Olivia

by R. Lee Smith

  Olivia said nothing, but she slipped her arm around Murgull’s thick leg, just to hug something.

  “This is not life, little sister,” Murgull said, and turned her head to spit. “This is only the shadow of a life that is long dead. We have become spirits in the living world. We are haunting our own mountain.”

  Bolga gave Olivia a few darting, nervous glances, then edged towards her and shyly offered a stone. Olivia took it, handled it while Bolga anxiously watched, and then gave it back. Bolga retreated to the fireplace, crooning to herself, and began to paint ashes on the hearth.

  Murgull spat again. “See her there, no better than a child herself. What monster must live in a man to make him poke that star-filled fool?”

  Tears stung, and Olivia had no strength to fight them back anymore. She buried her face in the coarse hair of Murgull’s knee and just let it happen.

  Murgull grunted above her, her gnarled hand stroking her hair. “Lost my eye ages and ages past, but I see more with one than most people do with two. You know, don’t you? The male who bred poor Bolga.”

  “I’m in awful trouble, Murgull,” Olivia wept. “He knows I saw him. I’m afraid he’ll kill me.”

  “He might,” Murgull said bluntly. “Your mate meant what he said. He might have spared the male castration if he had come forward, but by allowing Bolga to stand alone, he showed he had no care for her, no care for the thing he sired. Such a man is less than cattle. Such a man is not tribe. Now if he is found, he will die.”

  “Vorgullum would never do that,” Olivia whispered.

  “So sure, are you? These are desperate days, little sister, desperate men, and a leader must be hard.”

  “What am I going to do?” Olivia asked, raising her face to meet Murgull’s grotesque gaze.

  “Do nothing. Say nothing. Olivia saw nothing.” Murgull hushed her before Olivia could protest, her good eye narrowing to a cold slit even as the bad one whitely bulged. “But tell me, little sister. Tell old Murgull.”

  And oddly, she did.

  Murgull listened and recoiled in surprise. “That one? Are you sure?”

  “I saw him,” Olivia insisted.

  “But he has a mate, a human mate. With striped hair like a skunk. Why would he take such a foolish risk when he could polish his tool at home?”

  “He hates her.”

  Murgull snorted. “She hates him. I see that one, that one with spears for eyes and fire in her tongue, oh yes.”

  “So they hate each other.” Olivia wiped at her eyes. “He hits her.”

  The old gulla actually gaped. “That one? He would never!”

  “But he does! He hits her to make himself hard, and he hurts her as much as he can when he couples with her.”

  The shock on Murgull’s twisted face began to melt into doubt. Seeing it broke something inside her, as sharp and brittle as glass. Olivia struggled up, fresh tears scouring at her eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me!”

  “Sit down,” Murgull said, rubbing thoughtfully at her neck folds.

  Olivia hesitated, then slowly lowered herself onto the very edge of the bench.

  Time passed. Whatever was cooking on the fire began to smell very, very good. Bolga got tired of playing in the ashes and wandered away through one of the tunnels. Now and then, a gullan face peered in at them and retreated again, but Murgull remained deep in thought.

  Finally, she raised her head and looked at Olivia. “If red skunk-human said this to me, I would not believe her. No, if she had bruises on her naked body and blood in her mouth, I would believe she put them there herself before I believed it of him. But you, little sister…you, I must believe. Still, old Murgull thinks, if he used pain to put iron in his tool, we would have heard this from Bolga. This, even that star-filled fool would remember.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have to because she was in season. Or because she didn’t fight him. Or maybe it was enough for him just to know what he was doing to someone with clay for brains.”

  “That one,” Murgull muttered.

  “How am I supposed to know why he hits Cheyenne but not Bolga? Maybe he just thinks sex with humans is perverted.”

  Murgull scowled and shook her head. “That one…I know many who would think so, but not that one. He was the first to tell your mate that humans must be taken, that your kind was our only hope.”

  “That was before he actually had to couple with one.”

  Murgull absorbed that. Finally: “Does he know you saw him?”

  “I’m sure he suspects.”

  “Has he threatened you?”

  “Not with words, but he knows I know something.”

  “Then you are in danger, little sister. An angry man will bluster. A killing man hides his spear until he means to blood it.” Murgull patted her knee before heaving herself to her feet. “You have some protection. Your mate is powerful and cares for you. If you were to die, he may, in his grief, actually do all in his power to find someone to blame, even one he has trusted so many years. And if that does not comfort you,” she added, grinning back over her shoulder as she opened the iron door to leave, “remember that when you do not stand in our leader’s shadow, you yet stand in mine.”

  That did help, some. Even Vorgullum was afraid of Murgull.

  “What will you do?” she asked, following her out into the tunnels, and down the narrow, winding way that led to Murgull’s secret workshop.

  Murgull shrugged. “What would you have me do, little sister? I could put him in the ground easily enough.”

  “No.”

  “No?” That bulging, blind eye peered back at her, shining goblin-green in Olivia’s flashlight. “When you are so certain it was him you saw?”

  “I’m not so certain of anything that I want to kill a man.”

