Raging Star (11 page)

He’d only get one chance. He waited among the trees for the perfect moment. As Nero burrowed deeper into the guts, his greed was greater than his caution
.

He edged closer. Closer. Close enough. He threw the coat over Nero. Then he grabbed him and hurried away
.

In fact, I talk. Jack eats. An he drinks. An he listens. We sit cradled in the bed of fir boughs an I tell him how it all went
aginst us. About Lugh’s brush with death. The fog that meant Ash couldn’t warn us in time. How the convoy was on top of us before we knew it. That I tried to stop the blast an failed. I talk of the slaves an the beasts. The Stewards an the Tonton. I cain’t speak of the unspeakable. The noise an the smells an the nightmare realness of the death we dealt them. I tell him it was dreadful an leave it at that. Then it’s Creed wounded, the curious joy of findin Mercy, an Creed’s challenge. I don’t tell the untellable. DeMalo. The blood moon.

Jack don’t say much. The odd question an once or twice, he nods. I can tell he’s thinkin hard.

We did wonder why they built that bridge, he says. But a settlement party—slaves too—headed to the Raze. What do they want with a wasteland like that? What’s DeMalo up to? You can bet he’s got a plan. We need to find out what it is.

I want Jack to know that DeMalo was there today. But I cain’t tell him straight. I might give somethin away, in my tone or my eyes or my face. So I says, There was two big dogs with the Tonton today. Creed called ’em ghosthounds.

Jack sits up straight, his eyes sparkin. That means DeMalo was there, he says. Them dogs never leave his side. He got ’em after Resurrection. Guess he don’t feel too safe. Did you see him? Tell me he didn’t spot you.

We was too far away, I says. There was smoke an noise an confusion … no, he couldn’t of. I sure didn’t see him.

Outright lies. Half-truths. Evasions. Each time I open my mouth.

DeMalo bein there means that convoy was definitely somethin special, says Jack. Otherwise, he would of left it to his Tonton grunts like usual.

That’s what Mercy said, I says.

Mercy, he says. Yeah. You can bet slaves notice things nobody else does. We gotta find out everythin she knows. Saba, d’you hear? You need to talk to Mercy.

Yeah, I says, Mercy, of course. I’m only half-listenin. Starin at a shimmer disc that hangs low beside me. At the play of moonlight as I spin it. Now I look at Jack straight. We cain’t win this, I says. We’re way outnumbered.

He frowns. That’s old news, he says. We knew that from the off.

But now I know what that means, I says. What it looks like an feels like. We got six fighters, Jack, that’s all. Emmi’s a dead weight an now we got Mercy too. Tommo an Creed only jest escaped. Lugh nearly fell to his death. If we’d lost them, we’d be finished, an fer what?

It was our first op, he says. We learn an move on. We git better. Smarter. Yer talkin like we didn’t win the action. We did.

They’ll be rebuildin that bridge already, I says.

So we hit ’em agin, somewhere else, right away, he says. It’s the whole idea, you know that. We ain’t many, but we can move fast. We make quick hits. Unpredictable. Time an agin.

Today was a waste of our effort, I says. An our firepower an our nerve. We ain’t gonna win by killin people. Death only leads to more death.

Today will of shook DeMalo, he says. Another few hits like this one, he’ll be scramblin to cover hisself. His losses mount up, he starts to look weak, people lose confidence in him. A few more start to bleed to our side—

That game’s way too long, I says.

We need to step it up, he says. We’ll hit the Tonton next. That’ll hurt him the most. I got a plan to take out two checkpoints on the same night. Opposite ends of New Eden.

I’m tellin you, this whole idea’s wrong.

It’s right an you know it, he says. It’s about who owns the future. One man or everyone. DeMalo or the people of New Eden. Fine, good, heal the earth, who wouldn’t want that? Come together fer a common cause. Work together fer the common good fer a change, instead of each person guardin their own little patch. But as free people in charge of their own destiny. Not with the gun of a tyrant at their backs.

New Eden’s too small, I says. There ain’t that many places we can hide. He’ll track us down before long.

