Rebel Heart

by Moira Young

  Friends we don’t want the Tonton knowin about, says Slim. He motions to me. As I slide down from Hermes, Nero flaps off to perch on a branch. I go over to ’em. I hesitate.

  Yer okay, says Slim. Go on, sister.

  I pull my sheema back from my hair an face, so’s Bram can see my birthmoon tattoo. His sleepy eyes snap open.

  Bram, says Slim, meet Saba.

  I don’t believe it! Bram holds out a meaty mitt an we shake. You do know there’s a price on yer head, he says.

  Not now, says Slim. We gotta git the Cosmic outta sight. There was six Tonton on the causeway when we blew it up. If any of ’em got away, they’ll be lookin fer me.

  You got the weapons? says Bram.

  You got somewhere to stash ’em? says Slim.

  You bet, says Bram. Here, on the left. I’ll guide you in.

  Workin fast, we move Moses an the Cosmic off the road an into the woods. We cover our tracks as we go, like Bram tells us to. The way he takes us, there’s enough room fer the Cosmic to git through without scrapin bark or breakin off branches. Mind you, at one point, it’s such a tight squeeze that we only jest make it.

  Lucky, says Slim.

  No luck, says Bram with a smile. Good measurements.

  He stops when we reach a small clearin, deep in the woods. Here we are, he says.

  There ain’t nuthin to see. Bram falls to his knees, starts clearin away the thick layers of damp pine needle with his hands. He feels around. He levers up a wooden hatch, lays it to one side, an swings hisself into the hole. He moves nippy, his head disappearin bit by bit. Must be a ladder. We crowd around.

  It’s a good sized unnerground room, down ten foot or so, there among the gnarled an twisted tree roots. Enough headroom fer Bram to stand upright. A stripped log serves fer a ladder, set at a sharp angle with crude steps hacked into it on one side. Lugh goes to climb down an Bram says, Mind the steps.

  How come? says Lugh.

  Number six ain’t there, says Bram with a grin. But I only tell my friends. Okay, let’s move. Quiet as you can.

  We hurry to unload the Cosmic. Back an forth between the cart an Bram’s unnerground store, where him an Lugh stack everythin into neat piles.

  Where’d you git all this? I ask Slim.

  He pulls me aside. Tunnels, he whispers. A Wrecker military place – Nass Camp – loads of stuff, buried unnerground. When we first, uh... met, I’d jest bin there to stock up.

  Where? I says.

  You know where you hijacked me? he says. Due north up that road, five leagues, give or take. He taps the side of his nose with a finger, points it at me. Our secret.

  Emmi’s gathered up a armload of Slim’s lethal little balls with pins. She sets off with careful steps.

  No, Emmi, let me take ’em, says Tommo.

  I can do it! She glares at him. She trips. One of the balls goes flyin into the air.

  Catch it! yells Slim.

  Maev dives. We hold our breath. She snags it one-handed. Jest before it hits the ground.

  Hoo! Slim wipes his brow. Sometimes them pins can be a little loose.

  Shame-faced, Em gives up her armload to Tommo.

  Once the Cosmic’s empty of arms, we close the dump an move her deeper into the woods. Down a little ravine an behind a couple of giant deadfall cedars. She’s a sorry sight after her trials on the road.

  Poor old Cosmic, says Slim, shakin his head.

  We’ll mend her tomorrow, says Bram.

  What now? says Molly. Our timin stinks, huh?

  You could say, says Bram. Most everybody in Sector Nine’s at our place tonight, every one devoted to the Pathfinder. But that wound of Slim’s needs seein to an Cassie’s the one to do it. I’m gonna sneak you into the house, all of yuz. I got a idea. But you gotta do ezzackly as I say, an Moses’ll hafta stay here. We ain’t got no camels in this sector.

  He’s gotta come with, says Slim. He’ll bellow somethin fearful. Don’t you got a stable to put him in?

  Sure, says Bram, but—

  He’s pals with this here horse, says Slim. Hermes. He’ll keep quiet if they’re in there together.

  Good grief, says Bram. A camel in the stable. All right, it won’t be fer long, but you tell Cassie. She won’t kill a wounded man.

  Leadin Moses an Hermes, we follow him back through the woods, towards the road. Suddenly, the soft coo of a pigeon. We freeze. It comes agin. Bram answers.

  Who’s that? I says.

