The door proved a little tricky, but she managed to open it while hanging off the side of the truck. She slipped through and climbed up behind a large wheel and examined the dials, buttons, and levers in front of her. She had seen raiders drive plenty of times and knew the little flappy bits on the floor made you go ahead and stop, and the wheel was for turning.
The cold pedals did not do anything when she stepped on them. The wheel was locked in place and would not turn.
She muttered to no one in particular. “Did I break it?”
While searching for a way to make it work, the air filled with the most horrendous blaring noise she had ever heard when she leaned into the center of the wheel. An explosion of black feathers filled the air as the buzzards scattered.
Althea jumped down out of the truck screaming, sprinting away from the awful sound, not slowing until the truck was far out of sight. Out of breath, she collapsed to her knees and glanced up at the sky, squinting at the lack of clouds. The dirt here was hot, and it would only get warmer through the day. She spun in place, watching the horizon slide past. Letting her eyelids droop, she opened herself up to the world around her. The agate could let her find Den, but how could she find water―a far more immediate need.
An urge flashed, vanishing as quickly as it had manifested. As she continued to spin, it returned, and she realized the feeling lined up with a certain facing. It could be water, it could be Den, but it did not feel alarming. With nothing else to do, she went in that direction.
Midday came and went. She was parched and famished by the time she reached the crest of a small hill. Another forest of strange trees sprawled out a distance away, different from the ones she had been in before and much larger. There had to be water if there were plants. Giddy with anticipation, she ran herself wheezing into the woods.
No sooner had she felt the ground beneath her go from warm dirt to cool mulch, she heard the sound of a stream. Following her ears, she soon walked astride a shallow but wide creek, leaving tracks in the wet sand that framed the water like coffee-colored glass. When she leapt into the brook, the frigid water came up to the base of her ribs and she adored every inch of it. Ducking beneath the surface, she gulped down mouthful after mouthful, and then rubbed her hands all over to free herself of the sticky residue of canine affection and muck from crawling through dead man.
Her thirst settled, she perched upon a submerged rock, armpit deep in the flowing brook, and pulled the magic knife out of its sheath. Poised, buzzard like, she squatted motionless for a time with her eyes locked on the water. A flash of silver caught her attention and she dove after it like an arrow, striking true and spearing a fish through the side. With her prize in hand, she waded out. The waterlogged leather around her waist threatened to slip off with each step; she held on to it until she sat by an exposed flat rock upon which she set her dinner.
The magic knife made short work of the scales as her precocious expertise let her clean and gut the fish like a master. Cooking was a luxury, and lacking heat, she ate her fill of it raw and settled into the cool mulch.
With agate in hand, she opened her thoughts and searched for Den. Minutes of stillness rolled by until she saw him. He led a hunting team, stomping through the trees with desperation she could feel. Knowing he searched for her brought a smile that faded when the reason for his urgency became apparent. Flashing images of Braga shouting appeared in her head, a sense he had one more chance to find her or Yala would be his wife.
Alarmed, she sat up cross-legged, clutching the pendant between her palms. There was no sense of time with the vision. It could have been two months ago, right after Vakkar’s men took her. It could be right now, or it could be yet to occur. Opening her hands, she gazed down at the trinket balanced in her palm. Voices of the women drifted around her in a taunting cloud. First crush, she is only twelve, puppy love, aww how cute, she will get over him, Zhar’s laughter.
Althea flung herself to the ground and shivered. She had failed to use her powers to prevent being taken away from Den, she had failed to use them to stay with Rachel, and now she was alone. She curled on her side into a ball around the pendant, and let her sorrow become anger. When she found her home, she would change Braga’s mind for him.
Assuming Den still wanted her.
oft brushed against her face, waking Althea from the fitful sleep of regret. Grey fur, wrapped around a rabbit of immense proportion, filled her view. The thing was almost as big as she was, and stared with unblinking eyes and a twitching nose as it munched on something green. Sensing her awake, it stopped chewing and went still.