You want the future to belong to DeMalo an his spawn?

Of course not, that ain’t what I—

Cuz that’s what’ll happen if we all stand back goin, it ain’t down to me, what could I do anyways, I’m too weak, he’s too strong. You didn’t do that when you was searchin fer Lugh.
You took on the world single-handed to git him back. But … oh right, that was about family, warn’t it? An, let’s be honest, that’s where it ends fer you, ain’t it? When push comes to shove.

No, I says.

You should of left when I told you to, he says. After Resurrection. Yer jest holdin us back. You should leave us to it. His eyes glint ice, not silver. I take a quick swig of wine. Sweetness an fire, it burns his words down to my gut. There they churn thickly, sickly. We’re silent, tight hearted, tight lipped. Then, not lookin at me, he says,

You want me to say the word, Saba? Give you permission to go? he says. Fine. Go, the three of yuz, an good luck. There ain’t no shame in it. You tried, but this kinda fight ain’t fer you. Yer tied to yer family by blood an love. That means you’ll rush to their rescue, no matter what, an that’s dangerous to the rest of us. What happened today with Lugh? That jest proves it. Love don’t make a good leader. It weakens you.

Jack’s words click a trigger. In my head. In my gut. An I’m suddenly hot, my heart thumpin. Brothers. Sisters. Family. Blood ties. Mothers, fathers, children. Somethin new, unknown, starts to breathe deep inside me. With a tremble of excitement. A shiver of possibility.

Love weakens me. I repeat it, unner my breath, to myself.

That’s what Lugh’s always said. What I never really believed.

Love weakens, I says aloud. Maybe not. Maybe … it makes me different. From you. From the rest of ’em. From DeMalo.

Okay, says Jack, but I don’t see what this has to do with—

DeMalo knows about us now, I says. After today, he knows our drill—the quick hit an run—so he’ll be thinkin what he’d do if he was us. He’ll start thinkin like us. He’ll probly even enjoy it, treat it like a game. After all, we are playin his kinda game. The violent kind. That’s what we’ve all bin playin, all this time.

So? says Jack.

We did wrong today at the bridge. An DeMalo’s wrong. What’s right must lie somewhere else. Between us maybe. Or beyond us
.

Or maybe not. Maybe what’s right lies much closer to home.

So … I says slowly, what if we stop thinkin like him … an start thinkin … like me.

Like you? Jack’s eyes narrow with sudden innerest. Go on, he says.

He’ll be espectin us to blow another bridge, or a road or a checkpoint, I says. What if we don’t? What if we change the game? Do somethin else? Somethin completely different?

Like what? says Jack.

I stole a horse today, I says.

Mischief, he says. Tricks.

No, I says, no, that ain’t what I mean. It’s more’n that, much more. Mercy said somethin … what was it? I know.

It won’t take much to make their house crumble. It don’t stand on strong foundations
. DeMalo ain’t built New Eden on strong foundations, Jack. No families. No fathers an mothers with their children. He’s split them all apart. It ain’t natural. There ain’t no … heart to it. To New Eden. It’s jest this … idea. His idea. D’you see?

Okay, he says, but how does that change what we do?

I dunno ezzackly, I says. I gotta work this out. I gotta strong feelin, Jack. An I don’t jest feel it in my gut. It’s my heart an my head too … all of me. Whatever this is, there’s meat in it, I know there is. I gotta talk to Mercy. Yer right, she’ll know things. I need to go.

Hey, hey, hang on. As I start to move, he grabs my arm. I’m a great believer in goin with yer instinct, he says. But you got me thinkin too. Thanks to yer blunder at the bridge today, our hand’s bin well tipped. Yer right, DeMalo will try to outfox us. I would if I was him. But here’s what I think. He’s the lodestone, Saba. The power here rests in him an him alone. One man. The Pathfinder, with his miraculous visions. This ain’t the same as crazy Vicar Pinch an Hopetown. Without DeMalo, New Eden collapses. It’s his plan, his ideas, the force of his will. Yeah, let’s change the game. Let’s cut it short right now. I’ll go back inside the Tonton. I’ll move quick before I’m discovered. I’m gonna kill him.