  “Fool,” Murgull said, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

  Olivia opened the secret door and then they were inside, Olivia shining her light where Murgull pointed so that the old gulla could rummage through her shelves. “What are you doing?” she ventured at last.

  “What is there to do?” Murgull countered, flapping a hand behind her without turning. “You have decided already to do nothing, so have the sense at least to do it well. Stay in your lair when you can, but do not avoid this male any more than you do already. If he suspects you of suspecting him, he is certain to attack. Where is it, then?” she muttered last, slapping crossly at the wall as she moved to another shelf. “Years and years it clutters up this place, but when old Murgull wants it—aha!”

  “What is it?” Olivia asked apprehensively.

  “Something for your friend. For Cheyenne the skunk.” Murgull limped back, offering a glass bottle in her cracked claws, holding maybe three ounces of blood-red liquid. “Give this to her. Tell her to wear it.”

  “What is it?” Olivia asked again, starting to uncork the bottle.

  “Leave off!” Murgull said sharply. “Your mate is making iron enough for a thousand tools!”

  Olivia started, lifting her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “It has a power inside it, like a scent no man can smell, to fill his blood with fire. Make your skunk-friend wear it, just a drop. Perhaps he will stop using his fists when he does not need them to make his little man-prick hard.”

  Olivia slipped the bottle into her pouch, dubious but respectful. “Thank you.”

  “You will have to learn to make it if you want more.” The gulla looked around the room, rubbing and rubbing at her neck. “There is so much to teach you, little sister. I will be here most nights and Horumn will know how to find me if I am not. Fetch me out whenever you can. It is time to stop telling stories, eh? Time to stop pretending the world will never find us here. You must learn to be what I am.”

  “Murgull, I don’t think I can do that.”

  “Then I die,” the old gulla said, glaring at her. “And all is lost.”

  Olivia looked at her helplessly and finally bent her head.

  “You wi
ll come,” Murgull said, “whenever you can.”

  “I will, I promise. Maybe not every day, but—”

  “Ha, my old bones could not manage every day. It will be enough.” She pulled at her neck, running her gaze over her worktable and all its mysteries. “Perhaps. Now go. Murgull has to find Horumn and give her a cuffing for causing all this misery. Find Bolga and see what can be done to make her belly strong. Find Borra, maybe. And Yawa, hmm. To set a watch around the women’s tunnels night and day against these males who would breed with fools. Ah, troubles, little sister. The Great Spirit must love troubles, for he made so many for us. Go home now, yes? Go home.”

  Olivia went.

  3

  It was a bad day, sitting alone and thinking of all the ways Cheyenne’s captor might find to kill her. Vorgullum had nothing to say to her when he finally came home. He undressed in silence and lay down without touching her, not even to lay his wing across her. It was a long time before sleep came to Olivia; she wasn’t sure it ever did come to him. She woke the next morning as he was gathering up the pile of torn tents and other bedding she had deemed undesirable so many days ago (and which he had left sitting there, patiently waiting for her to take them back), but he did not respond to her hesitant greeting, and he was gone when she came back from the washroom. He hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t promised to come back for the mid-day meal, hadn’t even given her that little forehead bump. There was food enough on his shelves to make up for two or even three meals, but after staring into the fire for an hour or two, Olivia decided to leave. It might not be the smartest thing to do, with Cheyenne’s captor creeping around, but she really couldn’t hide from him the rest of her life. Besides, if he decided to come after her, she reasoned she had a much better chance of escaping him if she was free in the tunnels and not trapped in her own lair.

  So she put on her claws and climbed down to find her way to the commons. She was a little surprised to see a meet in session, although three gullan males had been posted to guard the handful of humans, instead of the usual one. All three raised their hands to her when Olivia entered the cavern, but did not approach her. They continued their grim conversation with spears in their hands, and Bolga’s name quiet on their lips.

  “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

  Beth had come out of the small group to meet her, her pale face pinched with worry. She recognized all but one of the women behind her, but not all of them were welcome sights. She saw Amy and Tina sitting with Judith and Ellen, but she also saw Victoria standing by herself, and the crazy lady with her saucepan sitting by the hearth, and Maria the Mojo Woman, who had taken to painting large portions of her skin with ash and what looked like lipstick.

  “Is that what we’re talking about?” Olivia asked, trying very hard not to whine. “Because I just don’t know if I can.”

  “What else is there to talk about?” Ellen asked, looking towards the gullan guards. “Or do, for that matter. I didn’t even really want to come today, but Mudmar sort of insisted.”

  “Sort of?” Amy echoed, brows furrowing.

  It was difficult to say for certain, given the uneven lighting, but it seemed to Olivia that Ellen blushed.

  “I’m sure he thinks it’s good for me, and God knows I was climbing the walls to see another human face not so very long ago, but…” She looked around at the rest of them, a little embarrassed, a little imploring. “But is this really all we’re ever going to do? Just sit and talk?”

  “God, I hope not,” Tina said.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, I’m glad to get out of the house, so to speak. I’d just really rather know…what are we supposed to be doing?”

