by Ann Aguirre
Stalker answered for me, an approving light in his eyes. “I suspect we’re planting them on stakes in a perimeter around our territory.”
“That’s exactly right.”
Morrow frowned. “That seems barbaric.”
“It is. It’s also a warning they’ll understand because it’s one they issued to us.”
By their expressions, a few didn’t like this, especially Morrow and Tegan, but I was done playing. The Freaks knew precisely what this meant—and that was the point. If they respected our boundary posting, then we’d get bored and have to change our strategy. If they did not—and I both hoped for and expected an enraged challenge—then things would get interesting.
Alongside the others, I helped with the hauling. Stalker kept a sharp eye on the terrain around us, as this was a dangerous point. We were off guard, dealing with the aftermath of the battle. Plus, we stood in an open field while stacking the headless Freak corpses in preparation for burning. Tegan gathered dry grass and other kindling in order to speed the bonfire along and Thornton donated a splash of liquor he’d picked up in one of our many stops. Once lit, the monsters made a fearful stink with a column of smoke pluming up like a signal fire.
And that was when the second wave appeared.
They swarmed from the south, and Fade’s warning shout gave us enough time for Spence to fire off a few rounds and Tully to unload two bolts before they hit us. I drew my blades, dancing back enough that I had room to move. It would be the worst luck and the ultimate irony if I fell over a Freak corpse and got clawed to death for my clumsiness.
They came too quick for me to get a count, and that fast I was fighting for my life. Four of them. Where’s Fade? I blocked with my right forearm, slicing two talons with my left so they hung from a spider spool of muscle and skin, dangling, dangling. Another slash cut through entirely and left stumps of bloody bone jutting from the maimed hand. The other three reacted as one; and I couldn’t block all of their blows. I flipped backward, arms extended for balance, but didn’t land clean since the grass was damp with blood. My feet slipped, thus yielding the advantage to my enemies.
Fortunately, I recovered fast enough to avoid everything but two swipes of their collective claws. Blood bubbled in the runnels they left in my flesh, but I spiked my daggers into the first one’s chest, then tore it wide open. Freaks tended to be predictable in their attacks. Over the years, I’d learned how they fought: swipe, swipe, snap with teeth. If they sank them into you, however, they locked their jaws. I rolled away from a snarling attack, using the damp ground to carry me out of range.
Before they could reach me, I rolled to my feet, ignoring the pain in my arms. What were a few more scars? Around me, I caught a glimpse of Fade, fighting to reach me, and Stalker, who was killing like it was his favorite thing in the world. I heard grunts from Thornton and nothing at all from Morrow. Spence was conserving his ammo, favoring knife and boot, while Tully shot from behind him. The chaos of killing was beautiful in a way, and I contributed to it by opening another’s veins as it ran at me. Blood spurted from its wounds, not fetid, just salt, copper, and that strong, meaty tang.
When the last monster fell, there were thirty of them on the ground, and we were all standing. More cheers sounded, as we’d just put down fifty Freaks. Not a bad day’s work. I was exhausted and drenched in blood, most of it not my own, but as I wiped my eyes, I knew the precious glow of satisfaction. The others looked as if they felt the same with the possible exception of Morrow. I couldn’t read him at all. The man was talented with a blade, but he didn’t show a warrior’s pride.
“Take these heads too,” I said. “Then add them to the pile.”
It took us the rest of the day to complete the burning and further into the night to post all the warning pickets around our base. A grisly job—Morrow and Tegan opted to remain at camp. By the time we returned, I was starving, filthy, and exhausted, but also hopeful. This was why the men had followed me from their homes. They didn’t care about the scale; they only wanted to kill Freaks. In some cases they wanted retribution. Others needed to feel like they were making the world a little safer. As for Morrow, I had no idea what he was doing here, but by firelight, he scribbled some notes in a book that he kept in his pocket.
