The Boys of Fire and Ash

by Meaghan McIsaac

  “Fiver, stop!” I told him. One of the boys grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threw me to the ground at Fiver’s feet, my palms ripping open on the dirt road.

  The boy standing over me had a pistol pointed at my face, the other pointing one at Fiver. I nearly jumped when I saw what had been threaded onto the breast of their uniform above the heart—the mark. I squinted when I saw it, seeing the color was different. The mark was white, and just like Blaze, a line ran through the whole of it.

  The old man was talking quickly, and the short one listened, an eyebrow cocked and lips pursed, his entire face drenched in suspicion.

  “Please,” I said. “My friend, he’s sick.”

  I pointed at the cart, but the two boys kept their pistols held at us.

  The short one strode over and grabbed Fiver by the neck, moving aside his collar and inspecting the skin. He let out a grunt. Then he bent down and grabbed me, his pointy fingers jabbing into my throat as he pulled aside my Larmy hide to have a look at my neck.

  He released me, and I reached up to rub out the sting from his rough hands. Were they looking for a mark like Blaze’s?

  The short leader mumbled something and the two boys dropped their pistols at their sides. He moved towards the cart and looked at Av lying motionless.

  “A fin do hai,” he said to the old man, motioning for us to move on. The old man tipped his hat and waved at us to climb aboard.

  I hurried over but Fiver was still facing the two boys, his fists clenched at his sides.

  “Fiver,” I said. “Come on!”

  He stayed there, glaring at them, and I knew all he wanted was to teach them a lesson, to show them he was stronger, but there wasn’t time.

  “Fiver!” I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Av needs us, let’s go.”

  Reluctantly he followed, and the two of us jumped aboard as the cart jerked forward, rumbling farther into town.

  The brick-paved streets were lit by yellow torches, and lights from the windows of the stone buildings glowed with a warmth I could practically feel as the light hit my face.

  But there were marks on this town, signs that something had come through here. The roofs on the darker houses looked eaten, like flame had chewed them into almost nothing. Some of the doors and windows were supported with beams of wood that you could tell hadn’t always been there, and almost everything was scarred with the black bites that only fire leaves behind.

  The old man yelled and hollered at shadowed people walking through the streets, growling at them to make way as he hurried as best he could. My heart swelled with thanks and a part of me wondered if the man had been a Brother once upon a time. Who else could be so helpful to us but one of our own?

  The cart stopped and the man leaped off his beast and waddled up to a large stone dwelling, the golden glow from its windows giving us just enough light to see by. Through the windows I could see people: men and women dancing and drinking, coming and going through a black open door. Hidden slightly to the right was a red door. The old man banged on the red door and then disappeared inside.

  Av was still unconscious and Fiver and I waited nervously to see if the man would return for us.

  The door stayed closed and I worried my mind had prematurely thanked the melted old man.

  Just before my mind had the chance to slip into complete panic, the door burst open and our rescuer emerged with a second old man who was perfectly circular from the fat that filled out all of his angles. The two rushed over to the back of the cart and our escort pointed at Av while speaking quickly in his own language to the round man.

  The fat man’s eyes narrowed when he looked at Av and he reached in and grabbed his wrist. The concentration on his face was one I’d seen before and suddenly, more than ever, I began to ache for home. Then he nodded and barked commands at us that neither Fiver nor I understood before he waddled back towards the house.

  Our bent friend smiled and motioned for us to come out and follow the pudgy waddler.

  “What’s happening?” said Fiver.

  “I think the fat man is their Crow.”

  Fiver’s eyes lit up with comprehension and the two of us hurried to carry Av into the house, hoping this man could heal Av the way our own talented Brother would have been able to.

  We struggled to the red door, which the round man held open as our bent friend mounted his Sibble Cow and drove off without a goodbye. When I got in the door the only thing to see was an incline of steps stretching up to the second level. My chest deflated as I realized I’d have to carry him all the way up there, when a frantic wailing sounded from somewhere inside the building. Fiver and I hesitated and my stomach leaped into my throat. What on earth could make that kind of noise?