  You ain’t my only new friends, he says. It’s bin quite busy around here.

  Quick movement from both sides as two people slip outta the trees. They stand in front of us. Masked, like Bram was. Bodies tense. Firesticks at the ready. They lift their masks.

  He’s wiry. Wild-haired. Barefoot. Tattooed. She’s built to fight. Her waist-long hair hangs in dozens of plaits. Hard face. Wary eyes.

  Creed. Ash.

  Last seen at Darktrees. Presumed dead.

  Here in front of us. Very much alive.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  Ash! cries Emmi.

  She runs. She leaps. She clings to Ash like a burr an covers her face in rapturous kisses. Tough Ash softens, like she always does with Em.

  She says, Still daft as a brush, I see.

  She gives her backside a swat an dumps her on the ground. Creed ruffs Em’s hair an winks as he shines his white-toothed smile on her.

  Then I’m the one who rushes at ’em. As tears prick my eyes, I grab Ash in a tight hug.

  Hello, my lovely, she says.

  We thought you was dead, I whisper.

  I’m way too stubborn to die, she says. What the hell’re you doin here?

  Jack sent fer me, I says.

  Jack! Her face darkens. If I ever see that sonofabitch agin, I’ll kill him, she says. He’s turned, Saba. Gone over to the Tonton.

  I says, No, Ash, it ain’t like that.

  We cain’t say no more. Tommo’s pilin in with the hugs an handshakes an Lugh as well.

  Creed seizes my hand an holds it to his heart. I knew you couldn’t keep away from me, he says. Suddenly, he catches sight of Molly. He goes still. Drops my hand like a hot coal. Good gawd, he says, who’re you?

  Bram says, Ash, Creed, this is Molly I bin tellin you about.

  Creed walks right up to her, right in close, a look of wonder on his face. I’m gonna marry you, he says.

  Molly curls her lip in scorn. As if I’d marry a grubby dirtboy like you, she says.

  He wipes a fire smudge from her cheek with his thumb. Tenderly.

  You will, he says. Molly swats his hand off, like she would a fly. He jest smiles, an saunters away. She frowns after him, flushed with annoyance.

  Creed, says Ash. She nods at Maev.

  Maev ain’t moved since Ash an Creed appeared, the dead risen to life. She stands stiff with shock. Her face gleams sickly white in the dimness of the woods. She looks worse’n Slim. Maev, who rode away from Darktrees as the Hawks an Raiders were being slaughtered by the Tonton, who left Ash an Creed to their fate.

  Without a word, they go towards her. They pass her on eether side an head deeper into the woods. She stands there a moment. Then she turns an follows ’em.

  They got plenty to talk about, I says. Bram, I need yer help. A friend of mine’s in trouble.

  Come to the house an meet Cassie, he says. We’ll talk there.

  Cassie turns out to be my age. A sturdy, pink-cheeked girl with a ready smile an careful eyes. She don’t even blink when we all slip into her farmhouse as Bram keeps watch by the door. Jest a quick glance at my tattoo an Lugh’s.

  She sets out soap, clean rags an basins of hot water fer us to have a wash – Lugh an Tommo in one room an us girls and Nero in her an Bram’s bedroom.

  The little girl’s gonna hafta stay outt
a sight, she says, an you, you cain’t wear them clothes. You’ll stick out. Yer taller’n me, but help yerself to what you can find in the chest.

  She leaves us to it an goes to tend to Slim’s wound. Me, Molly an Em waste no time in strippin to our skivvies. Em’s eyes jest about pop outta her head at the sight of Molly’s womanly curves packed tight into her fancy red petticoat. Nero flaps his wings an shrieks.

  Nero, quit it! Sorry, I says. He don’t know he’s a crow.

  Molly laughs.

  Em’s still gogglin. Don’t stare, I says, as I seize her rag an attack the back of her neck.

  Ow! she says.

  That friend of yers, says Molly, Creed. He’s crazy, right?

  No more’n any of us, I says. You better look out.

  He better look out, she mutters.

  Hold still! I scrub Em’s face an ears. I says, Nobody believes me about Jack. Not Lugh, not Tommo. Maev says she does, but . . . I don’t think so. Ash wants to kill him, probly Creed does too. It’s jest you an me an Em.

  I love Jack, says Em.

  Do you now? says Molly.