“Good morning,” she cooed.
At the sound, its ears shot straight up. After an instant, it showered her with leaf mulch in its panic-stricken flight. Laughing, Althea fell over backwards at the creature’s reaction. When she could breathe again, she ate more of the fish and got a drink from the stream. Remembering what Reed taught her, she dug a cat hole with the knife, covering it afterward.
Picking a direction based on gut feeling was inexact, but it was all she had. Over the next several days, she walked, fished, swam, and frolicked like a dryad in a small lake amid the trees. She wondered what sort of magic made this place grow in the desert, but found no explanation as she wandered wherever her feelings led. A new companion joined her now, loneliness. Plodding along with a pout plastered to her face, she did not notice the unusual patch of greenery in her way.
A metallic clank preceded a flash of pain and a faint snap. Flailing, she fell over to the side as something crushed closed around her left leg. From the look of it, her ankle was broken.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
The pain was easy to ignore, being trapped less so. Her arms were almost strong enough to open it unaided, and after a forced surge of adrenaline, she pulled the jaws aside and slid her foot out of it.
“Aww, dammit. Sorry, kid,” a man’s voice called out from a nearby ridge. “Jimmy, some little kid just wandered inta one o’ yer traps. Looks hurt,” he yelled back over his shoulder.
Althea shoved her ankle back into place, gritting her teeth as the bones scraped. The area filled with warmth as she mended herself. After a dull pop, she flexed her foot around to make sure it was solid.
“Hang on, girl. Jimmy’ll make a splint and we’ll get ya put to rights.” The man trotted up behind her.
“I’m okay, thanks.” She smiled at him.
The look of concern on his face for a wounded child shifted in an instant to greed when he saw the glowing eyes and intact leg. Althea felt the change in his mood, and her smile ran away.
“Shee-it! Jimmy! Get down here!” He sprang at her with a cry of “Yee-haw.”
She rolled, leaving him kissing leaf mulch. Scrambling to her feet, she sprinted and leapt across a narrow part of the creek.
“Hey, you ain’t sa-posed ta run!” The man picked himself up, yelling for his friend as he followed.
“Wot da fuck is up your ass, Jon?” a deeper voice bellowed in the distance, followed by the sound of a heavyset man sliding down a hill.
“Git da others. It’s the damn Prophet. She here!”
Tears streamed from the corners of Althea’s eyes as she ran. Finally, she found people, but it was just the same old routine. These men were even cruel enough to tease her with the promise of being kind at first. She was not a child, she was not a person, just the Prophet―a commodity.
More voices shouted in the distant forest, at least six or seven men. She doubted she could control them all at once, and ran harder. The terrain grew uneven and she slipped down an embankment, landing flat in soupy, loam-colored mud by the waning creek. Lifting her face out of it, she spotted a large opening cracked into the base of a tree up ahead and got an idea.
She flung herself into the goop and rolled in it, rubbing the cold mire over her entire body. Satisfied, she scrambled into the hollow and threw leaves and twigs on top of herself, which clung to the wet mud. Huddled in a ball, she clamped her eyes closed
to stop the light and listened to the men as they drew closer. The hardest part of this trick was staying still.
Chilly slime slid down her skin; she kept her breaths slow and body motionless. The shouts sprang up all around her as they fanned out in a search pattern.
No. She clenched her hands into fists. I will not be taken.
This was not the glorious power-flinging way she had daydreamed about securing her own destiny, but it might succeed despite its humble nature. One man walked right past her tree without slowing down. The muck was working, every inch of her coated in the same dark brown as the wood. It would be full dark soon, and they would have to give up. She could peek, but then they would see the glow. The disguise just needed to last a little longer. A number of insects crawled on her, but she ignored them.
Shouting came from just outside, the first man, the one called Jon. He bellowed commands to the others before cursing and leaning against her tree. She almost gasped as the wood shifted, suppressing the tremble wanting to run through her limbs. Althea dug her toes into the saturated dirt to further mask her human shape as Jon grumbled under his breath, angry they had lost track of a little girl. She was no longer the Prophet to him; his ego bristled at a child eluding him in his woods.