There was a brook not far away, so Fade and I took some jugs to haul water for drinking and bathing. I didn’t think there would be more trouble—I suspected we’d cleared all the Freaks in the immediate area—but I was still on my guard as we pulled the full containers back toward camp. In the moonlight Fade looked as tired as I felt.
“How long are we staying?” he asked.
“Until they stop coming or we’re dead.”
“You think they’re capable of learning to fear us?”
“I hope so. I don’t know what else to do. When the horde marches this way, there will be no resisting them, unless you live in a place like Gaspard.”
“And most settlements aren’t so well positioned,” Fade said softly.
That bothered me. I saw Otterburn’s future for all unprotected towns, and I didn’t believe the Freaks would honor that bargain forever. That was a ploy to make the humans feel safe in the custody of monsters. To my mind, it was a way to get those residents used to the idea of bending at the knee—of being subjugated. I recalled the pens where the Freaks had kept humans—and how they’d treated Fade—which told me all I needed to know about their true intentions.
In this part of the forest, it was so dark, only slivers of moonlight trickling through the canopy, but for me, that was enough to make out the shapes of trees and the fans of the leaves, others with limbs full of prickling needles. I heard the distant bubble of the brook and the quiet chirrup of insects. The air smelled of sap and sweetness, crushed herbs and the slight musk of animal waste. Sour notes bled through from the distant fire, a smoky char full of burning bones.
I wished the flames could drive away the monsters forever, but it didn’t work like that, and according to Edmund, wishing was only a thing you did when you looked up at the stars. From here, I couldn’t see them—and for a few seconds I yearned for the relative innocence of when I’d imagined the lights came from a city set high above us. Things had been much simpler then, my quest smaller. We’d found safety in Salvation, but it didn’t last. There could be peace only if we forced it down their throats and choked them with it.
I stopped, bowing my head. “It’s insidious.”
Fade put down his jug; he was carrying instead of hauling it, as he was stronger than I was. Though he was better, I didn’t expect him to reach for me. I had grown accustomed to standing alone, no strong arms or warm body to lean on, so for a few seconds, I froze, like I was the one with a problem being touched. Then I melted against him, eyes closing.
“It is,” he agreed.
“Right now, I feel so small.”
His lips grazed the top of my head. “I believe you can do this. I’ve lived through all of your impossible stories and I know them to be true. So if anyone can change the world, it’s you.”
Questions
In the days that followed, I clung to those words.
The battles came fast and fierce, so that our bonfire on the edge of the forest burned all the time. Eventually we piled stones to keep it from spreading to the grass and then the trees. While we meant to warn our enemies, there was no value in burning down the woods.
In between the fighting, we built more. A roof went up across the branches, as we’d planned, and we widened the platforms so we could sleep up there too. At first it felt precarious and I hardly got any rest at all. But I’d had problems when we first came Topside, too. In time, I adapted. Everyone did.
Tully and Spence worked with Thornton in digging pits, then lining them with sharpened stakes. For obvious reasons, we all memorized the danger zones and avoided them. Farther out, Stalker and his scouts added snares and trip lines. Most often, we caught our dinner in the snares, but occasionally they trapped a lone Freak. The snarls
gave away the location, so each time, one of us ran to kill the thing before it chewed through the line.
We had been in the forest for about a month, as far as I could tell, when Tegan approached. Her steps were light if uneven on the wooden perch. She had gotten nimble at climbing, and it was improving her confidence. She no longer skittered away from any of the men or failed to meet their eyes. Sometimes she even joined in the roughhousing with Spence and Morrow. I noticed Stalker studying her, but it wasn’t the look he used to give me, more like he was considering the terrible things he’d done and wishing he could change them.
She sat down beside me and let her legs dangle. Others were on watch. Morrow and Stalker were facing off in the clearing below. The Winterville scouts had taken off a few minutes before to check the perimeter traps and see if any of our severed heads had been removed. Sometimes the Freaks crept up and took them away, but they were cautious about attacking the camp now. We’d taught them wariness, at least. In time, it might become more.
