He still thought she was beautiful.
“Ensign!” Father Reed was frowning at him. A few children giggled.
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”
Flushed, he quickly read from a sheet of hemp paper.
“Weather is expected to be clear all week. A group of tribals are moving southwest, four kilometers from Yellow Creek. A small pack of dogs or wolves is following.”
“Thank you, Ensign Wilson. Please bow your heads. The Shepherd watches me, I lack for nothing; he makes me lie in meadows green, he leads me to refreshing streams, he revives life in me. He guides me by true paths, as he himself is true. My road may run through a valley of doom, but I fear no harm, for he is beside me.”
AFTER CHANGING OUT OF his heavy priest’s outfit Wilson walked to a hut on the western edge of the valley. Deer and wolf skins stretched over racks outside and the foul smell of ammonia and rotting flesh hung in the air. Inside, all grades and sizes of leather hung on the walls. His mother sat at a workbench sewing a moccasin with a thick needle and leather thong. Dark stains covered her yellow hemp blouse and brown trousers.
“Hi Cubbie! I’m almost done.”
“Mother, I’m seventeen, don’t call me that. I’ve been Ensign Wilson five years now.”
She chuckled. “Don’t get so twisted up, dear. There’s nobody around.”
“Why weren’t you at the meeting today?”
“Too much work.”
“Ma, that’s always your excuse.”
She waved a hand at the walls. “That’s because I’m always busy!”
“I’ll help you tomorrow, I promise.”
“Son, I didn’t fall from the apple tree yesterday. I know that Reed twists his mind in knots just to find a project for you every single day. So don’t worry about your old mother.”
“Don’t be like that, ma!”
She knotted off her work and stood up.
“Finished! Let’s take these to Brownie.”
Sunshine cut through the cool droplets of mist as they walked toward the center of the valley.
“Why so quiet, Cubbie? Is something wrong?”
Wilson hesitated as a young couple passed, holding a wicker basket between them.
“It’s just … we buried Lewis today. I wonder if he’s with father right now.”
His mother rubbed Wilson’s brown hair and hugged him tight.
WILSON FINISHED HIS MID-DAY meal and walked through one of the underground corridors that connected sections of the village. He took a shortcut through the greenhouse. Now just a dark, empty space, in the winter it would be packed with greenery and bright lights. In the earthen ceiling above his head tiny dots felt his steps, glowed red to light the way, then faded to black.
The far wall of the greenhouse and a tunnel emerged from the darkness. Wilson walked a dozen meters and turned left. The walls were painted with reflective white triangles, meaning an old earthquake had damaged the passage. Wilson thought it was stupid. All the kids used shortcuts and nothing ever happened.
He passed a black opening, also marked with a triangle. A pebble cracked and rolled in the dark. Wilson turned to look and someone shoved him from behind.
“Hey!”
He stumbled a few steps and dropped to one knee. A firm hand twisted his right arm behind his back.
“Stop!”
“Keep walking,” said Badger. She pushed him into the dark a few dozen steps, turned him right for a bit, then let go of the arm.
“I wouldn’t move,” she said. “There’s a thirty-foot drop-off right here.”
“You’re crazy!”
Wilson couldn’t see anything. He kept both feet on the ground and a hand on the corridor wall. He considered backing away and thought it morbidly funny that he was more nervous about being alone with Badger than falling to his death.
“What’s this about?”
Badger snorted. “About? You tell ME what it’s about. Last night, when you two–”
“I didn’t see anything!”
“I hope not, you pervert. I’m not asking about that. I’m talking about my problem. You priests are supposed to have all the answers, but all I’ve been told is ‘don’t worry, it’s happened before,’ or ‘we can handle it, dear.’”
Wilson smelled spearmint on her breath and cedar from her clothes.
“I don’t know any more than you,” he stammered.
“Do you think I’m a child? All your books and machines and you don’t know?”
“We don’t … we don’t know everything.”
“That’s for sure. Spotted bears aren’t in your books. Range lizards aren’t in your books. What I know and you priests don’t should be in a book.”
After a long silence, Wilson cleared his throat.
“Hello?”
Footsteps echoed in the distance and he wondered if she’d left. His hand was still on the wall and he wondered if he could get back to the main corridor.
“Keep still,” whispered Badger.
Something squished against the wall and Wilson jerked his hand away.
“What the–!”
“It’s dead now. Answer my question.”
“I told you, I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“I’ve seen you staring at me, priest. I’m not stupid. You must be disgusted with me just like everyone else.”
“That’s not true!”
“Which one? That you stare at me or I’m a freak?” Wilson heard the smile in her voice.
“Never mind,” she said. “Just use the power of the Holy Spirit or whatever stupid ways you priests have to find out. And by Holy Spirit I mean beg, borrow, or steal to find out why.”
“All right, I’ll try.”
“Don’t say that, just do it.”
Wilson heard steps and Badger’s voice came from farther away. “If you don’t want a long trip in your future, keep a hand on that wall.”
Wilson did as he was told and walked around the corner. He still couldn’t see a thing.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Watch out for spiders!”