  Then we saw her. An old, melted woman, of similar build and roundness to the healer, came rushing down the steps towards the door. She was wringing her hands and motioning for us to hurry inside. I couldn’t tell if she was crying, but she was kicking up such a fuss that it was overwhelming me as I tried to keep my strength long enough to get Av up to the top of the dwelling.

  The healer man seemed to be just as overwhelmed and shooed her back, yelling over her wails and grumbling.

  The spherical couple scurried ahead of us, leading us up the stairs to a small room with a soft, cushy bed. Without needing to be told, we dropped Av carefully onto the bed and stood back, gasping for breath, to let the healer help him. He barked some orders at the old woman, who nodded and hurried away.

  With fat, meaty fingers, he opened Av’s right eye, then his left. Then he turned Av’s head and inspected the back where the Tunrar had slammed it into the ground. Av’s dark hair was crusted and matted with the dried blood, and at the sight of it my throat felt like it was closing up. The old man shook his head and made a tsk-tsk noise with his mouth.

  Then, with his sausage fingers, he wiped the drool from Av’s mouth and smelled it. He shook his head and looked at me and Fiver, speaking quickly in a deep gruff voice and waving the finger at us. He wasn’t yelling, but he was serious and urgent. I held up my hands and shook my head, hoping he’d know I didn’t understand.

  Fiver held out his hand and inside were a couple of the Sable Root plants that we’d kept in case we needed to give Av more. The old healer took a look and nodded thoughtfully.

  He rifled through a cluttered shelf and pulled out a jar. He opened the lid and took out some dried flowers, holding them out to us. The flowers were orange and a similar size, but there was no doubt they were different from the one we’d given Av.

  Just then, the woman returned, a basin of steaming water and a large cloth cradled in her pudgy arms.

  The old man motioned to a small wooden table and she placed the basin down. The old man threw the petals into a cup and dunked it in the steaming water. With some kind of tool, he squished the flower and the water turned orange. The old man blew on it, then tilted Av’s head back, forcing it down his throat.

  Burning guilt filled my stomach. This was my fault. I’d picked the wrong flower.

  The old couple spoke to each other, her face withered with concern, his knotted with concentration. She flitted something sounding like a question, and he grumbled a long answer. As he spoke her concern melted and she smiled and nodded. Then with glistening eyes she looked at Fiver, who shifted awkwardly and refused to make eye contact.

  I watched as she looked him up and down, gasping when she saw his leg. Her chubby hands reached out for Fiver’s gash and he jumped back, nearly knocking over the table with the water.

  “Hrmrah?” said the old man.

  She went on, pointing to Fiver’s leg and covering her mouth in despair.

  Fiver pressed his back against the wall and scooted over to stand behind me.

  The old man squinted, trying to get a look at Fiver’s leg from where he sat. “Bah!” he grumbled, and then began listing things on his fingers for the old woman.

  She nodded at everything he said, her head bobbing up and down. Then the o
ld man waved her off and she scurried over, shoving me out of her way. She grabbed Fiver by the arm.

  Fiver yanked away and backed himself into the corner, like a frightened Slag Cavy. I’d never seen Fiver look so small, so helpless.

  “Shh, shh, shh, shh,” she said. She reached up and grabbed his face in her pudgy hands and cooed. Then she took hold of his wrist and dragged him past me.

  “Urgle?” he said as she pulled him out the door.

  I took a step to go after him, but Av groaned and I stopped.

  “Urguth,” Av said, and I crouched down beside his bed, taking his hand.

  “Wawksh an’ eyesh,” he said. It was the second time he’d said that.

  “Av?” I tried. “I’m here.”

  He groaned at the sound of my voice and after that he was quiet.

  “Oh, Av, I’m so sorry.”

  The old man was cleaning the wound on his head, and he smiled when he saw the worry on my face. The melting that had pulled down his skin seemed to bunch together when he did, round lines bunching around his eyes and his mouth. It made the smile look better than a regular one somehow, like it took a lot of work to lift up all that skin, so if he was going to smile, it had to mean something for the effort.