I lived with the daily fear that some Freak would carry word to the horde, which had to be on the eastern coast by now. There was no way for me to confirm, however, without parting with one of my scouts, and I was unwilling to do so. It seemed like too big a risk for too little gain. So we fought on, poised on the razor’s edge. One day these trees might fill up with far more Freaks than even our skilled band could hope to defeat.
We’d fight until that time.
By this point, my black eyes had gone and my broken nose had healed, though it was a bit crooked. Fade said it gave my face character. I didn’t know about that, but other minor injuries distracted me from such concerns.
“Remember what we talked about, just after we left Soldier’s Pond?” Tegan asked.
“Your self-defense training?”
“Yes. When do you plan to teach me?” Her approach was direct and brusque, her expression daring me to object.
Her bravado made me smile. “I was waiting for you to ask.”
“Are you kidding? I already did!”
Just to annoy her, I modulated my voice to Silk’s lecturing tone. “If you want something bad enough, you chase after it. You don’t wait for people to bring it to you.”
Sure enough, Tegan’s dark brows spiked, but she swallowed her protest, probably thinking I wouldn’t teach her anything if she sassed me. First, however, I had to figure out what style would suit her. She had a small handicap in her weak leg; firearms might be best … yet that came with the worry about ammunition, and Spence was already running low.
So I decided to ask some questions. “Whose style do you admire most? Forget what you can do for a minute, just consider our fights.”
“Morrow,” she said eventually.
There was a lot to like with his limber grace and his elegant form; he also employed agility in his spins and feints, leaps and flourishes I wasn’t sure she had the reach to match—and her balance was probably off—but it was possible we could adapt the style to fit her. So I swung to my feet and clambered down, beckoning for her to follow.
Stalker had just leveled both his blades at Morrow’s throat when the other man brought his arm up in a lightning maneuver. It was so fast that Stalker lost one of his curved daggers, something I’d never seen before. But instead of reacting with anger or outrage, his pale eyes narrowed.
“Show me,” he demanded. “Again.”
Obligingly, Morrow duplicated the move until Stalker could counter it. They were both breathing hard when they noticed Tegan and me.
Morrow doffed an imaginary hat, a gesture he was fond of. I couldn’t imagine where he’d learned it, but faint color touched Tegan’s throat and climbed toward her cheeks. Stalker waited to hear what we wanted. The others went about their business, but I sensed their interest.
“Tegan can handle a rifle already … and we can’t waste ammo on target practice out here. But she wants to learn to fight better.”
“That’s a good idea,” Stalker said.
Morrow looked thoughtful. “What’s your weapon of choice?”
She shrugged. “I’ve used guns. A club, once, but I wasn’t very good with it.”
“It was too heavy.” I missed that club, though, because my brat-mate Stone had made it for me. Not for the first time, I wondered what became of him and Thimble and why they had been so quick to believe the charges the elders levied against me.
Down below, hoarding was a crime, and I’d been accused of stashing old-world treasures for my own personal gain. Since I loved shiny things, it would’ve made no sense for me to squirrel away stacks of reading material. Sometimes I enjoyed the pictures but even after going to school in Salvation, reading was hard work, so that was the last thing I’d steal. I shook my head over the foolishness of that accusation and focused on Tegan.
“Walk for me,” Morrow said gently.
Tegan’s eyes shone with misery but she obliged, showing him her stride. There was high color in her face as she came back toward us, but she didn’t drop her gaze. Yes, I have a limp, she said with a silent, defiant lift of her chin. But I can still fight. Morrow didn’t seem to be focusing on that, however—at least not in any judgmental way.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He addressed Tegan, not me. “You need a weapon that helps you compensate and plays to your strengths. You’re small enough to be a deceptive target and strong enough to surprise your enemies when they get close to you.”
“What do you suggest?” Tegan sounded happier, confident he could help.