  Uh huh, an so does Saba, essept she’s too—

  I dunk Em’s head in the basin. She splutters an squawks as I soap her hair.

  I know how it is between you an Jack, says Molly. The moment I seen him, I knew he’d met somebody. I could see you in his eyes. Then he showed me the heartstone.

  I feel myself flush. I set Em free an git to work on myself. Tonight’s the full moon. An I don’t care what Slim says, when Jack finds the message at the Lost Cause, he’ll come straight here. I’m gonna see Jack agin. My stummick does a nervous flip at the thought. I scrub an rub an rinse till my skin’s tinglin.

  I tidy my wet hair with my fingers. It’s grown good since they shaved my head fer the cage fights in Hopetown. One day, it’ll hang down my back the way it used to. Then Lugh an me’ll have hair the same, an nobody’ll ever cut it off agin.

  Molly holds up her bone comb. Let me, she says. She combs rose oil through my hair. Here, she says, rub it in yer skin, it’ll make it soft.

  I gotta talk to Bram, I says, about Jack.

  Leave it to me, she says. Before I can say nay, she’s gone in a swish of skirts.

  I oil myself an git dressed in a pair of plain britches an shirt that I find in Cassie’s chest. They come a bit short on me, but not too disgraceful. Then me an Em join everybody else.

  Slim’s bin doctored an put to bed in a secret hidey hole in the wall. I look in on him, but he’s already fast to sleep. Tracker lies at his feet, on guard duty. There ain’t no sign of Creed an Ash. But Maev sits by the fire, silent, starin into the flames.

  Molly’s in a corner, talkin to Bram. Their heads lean together, her hand on his arm, her voice low an urgent. He nods his head from time to time.

  The door from th’other room opens. Lugh an Tommo come out. I gasp. Their hair’s bin cut short. Lugh’s long, golden plait. It’s gone. He’s had it since we was little. My heart clutches.

  Why’d you do that? I says.

  No long hair in New Eden, says Cassie, not fer men.

  Lugh holds up his plait. It gleams, thick an golden, in the firelight. His eyes meet mine, a bit defiant. I was sick of it anyways, he says. Glad to see it go.

  Bram turns back into the room, to the rest of us. Molly’s eyes meet mine. A tiny shake of her head. I frown. Later, she mouths.

  What now? says Tommo.

  Nuthin, says Bram, this ain’t the time. We cain’t talk, cain’t even be seen all together, it’s too dicey. We gotta wait till everybody leaves. There’s a lot to discuss – what to do about Slim, an you lot too. Fer now, Cassie an me better git out there before we’re missed.

  The two of ’em hand out masks to everybody but Emmi.

  What’s all this? I says.

  Sometimes, the best way to stay outta sight is to be in plain view, says Bram. Tonight, it’s the lone light in the woods that’ll draw attention. Nobody’ll notice a few more dancers in a crowded barn.

  Why cain’t we stay in here? I says.

  It ain’t safe, says Cassie. People’s bin in an outta here all day. I don’t s’pose any of yuz fancy crammin in the priesthole with Slim.

  Don’t take yer masks off fer nuthin, says Bram. Remember, you ain’t branded. An everybody’s on the lookout fer Saba an her tattoo. It’ll be a great honour to hand her over to the Pathfinder.

  If anybody asks, says Cassie, Saba an Tommo, you bin paired a month. You farm in Sector Seventeen. Lugh an Maev, the same. There ain’t no Sector Seventeen, but none of these know that. They won’t wanna look stupid, so they’ll pretend they heard of it.

  Sorry, Tommo, but it ain’t safe fer you to speak, says Bram. Best to make like yer painful shy.

  Dark colour flags Tommo’s cheeks. He nods.

  How should we act? says Lugh.

  Like them two at Billy Six’s place, I says. Like you own the world an everybody in it.

  We’ll climb Emmi up to the corn loft, says Bram. Everybody’s had enough of the damn stuff after today, so it’s the last place they’ll go.

  Cain’t I watch the dancin? she says.

  You can look through the boards at what’s goin on, he tells her, but you gotta keep schtum, okay? Not a footstep, not a squeak, nuthin, you unnerstand?

  Emmi nods. Cassie an Bram put on their half-masks. We do the same. In one moment, who we are is hidden. We’re unknown. Strangers, even to each other.

  What about me? says Molly. What’s my story?

  Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of somethin, says Bram. C’mon.

  Molly’s story turns out to be Creed.

  He slips from the stables next to the house.

  I thought he might turn up, says Bram.

  Ohmigawd, I says, he’s gone respectable.

  So he has. Clean clothes, tattoos covered by long sleeves an a collared shirt, hair cut short an neat. He’s even wearin boots. He looks completely different.

  Yer positively handsome, Creed, says Emmi. I could never tell before.

  He puts on his mask an falls into step beside Molly. He smiles at her. You look beautiful, he says. She says naught. You smell beautiful too, he says.

  She don’t even look at him as she says, Lemme set you straight, Sunny Jim. I ain’t available. Even if I was, I wouldn’t be available to you.

  Ouch, he says.

  You don’t wear boots, Creed, I says.

  Special occasion, he says. They ain’t mine, they’re Ash’s. She’s on lookout duty.

  Bram takes Em to run her up the outside ladder to the cornloft above the barn. Cassie leads the rest of us to the open doors. Inside, by the light of a dozen lanterns, everybody’s dancin. Stewards of the Earth. Young. Strong. Workers. Breeders.

  Everybody starts to go in.

  Molly! I grab her hand an pull her to one side. What did Bram say?

  I’m sorry, Saba, she says. If Jack shows up, you gotta stay outta sight. You cain’t make contact with him.

  My stummick drops. What? I says. Why not?

  Bram’s well set up here, she says. It’s took him a long time to make connections – with Slim an me, one or two people around an about. Nobody would ever suspect he’s anythin but a loyal Steward of the Earth. He cain’t jeopardize that. You got a price on yer head, it’s dangerous fer him to be harbourin you like this. He’ll help you git outta New Eden, but that’s it.

  But . . . you told him Jack’s a friend of yers, right? I says. It ain’t jest me, you know he’s in trouble, Molly. You know Jack.

  I sure do. She sighs. Listen, Saba, Jack’s bin tanglin with trouble his whole life, she says. He gits hisself into it an somehow he always gits hisself out agin. I know what Bram says don’t seem fair, but you gotta look at the bigger picture. We gotta respect his wishes. This is his place. We cain’t g
o puttin him an Cassie, all of us, in danger. Promise me you’ll do as he says.

  Jack sent fer me, I says. I ain’t come all this way fer nuthin.

  Once you leave, she says, you can do what you like. Take chances on yer own account. Promise me you won’t do nuthin while yer here.

  On my own. Once more, it’s down to me, on my own, to do what I gotta do. That’s fine. It’s what I wanted all along. Bram’s right, I cain’t put everybody at risk. I don’t want to. If Jack shows up here, I will stay outta sight. But I’ll go after him, even if he’s with other Tonton. I’ll follow ’em till we’re away from here. Wait fer the moment to make contact with him.

  Promise me, Saba, says Molly.

  I promise, I says.

  We better go in, she says. C’mon.

  My stummick’s flutterin, like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web. Right now, there’s too much that’s outta my control. Not jest tonight, but ever since we crossed the Yann Gap into New Eden. My hand’s bin forced over an over. I ain’t bin makin my own decisions.

  Long before you was born, Saba, a train of events was set in motion.

  You mean fate. I don’t believe in it.

  Not fate. Destiny. Fer you, all roads lead to the same place.

  I jest need to see Jack, talk to him, have him explain everythin. Then we’ll figger out what to do, how best to git away. The longer I’m in DeMalo’s country, the more I feel things slip away from me.

  Saba? says Molly.

  Okay, I says. Here we go.

  The band plays on a raised platform in the middle of the barn. All around it, bodies twirl. There must be fifty dancers in here. Their damp heat thickens the air. Smells crash together. Sweat. Soap. Earth on boots. The corn in the loft where Emmi hides. Roasted pig on the spit in the yard. Arms fly. Feet stomp. There in the beat, there in the bodies, somethin throbs an growls. Urgent. Rough. Dark. There’s chaos in it. Wildness.

  It’s the masks. They’re excited by ’em. They’ve unleashed somethin inside these young Stewards. Three girls, well on with child, sit on stools aginst the wall. Them an the band’s th’only ones not wearin masks. One tune finishes an the players start another. It’s a slow one, heavy on drums an bone shrillie. The dancers pair up. From the shrieks an laughter, not with their rightful mate.