  He patted Av on the shoulder and nodded, then he patted me.

  “Can you fix him?” I asked.

  He reached out and tapped me twice on the nose. “Boop, boop,” he said, grinning.

  A roar from Fiver exploded somewhere outside the room and there was a bang and a crash. The old man looked to the door, then back at me. He nodded for me to go.

  I got up but paused in the doorway, looking back at Av and the old man working to save him.

  “You really think you can?”

  The old man grinned and tapped his nose twice.

  I’d seen Crow work on a patient enough times to know that if the healer can grin, it must be a good sign.

  I let out a long breath that I must’ve been holding for a while, and left the old man to his work.

  I followed the sound of Fiver’s growling into another room, where stone and wood adorned the walls and the furniture. A fire trapped within a little stove warmed the room, and candles lit it up with a soft glow.

  “Argh! Mother seeker!” Fiver screamed.

  The little old woman had him seated in a plush, cushy chair woven of colorful fabrics. She was huddled over his leg, threading a needle through the gash.

  “Urgle,” Fiver said, “she’s crazy! Get her off me!”

  “Oh, pshaw,” said the woman, smacking his other knee.

  I took a step closer and saw the pistol wound, which was halfway closed by the thread she’d used to bring the skin together. It was clean and healthy.

  “Hey,” I said, surprised. “She’s fixing you!”

  “I don’t care!” he yelled, grimacing. “Just make her stop!”

  She looked up from his leg and said something to me, a lined smile lighting her face. She waved her hand over to a tray sitting on a stand beside the fire; several glass bottles filled with a dark brown liquid were arranged in a tidy circle.

  I walked over and looked back.

  “Dah, dah,” she said, pointing to the tallest bottle.

  I picked it up and she nodded, so I handed it to her. She bit off the lid and passed the bottle to Fiver.

  “Now what?” he moaned. “Poison?”

  “Kasi she,” she said, and made a drinking motion with her hand.

  He smelled the liquid and let out a cough. “By Rawley, that’s awful!” he said, then handed it back without taking any.

  She laughed and cut the thread, giving Fiver another pat on the knee before she stood and hurried over to the stove.

  His gash was fully closed, the skin around it healthy save for a black thread keeping it together. I’d never seen a wound closed with anything but Sticky Willow. But she’d closed it her own way and closed it nice. I could just imagine Crow’s face when we told him.

  “How’s Av?” Fiver asked, putting the bottle on the floor.

  I wiggled my toes, feeling the warmth seeping into them. I felt relief wrap around me with the heat from the fire. If the old man was as skilled as his woman, then Av was in good hands.

  “I think he’s going to be all right,” I said.

  Fiver nodded and inspected his leg, his fingers prodding at her work.

  “Ah, ah, ah!” she yelled at him, waving a finger, and he stopped immediately. She laughed and grabbed him by the chin, planting a kiss on his cheek. At first I thought he might hit her, but instead he just rubbed his face where her lips had touched him, his eyes wide and confused.

  Then the old woman hurried over and grabbed my face—her strength surprising for such a tiny old thing—and kissed me too, pressing her wet old lips hard against my cheek. She was so warm, her hand on mine and her lips pressed against my cheek, that I was surprised when I realized I’d welcomed the touch of a woman, those dark and evil creatures that had caused so many nightmares.

  Her eyes fell on the belt I’d tied around my thigh, and without warning she pulled it down, revealing the gash from the Tunrar. It was black and swollen, puss seeping out of the sides.

  She gasped and rushed back to the stand with all the bottles. She pulled out one with what looked like water, and scurried back to me, dunking half of it on my leg.

  It stung and I jumped, but she grabbed my arms to keep me still. Then she tore away the belt altogether and tied it with new, clean dressings.

  “Tu lay,” she said with a satisfied grin, pleased with the work she’d done.