In answer, Morrow ran off into the woods. Stalker gazed after him, one brow raised. “Well, that was odd.”
But I had a feeling I knew where he’d gone … and why. Sure enough, he returned in a few moments with a relatively straight tree limb. With some judicious carving, it would make a fine staff. A little banded metal on top and bottom—which could be done once we returned to Soldier’s Pond for supplies—and the weapon would serve.
“This is yours,” he said, offering it to Tegan.
“You want me to kill Freaks with a stick?”
“Make some room,” Morrow said.
The rest of us complied, then he demonstrated some of the moves. In his hands, the branch became beautiful and dangerous, whirling in defense, striking hard, blocking phantom blows. When he finished his demonstration, even Stalker looked impressed.
“Could I really learn to fight like that?” Tegan asked.
“Not exactly,” Morrow told her frankly. “But I can adapt the style for you and the staff is long enough that you can plant it if you stumble and then adjust your footing. It’s the best weapon for you.”
Stalker added, “Plus you can keep it with you. It may not even occur to your enemies that you can smash their skulls with it … until it’s too late.”
That sounded like exactly what Tegan needed. I didn’t want the Freaks making right for her because she was dropping them too fast with a rifle. This was a quiet competence, exactly suited to her personality, a subtle threat right out in the open. For her part, she seemed pleased when she took the branch from Morrow.
He turned to me. “Unless you have something else for us to do, I’d like to start now.”
“Go on,” I said.
Afterward, I decided it seemed strange—him asking me for permission. But there was no question I’d started this endeavor, so that made me in charge by default, no matter whether I was doing a good job. I wondered if Silk felt this way when she first took command of the Hunters, as if it were wrong for all of them to look to her for orders. At that moment, I realized it had been a long time since I heard her voice in my head; I wasn’t sure what that meant, precisely, but I suspected I had changed until my mind no longer worked in the same way. And that meant my memory of Silk had no insight to offer, no oft-repeated homilies.
In other words, I was on my own.
I moved off to give them space to train. Stalker followed me, likely with the same goal. But he looked troubled, and I was deter
mined to be a friend, even if he didn’t want me to be.
So I asked, “What’s wrong? It can’t be the lack of action.”
He smiled wryly at that, the movement pulling at his scars. We’d just burned twenty-nine more Freaks. For a band of twelve souls poorly armed and living in trees, our body count was impressive. As long as the hunting was good, the snows held off, and the horde stayed out of our territory, we could continue like this indefinitely.
“No. I was just wondering … do you think I could ever make things up to Tegan? I know I apologized and she said she forgave me because I didn’t know any better but … I feel like I need to do something more. It’s eating at me.”
“That sounds like a guilty conscience.” Momma Oaks had explained the idea to me a while back, and once she did, I understood the bad feelings I had regarding the blind brat and certain things I’d done to earn my rank as a Huntress down below.
“Maybe,” he said, sounding unsure.
So I ran through the explanation I’d received from my mother, and he nodded. “It wasn’t just her, either. We stole a few other girls, but none of them were treated so bad … because they came from other gangs, and they understood our way of life.”
“So they didn’t fight.”
I hurt for my friend, thinking about how she must feel. Maybe she hadn’t wanted the two brats they’d forced on her, but she couldn’t feel good about losing them, either. While I’d pondered, Morrow had gotten his own staff and was demonstrating the forms. Patient and skilled, he’d teach her without making her feel like she wasn’t good enough. Part of me wished I’d known an instructor like him instead of the Hunters who screamed at us down below, telling us we’d never be fast enough or strong enough—that our best would always be pathetic. It made you strong, I told myself, but all the same, I wasn’t sad that Silk’s voice had gone quiet.
“No,” he said, still standing expectant.
Belatedly, I went back to Stalker’s original question. “No. There’s nothing you can do. She has to live with it and so do you. Some things can’t be made right … but it’s good that you want to.”