Althea focused on futility and hopelessness; blind through closed eyes, she projected them in an unfocused radiance. The man’s yelling grew incoherent for a moment the tree shifted as his weight left it. Plodding slurps came as he staggered into the mud. She pictured him holding his head as her induced emotions dominated his thoughts.
“Fuck it, she gone,” Jon yelled. “Let’s get back in a’fore it dark. Mebbe she come smellin’ food.”
“Yer an ignant sumbitch, Jon.” An unfamiliar voice. “You’da been nice to ‘er, coulda had her. But no, you gotta jump on her like some kinda squealin’ inbred wolverine.”
The men exchanged curses and argued into silence. She did not move for another half hour, despite three bugs’ desperate efforts to climb her face. When she ventured a look, the forest greeted her in black and white. It was dark. The light from her gaze glistened on muddy arms and legs; she shifted to face the woods, waiting a while longer before being brave enough to emerge from the hole. Althea tiptoed through the ankle-deep mud away from the direction the voices had gone. Running would make noise, and they may still be too close.
A canine howl echoed from everywhere, and urged her up to a run after some time. The splat, splat, splat of her steps in the wet dirt fell quiet as she veered away from the creek onto solid ground. Her hair clung, matted down by the drying mud. What a sight I must be. This girl-shaped dark brown thing with glowing eyes would surely scare a sane man into shooting or spawn more legends of magical wood nymphs with leaves in their hair. The Badlands harbored strange creatures, and she had just become one of them. The drying mire formed a second skin that tugged at her as she ran.
Her flight sagged down to a jog, and then to a fast walk, which continued until the sun came up hours later. She zombie-staggered into the dawn, happy she had finally eluded capture, and happier still it was possible to do it without anyone getting hurt. Hunger growled from her gut as the fatigue of walking all night caught up to her. She wanted to fling off her clothes and jump in the lake again, but lacked the energy―as well as a nearby lake. Collapsing in a heap, she crawled up to a tree and went limp on the ground.
Exhaustion made the earth feel as if it fell away from her and she floated without gravity. She was too hungry to sleep and too tired to forage for food, but she was free. An hour or two vanished in an instant as a nap snuck through the veil of discomfort. Motion drifted through the bleariness of her vision. Blue legs hovered around her, as did rifles. At least a dozen men circled.
Why? She sobbed in her own mind, silent to the outside world. Lacking the strength to do anything at all, her body hung all but lifeless in the arms that picked her up. A man’s voice vibrated through her as she lost the battle to stay awake.
“Pobrecilla…”
lthea remembered the woods and the running, and the men with blue-covered legs. She found herself awake, but did not move or open her eyes. The fragrance of wood smoke hung in the air and a feeling of something soft existed between her head and the hard ground upon which she lay. She did not want to look and see a cage; she did not want to move and feel a collar around her neck or bindings on her arms. If she kept still, she could pretend she still had her freedom.
“Are you awake?” The voice of a woman was close, within arm’s reach.
Fearful of what she would see, Althea remained quiet and feigned sleep.
“You must be hungry.” Fingernails teased at her bare stomach.
Althea jumped up at the touch, and stared at a figure in a peach-colored dress kneeling next to her. Her skin was darkish, like the people in Den’s tribe, and long black hair hung down to her waist. She looked young, lost within the time when she was neither a woman nor a girl.
Althea clasped her throat and felt no collar. She sat up and scooted away; astounded she was not restrained.
“Hey, easy.” The girl rose on her knees, reaching toward her. “Don’t be afraid. Can you understand me? ¿Entiendes Español?”
A man’s voice came up through the floor in another language. She knew it was called Spanish, but did not understand it too well, only basic words, and nothing when spoken fast. He said something about dinner and cleaning.
The older girl patted herself on the chest. “Karina.” She pointed at Althea and made an expectant face.