Her laughter echoed in the hallway as Wilson walked faster. He realized he’d never heard Badger laugh before. He felt strangely elated she hadn’t punched him in the nose.
TWO
Wilson went to his room and opened a medical text.
Reed wanted him to study cardiac rhythms but his eyes glided over the pages like a lazy summer breeze. He carved a line into the wood of his desk with a fingernail and thought about the earthen smell of Badger’s skin and the scar over her navel.
He found Reed in a small room packed with books, his teacher’s face covered with an emerald glow as he read from a display. The dim light and smell of ancient pages always reminded Wilson of mushrooms.
“I have a question, sir.”
Father Reed scratched his beard and didn’t look up. “Yes?”
“The situation with Airman Chen …”
Reed smiled to himself. “Yes, what about it?”
“I’d like to know what’s wrong with her.”
“She experienced a tonic-clonic seizure, not idiopathic, but the result of a power connection issue.”
“I’m sorry––what kind of issue?”
“Power connection. That’s what the display indicated. However, between you, me, and the wall I have no idea what it means.” Reed waved his hands at the books on the walls. “Look at all of these volumes in agriculture, animal husbandry, biology, or medicine. Not one manual for the treatment scanner.”
“But if her problem is medical, can’t we do something?”
“It’s not actually a problem with her body,” said Reed. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “I was going to wait until you’ve had more medical training, but I suppose now it’s better to tell you.” He pointed at the large display on the wall. “What do you see?”
“The normal perimeter map. Those two dots are Brown and West in the foothills. That cluster in the center is Station. That pair is Zhang and–”<
br />
“Harden, exactly. But how do we get this information?”
“Radar?”
“No, but electromagnetics are involved in the signal. On the twelfth anniversary of a citizen’s birth, each is taken to the Tombs, given a sleeping tonic, and passes through the name-giving ceremony.”
“Of course.”
“Each returns bandaged from surgery. Throughout this person’s life, he or she will always carry several scars. The longest is on the left arm.”
“I don’t see how this applies to Badg– … Airman Chen.”
“It’s central to her problem, but what I’m about to tell you must be kept absolutely secret. During the name-giving ceremony, objects are implanted beneath the scars. It’s all underground and I’ve never seen the surgery myself but I know the objects are there. My teacher taught me about them before he passed on.”
“But why? What use are they?”
“The myth about the name-giving ceremony is that it makes us stronger, faster, more attractive to the opposite sex, et cetera and ad nauseum. These are mostly old wive’s tales in my opinion. Specifically to Airman Chen, the scanner notes a ‘power connection’ problem and that refers to a problem with the objects. As I mentioned, I’ve treated it before.”
Wilson looked at the ancient books for a moment, then stared at Reed.
“If this foreign object is the problem, why not remove it?”
Reed pretended to search the pockets of his green jumpsuit. “Did I lose that Book of Ultimate Answers To Apprentice Questions?” He rubbed the top of the display screen with a finger and made it squeak. “Any surgery on the left arm can initiate cardiac arrest. It’s not in that medical text you just grabbed but I know we’ve talked about it.”
“Sorry. She wasn’t born here, maybe–”
“None of the other tribal-born ever had issues with the ceremony.”
“Maybe old records in the database–”
“Listen, I’ve been leader of this Station for more summers than you’ve been alive. The database has nothing pertinent, and in any case I’ve treated this condition before. You’d better return to your studies and forget about the whole incident.”
“Why?”
“Because suddenly everything is different.” He pushed a finger into Wilson’s chest. “She’s gotten under your skin.”
WILSON WAITED A FEW days for the right moment. He avoided the topic of Badger’s seizures, worked hard on his tasks, and helped weed and water crops in the wide fields of hemp and corn. In addition to studying medicine, tribal dialects, and in Wilson’s mind just about everything useless under the sun, he had to spend time in all the professions of the village.
Normally he welcomed the farm chores in the early morning. The constant motion of his arms into the fresh earth, his skin prickly from the warm sun and trousers wet from dew––all of this gave him time to think. Now he wished he could slam the door on his wandering thoughts and swallow the key.
He thought about the soft skin on her arms and the way she’d laughed at him. Did she think about him the same way? It was more likely she’d fall in love with a caterpillar. He found a black and orange striped one resting on a tomato leaf and squashed it angrily, then lifted the hoe and worked up a furious sweat. Wilson, the bumbling slave to everyone and master of none. What made the situation more embarrassing was that priests never took a partner from the village. They always studied the dialects and always partnered with someone from the outside. Apprentices in other professions also found tribal partners if they had the means. “By hook or by crook,” as Father Reed joked. Wilson found absolutely nothing funny about it. He imagined getting stuck with some tattooed witch who thought soap was something you drank from a pot. The fact that tribals had killed his father didn’t make the idea any more attractive.