  At a long scuffed wooden table at the other side of the room there were two cups and two bowls laid out. The old woman went over to it, chattering on even though I was certain she was aware we didn’t speak her language. She pulled out two chairs, one in front of each place setting, and motioned for us to sit.

  I looked at Fiver, who looked at me. We both weren’t sure what to do, but she laughed a hearty chortle and smiled so warmly that I couldn’t help but smile back. Fiver was the first to move. Getting to his feet, he accepted the seat at the table, all the while eyeing her like she was an Ashen Bear waiting to attack. I joined him, the savory smells basting the air making my stomach grumble.

  I stared at the empty bowl in front of me and breathed in the aroma of whatever was cooking on top of the stove. My stomach practically roared from hunger. I was ravenous and warm, and unexpectedly at ease.

  The old woman waddled over with a large pot and giant spoon and filled our bowls to the top with a beautiful chunky, meaty slop. It smelled like everything my stomach had ever wanted, and I lifted the bowl to my mouth without a second to lose.

  The woman screamed and I nearly dropped the bowl. Had I offended her somehow? But she laughed when she saw the look on my face and waved her mouth, miming that the food was still hot.

  Relieved, I blew on the mixture with all my might, and in moments I was face deep in chunks of vegetables, meats, and other soft, mushy, savory bites I couldn’t identify, all of it swimming in a thick gravy.

  Fiver was snarling, snorting as he shoved the meal into his mouth with just as much ferocity as me.

  She chuckled a jolly laugh and patted our heads, filling our cups with a warm, fragrant tea.

  She took a seat beside Fiver and prattled on as we ate and drank. I found myself enjoying the sound of her clucking chatter, not minding that I couldn’t understand a word. Fiver kept one eye on her at all times, and I could see the struggle in his brain as he tried to decide what to think. This was the first woman he’d met, after Gorpok Juga, and anyway, Juga was sort of easier to accept. She was more like what we’d expect of a woman, I guess. Melty, sure, but evil enough. This smiley old lady, filling our bellies and warming our toes, and fixing Fiver’s leg, was something else altogether. She was something hard not to like.

  Finally she got up from the table and wrapped a colorful blanket around her shoulders, waving and bowing as though she were preparing to l
eave.

  Fiver stood up as she headed for the doorway that led to the steps we’d climbed when we’d first come in. “Where’s she going?” he asked as she waddled out the door, surprising me with the demand in his voice.

  I shrugged.

  That wasn’t a good enough answer for Fiver. He rushed after her and peeked down the hall of steps. Not wanting to be left out, I jumped from my chair and rushed to join him.

  As we watched, the old woman jiggled and wobbled as she made her way carefully down to the red door, but she didn’t go through it. Instead, to her right, there was another door I hadn’t noticed when we had first walked in. She opened it and light, music, and laughter spilled into the hall. Then, as she disappeared inside and closed the door behind her, there was silence.

  “Let’s go,” said Fiver.

  “What?” I wasn’t so sure. “We can’t leave Av.”

  “He’s bedridden and the room she went in is just down there.”

  I felt my eyebrow rise; Fiver had always taken zero interest in anybody but himself, and Wasted maybe, but this old woman certainly had his attention. He noticed my suspicious look and moved his eyes to his feet, embarrassed. His unease made me soften, and part of me wanted to let him go after her. But I felt bad leaving Av behind when he was sick and couldn’t join us.

  I looked back to my bowl, which was still streaked with gravy. “I still have some food left,” I said.

  Fiver rolled his eyes and looked at the table: his bowl was streaked too. He sighed and flopped into his chair again. I picked up my bowl and slid my finger along the sides, licking up the salty greasiness.

  “She did an all right job with this leg.” Fiver was massaging the skin around his wound. “Maybe even better than Crow.”

  That was the kind of thing Fiver would have beaten the living flame out of a Brother for saying.

  He caught me watching him out of the corner of his eye and quickly put his leg back down on the floor, then lifted his bowl to his face and took a big slurp. “So how far to these Belphebans of yours?”