“I’m not stupid.” Althea cowered against the wall, shaking. “Just scared.”
This room was small, with smooth white walls and a dark hardwood floor. She had been lying on a thick rug with a pillow. A proper bed rested along the far wall. It looked slept in and had a few dolls draped over the side. A wooden box with many metal handles on drawers sat across from it by windows that looked out into the daylight sky. Stunned by the sight of intact glass, Althea did not notice the girl’s approach.
The well-worn dress stopped just below the knee. She was barefoot as well, and had a pink flower tucked behind her right ear that looked as if she picked it this morning.
Karina put a gentle hand on Althea’s shoulder. “Why are you shaking? Oh you poor thing, you look terrified.” She reached forward, holding both her hands, and pulled the child toward the bed.
Althea followed, confused by the entirety of her situation. When the girl hugged her, she did not know how to react.
“Please don’t put me in a cage. I…” She looked down at her feet and cried. “I promise I won’t run away.” The words just came out of her on their own; as much as she had promised herself she would stay free.
“Cage? What… Dios mio, what has been done to you?”
She looked up at the woman’s face, at the pity in her stare. This girl did not look like a raider or a slave. Maybe this was one of the good villages.
“I’m Althea.”
Karina smiled and fussed with her tangled mess of blonde hair. “You have such pretty sapphire eyes, but you’re so dirty.”
“Thank you.” She ventured a hesitant smile.
The older girl stood and led her out of the room through a door, which turned out to be unlocked, much to Althea’s surprise. They walked into a hallway with peeling wallpaper bedecked with little blue patterns on a white background. The place looked ancient, kept intact by an endless patchwork of repairs. The condition was good, but the materials mismatched. Karina stopped in a small room with an elongated bowl big enough for a person to fit inside. A familiar strange white vase with a lid sat nearby. She had seen them before, but never one with clean water in it. When Althea stooped to drink from it, the older girl grabbed her by the chest cloth and pulled her back. Karina coughed through her nausea.
“That’s a toilet! We don’t drink from that. It’s for doing your business.”
“What’s business?”
Karina explained.
“Why would you wast
e water by doing that to it?” Althea blinked.
“It takes it out of the house, so we don’t have to dig holes.”
Karina twisted a metal thing on the wall by the long bowl. A pipe sticking out of the tile belched water, which began to fill the vessel.
The astounded look on Althea’s face made Karina laugh.
“Wait here.” She tapped Althea on the nose and walked out.
The running liquid was too tempting, and she put her face in the flow and gulped down her fill. Karina returned with two large pails of steaming water and almost dropped them laughing at the sight. After shutting off the faucet, she poured the buckets into the tub and smiled.
“You are filthy. Before you eat, we have to clean you up. Do you know what a bath is?”
“Yes.” She answered with a polite tone. Now the big bowl made sense; it was not like the metal tubs she had seen before. “Is this for me?”
“Mm hmm.” Karina nodded. “I’ll give you some priv―”
Althea hooked her thumbs under her skirt and shoved it over her hips to the floor. The chest cloth followed, and she lowered herself into the warm water. Dirt stained it brown in seconds, and she glanced up at the shocked woman, wondering what was wrong.
“I guess you don’t want to be alone.” Karina giggled.
Althea took the washcloth and bathed herself, ignoring the strange white block.
“Aren’t you going to use the soap?” Karina knelt behind her, nudging the bar.
“Soap?” Althea blinked.
“Soap is what makes you clean.” Karina took the small brick and rubbed it into the washcloth, making suds. She ran the cloth over Althea’s shoulder while offering a sad smile. “Let me do your hair then. The bubbles hurt if you get them in your eyes.”
“Okay.”
While Althea played boat with the soap, Karina worked the lather through her hair. She rambled on about how pretty it was, and admitted a little jealousy of the color. By the time she had a decent foam going, Althea was bawling. Out of nowhere, the tenderness with which this woman treated her touched upon a nerve that had atrophied years ago, and made the past six hurt much more.
Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) Page 18