Father Reed went for a walk after the mid-day meal and left Wilson alone with the database. He already had the access code and pass from months ago. He activated the database screen and started the search function.
db query: Bryant Chen A1C
Six entries appeared:
CHEN BRYANT A1C
DOB 03.21.2002
DOI 03.21.2051
DOD 12.30.2063
CHEN BRYANT A1C
DOB 10.14.2065
DOI 10.14.2077
DOD 08.02.2117
CHEN BRYANT A1C
DOB 11.28.2128
DOI 11.28.2150
DOD 02.18.2190
CHEN BRYANT A1C
DOB 12.01.2213
DOI 12.01.2225
DOD 05.07.2251
CHEN BRYANT A1C
DOB 03.04.2262
DOI 03.04.2274
DOD 06.20.2263
CHEN BRYANT A1C
DOB UNKNOWN
DOI 04.23.2308
DOD ––
Wilson knew the last section was Badger’s. April 23 was her birthday and her name-giving ceremony––the ‘DOI’––had been four years ago, when she was twelve. The earliest entry was the original Bryant Chen and member of the founders.
It was incredibly odd that parents gave their children names in the old days. How did that work? Did they just pick a name at random? He touched the screen and expanded the data. The medical history of the founder and each namesake included dates and descriptions of various illnesses.
Wilson abruptly jabbed the power button and stumbled straight out of the bunker. He covered his eyes from the bright sunlight and spat on the ground.
Father Reed had lied to him. The founder and all of his namesakes had died within a month of the first seizure.
LONG AFTER THE SUN had dropped behind the mountains, Wilson lay under a nut pine on the slopes of Old Man. The low branches hid him from view and he was high enough to see the entire valley. Most people avoided the mountain because of the Tombs and the ghost stories, but Wilson enjoyed the solitude. He didn’t believe in spirits or children’s fairy tales. Usually he slept or watched the clouds creep along, lazy and oblivious. Today he listened to the trill of nightjars and watched a pair of the brown birds fly together in the cool evening sky.
He’d be needed for some random chore sooner or later, so Wilson took a long and indirect route back to the village. A long-limbed boy with red hair squatted near the rectory and used a paring knife on a stick. Wood shavings sprayed the bare ground as Wilson approached.
“Robb, what are you doing?”
“Huh?” The boy looked up. “Finally! I’ve been to hell and back looking for you.”
“What is it now?”
“If you’re going to get mad just forget it.” Robb dropped the stick and walked away.
“I’m sorry. What’s the message, please?”
Robb spun around. “Oh! You’re on duty tonight! With your girlfriend! GAA ha ha!” He ran as fast as he could. Wilson threw the stick but missed.
“I’m off the rotation!”
Father Reed was supposed to change the schedule so Wilson could study nocturnal pests in the orchard. He hadn’t done night duty for weeks but it looked like tonight was different. Robb wouldn’t lie about something like that.
It was probably for the best he hadn’t chased the boy––half a dozen people were watching.
WILSON PULLED THE BOX of hunting gear from under his bunk. He donned a thick woolen coat and strapped a leather belt around his waist. A six-inch blade slid into the left scabbard and a smaller knife the right.
Inside Armory Mast handed him a crossbow and a rucksack containing a packet of bolts, a water skin, dried food, and a wool blanket. The big teenager slid a wooden mask across the table to Wilson.
“Take this one. It’s my favorite,” said Mast.
Wilson stared at the sharp teeth and yellow eyes painted on the black wood.
“However,” said Mast, “The look on your ugly mug would stop a bear in his tracks or kill a chipmunk outright, so just leave it.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s only night duty. You can sleep and Badger won’t say much. Just
don’t touch her accidentally on purpose,” said Mast.
Wilson frowned. “Tell me something I don’t know, Captain Obvious.”
“Okay. The difference between girls and–“
“Shut up before I ram something in your eye. Like my fist.”
Mast laughed. “Anyway, Badger has spirit. She just couldn’t handle me.”
“That broken nose says different.”
“No,” said Mast. “I mean, she couldn’t ‘handle’ me. Too much of a man. Get it? Yeah? Are you getting me?”
“Oh, I get it––you’re an idiot.”
Wilson grabbed the hunting mask and walked out.
“Just a joke, friend! Don’t tell Badger I said that. Okay? Wilson? I never said that! Wilson! Ha ha ha, my friend, Wilson!”
Mast banged his fist on the table and rattled all the tools and knives.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he whispered.
BADGER STOOD OUTSIDE ARMORY in the thick wool and leather of duty gear, crossbow slung over a shoulder and hunting mask hanging from her belt.
She’d tied a feather in her hair with red string and it made Wilson curious, but not enough to risk a punch in the mouth.
“Ready?” she asked.
Wilson nodded.
Neither spoke as they walked south through Station. It was early twilight and the villagers chatted in small groups or carried tools from the fields. Children played around the gardens and in the grassy mounds and hollows.
Wilson followed ten paces behind Badger. He tried to step exactly where she stepped, for no reason other than to keep his mind off the database. They descended through the high granite walls of the pass and followed a winding trail around boulders and fallen trees. Pine branches swished in a cold gust of wind and Wilson pulled his cap tighter around his ears. He thought about things he could say that wouldn’t make him look like an idiot.
A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) Page 2