  “Adjusting,” Olivia replied, and tried to smile. “I guess as soon as they decide how we can help out—”

  “Oh, are we expected to work for them too?” Victoria uttered one of her brittle, furious laughs. “It just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”

  “I am not going to be a housekeeper in the batcave,” Maria added. “They can get on their knees and clean my floors.”

  “Or you’ll put the whammy on them, I suppose,” Judith said, but without much feeling. She sat on the end of a bench beside Amy, one hand on her stomach, staring without expression at the madwoman, who stared placidly back at her. “You and all your bad voodoo.”

  “You want to see just how bad it is, cochina?” Maria thrust out her fist, stabbed up her thumb and pinkie finger, and spat between them. All three of the gullan guards snapped their eyes around to watch. “Ojala que mueras!”

  Judith rolled her eyes and continued gazing at the madwoman.

  “Now my mojo is on you,” Maria said smugly. “And you will die.”

  “You are so full of shit,” said Amy, in what was almost an admiring tone. “I mean, shockingly full. Like you had to pound the last ten pounds of shit in there with a hammer.”

  Maria started to extend her arm, got a better look at Amy, and settled for popping up her middle finger. She kissed the tip, blew it mockingly at Amy, and then retreated to a more distant bench to sit and pick unconcernedly at her fingernails.

  The gullan guards watched her, only her.

  “That crap is going to get her killed,” Tina said, and it was the same firm, distracted voice Olivia remembered. “She thinks it’s cute now, when they’re all falling over themselves trying to decide if she’s serious, but they day they do decide is the last day she draws a breath and that’s a fact.” Her eyes shifted to Olivia. “I guess we have you to thank for all these little girl-scout meetings, and because of them, I think we can account for everyone. If all my names and numbers add up, there’s seventeen of us down here, including her.” She gave the madwoman a nod. “Most of us were alone the night we were taken, but I had a…I had a roommate,” she said after a short, steadying sort of breath. “I haven’t seen her yet, but she’s here somewhere. All of us were young, or looked young,” she added, this time with a nod toward Victoria, who glared and turned away. “And from what I can tell, we’re all pretty healthy.”

  “That’s good.”

  “That’s damned lucky, is what that is. Not a one of us with diabetes or high blood pressure or chronic asthma—”

  “Or fur allergies,” Amy inserted. “Keep going, Tina. There’s two more glaring anomalies no one’s mentioned yet.”

  They all looked at each other, but it was Beth who timidly raised her hand and said, “None of us wear glasses?”

  “That’s one,” Amy said mildly as startled double-checks flew between humans. “What else? I’ll give you a hint: Statistically, at least three of us sitting here right now ought to fall into this next category.”

  Tina’s puzzled expression turned to a scowl at once. “Christ, I was thinking this just the other day, myself. None of us are overweight. And yeah, statistically, that’s a shocker.”

  “So add that to our astounding lack of physical ailments and the demographic-busting fact that we were all at High Hill at all, and the odds do boggle one a bit. I tell you what,” said Amy casually, “I’m starting to wonder about this Great Spirit of theirs.”

  They all looked at her, even Maria.

  “I’m not going to say there’s no such thing as coincidence,” Amy went on, “but if there is a divine power out there, he does appear to be on their side. And maybe they deserve it.”

  She paused there, as if inviting comment, but apart from some outraged staring out of Victoria, there was none. Ellen looked at her feet. Judith rubbed her stomach. Beth took Olivia’s hand and sat down on a bench. Tina merely folded her arms and listened.

  “I got a real good look at these people yesterday,” Amy continued after a moment. “And these are people who have been looking death in the face for a good long time. I just had to ask myself what I would if I were in their shoes, if they wore shoes. I really don’t like the answer.”

  “Then maybe you should keep it to yourself,” Victoria said tersely.

  “Maybe I should.” Amy shrugged, then looked arou
nd. “Anyone here ever see a movie called Scylla Six?”

  “Oh God,” Beth said.

  Amy gave her half a smile. “You saw it,” she guessed. “For the rest of us, it’s this horrible, horrible sci-fi movie about the last humans in the universe, who bundle themselves into a fleet of ships and fly away from our doomed planet to colonize another one, only the fleet goes through this asteroid storm and all but one of them is destroyed.”

  “I think I did see that one,” Tina remarked. “And the ship ends up crashing on some other planet with the bug-men?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “This is relevant somehow, right?”

  “Well look, the aliens in the movie are the humans, aren’t they? They crashed on some hapless planet where they weren’t invited and they immediately start slaughtering the natives and setting up fort and yet they are still portrayed as the heroic element of the piece because they were the last humans in the universe, get me?” Amy glanced back toward the gullan. “And intellectually, anybody could see that what they were doing was dead wrong, but when the scriptwriter said they had this biological imperative to preserve their species, so anything goes, you believed it.”

  “We’re all the center of our own universe,” Olivia said, and then all turned and looked at her instead of Amy. She felt herself blushing. “Something my sociology professor used to say.”

  “He was right,” Amy said.

  “And you’re saying, what?” Tina looked from one to the other of them, one eyebrow very slightly raised. “That we ought to respect the decision to kidnap and impregnate us because these people have a biological imperative to preserve their species? That we should feel good about it?”