bliss. Nero dozes, huddled on my shoulder.

  Of course, Mercy says, you never knew her. But Saba must remember.

  Not so much, I says. Not no more. It’s like … she’s faded.

  She laughed more’n anyone I ever met, says Mercy. There ain’t a lot to laugh about in this life, but Allis always found somethin. I think that’s why Willem, why your pa, loved her so.

  Lugh’s like that, I says. He takes after Ma. Pa never laughed after Ma died. Not that I can remember anyways.

  No, says Mercy. I don’t suppose he did.

  We’re quiet fer a bit. Then, It’s my fault she’s dead, says Emmi. She’s bin drawin in the dirt with a stick an now she pushes at it hard. It snaps in half.

  Mercy looks at me with her keen eyes. I look away.

  Well, childbirth’s a dangerous thing, says Mercy. An you arrived a month early. I’ll tell you somethin, sometimes I think it was my fault.

  Yer fault? says Emmi, lookin surprised.

  Yes, says Mercy. I was all set to come an help. It was planned. I was gonna be there two weeks before you was due an help with the birthin, just like I did with Saba an Lugh. Sometimes I think, if only I’d come earlier, if only I’d been there, maybe Allis would have lived. But you cain’t
think like that. If you do, you’ll make yourself crazy. I did get there in time to help keep you alive, red little scrap that you were, an I comfort myself with that. With the thought that Allis might be gone, but her daughter lives. I see her in you.

  You do? says Em, her eyes wide.

  I most surely do. Except for the eyes, you favor your pa, but you’re like her here. An here. Mercy touches her heart, then her head. I can see it. Would you like to know somethin else?

  Yes, says Emmi.

  Your ma wanted you so much, says Mercy. She couldn’t of been happier when she found out you was comin … her an your pa.

  I never knew that, whispers Em.

  Well, says Mercy, now you do. An I know she’d be proud that you turned out so fine.

  Emmi looks at me an then quickly looks down at the ground agin.

  I always blamed Emmi fer the fact that Ma’s dead. I never made no secret of it. Now, hearin what Mercy says, I start to think about the fact that nobody asks to be born into this world. An nobody can stop theirselves bein born. Not even Emmi.

  Babies keep their own time, says Mercy. She takes Emmi’s hand. It ain’t no one’s fault your ma died. There ain’t no one to blame.

  Pa said it was writ in the stars, says Emmi.

  Oh child, says Mercy, there ain’t no plan written in the sky. Some people just die too soon.

  But Pa was a star reader, I says. He always told us how everythin was set in the stars the moment the world began. The story of everybody’s life is right up there.

  That’s where Willem an me fell out, she says. Why we didn’t all stick together when we left Hopetown. He looked to the sky for answers. I look at what’s in front of me, what’s around me, what’s inside of me.

  Lugh thinks it’s all jest somethin Pa made up in his head, I says.

  What do you think? she says.

  Saba always thinks what Lugh tells her to, says Emmi.

  I do not! I says.

  Yes you do, she says.

  Well, says Mercy, maybe it’s time you started makin up your own mind about things. As far as I’m concerned, stars is just … stars.

  She tips her head back. She stares at the sky so long, it’s almost like she’s up there with the stars an the moon an the planets, like she’s fergot we’re here. I clear my throat. She gives a start. Smiles at us.