Another click of the trigger in my head. Say agin? I says.

I’m gonna kill him, says Jack. The sooner the better.

No, no, the bit before, I says. The Pathfinder with his miraculous visions.

Visions at sunrise. I seen ’em myself. Another secret I hold close in my heart. DeMalo led me there by the hand. To the bunker in the hill, to the room with white walls. Where he shared his miraculous vision. A vision of the earth before the Wreckers destroyed her. Sights wondrous beyond all imagination. Unfergettable as long as I live.

I says, You seen ’em, right? The visions, I mean. Don’t all Stewards an Tonton go there, as part of, y’know, what’s it called—

—initiation, sure, says Jack. I was set to go, but I got killed before I could. It all happens at this hill, at dawn. Hard by a place called Weepin Water. Nobody’s allowed to talk about what they see an nobody ever does but—I tell you—afterwards, they all look at DeMalo like he’s the sun itself. It must be somethin pretty amazin.

He is the lodestone, yer right, I says. An if there’s any heart to New Eden, that hill is it. We gotta go there, Jack. Right now.

Right now? he says. No way. Look at you, yer completely wired. No wonder with all that happened today, an you cain’t tell me you got any shut-eye last night in that cave.

Sleep’s a waste of time, I says.

Don’t be stupid, he says.

All right, tomorrow. Weepin Water. I’ll meet you at that
hill jest after middle night. Bring torches. We’re gonna git inside there somehow.

To do what? he says.

You said it yerself, information is power. We’ll find out what there is to know about that place. It ain’t figgered in our thinkin before. It should of.

Fair enough, he says.

An don’t you do nuthin till then, I says. Not a thing. None of yer sneakin around, no dressin like the enemy. Promise me.

He smiles. Cross my heart an hope to die, he says.

His eyes gleam silver intent. As I start to git up, he grabs my hand, gives it a tug an I fall to him, deep in the fir boughs. How could I ever mistake him fer DeMalo? His scent is so surely of none but him. Warm skin an, faintly, warm sage. Like a whisper of wider lands. His end of day beard shades his face. I smooth its rasp with gentle fingers.

See? he says. We can be calm. Quiet.

I gotta go, I says.

You remember earlier? he says. When them flathead pigs was about to trample you an I swung down like a he-man to save yer life …

In yer dreams, I says.

… at great peril to my own, he says. I’d jest like to point out that’s the third time I’ve saved you from certain death. You see, there’s this thing—I dunno if you remember—it’s called the Rule of Three … have I mentioned it before?

Once or twice, I says. I linger down his nose. Slightly crooked. Completely gorgeous. I’m glad I didn’t punch yer nose, I says. I like it.

Don’t distract me, he says. How it works is, you save somebody’s life three times—

—their life belongs to you. I know, Jack.

All I’m sayin is, the pigs made it three to me. I win.

Yer pathetic, I says. Desperate. I trail around his lips, so smooth an warm. Them pigs warn’t nowhere near me, I says. We’re still two all.

He gathers me in. Desperate, huh? he says. I’ll show you desperate. Our fingers twine, our legs tangle an his lips ramble roses all over me. Till I shiver an tremble with want fer him. Who’s kissin you? he says. Who’s touchin you?

You are, I says.

Say my name, he says.

Jack, I whisper. Jack. Jack.

Now kiss me, he says.

I kiss his name to his lips. His smooth, wine-sweet lips. I should go, I says.

You better go, he says.

Our kisses grow hungry. Our bodies heat.

There’s a bark from below. It’s Tracker. I break away with a gasp an peer through the branches at the sky. Jupiter hangs low in the east. The night’s half spent already. I need to git back, I says. I push him off, sit up an start puttin my clothes
to rights. He’s made a heroic effort to undress me. You work fast, I says.

Yer a movin target, I hafta. Here, he says, lemme help.

I button, he unbuttons. I tuck, he untucks. I slap his hand. I’ll do it myself, I says.

As I jump to my feet an do the job proper, he leans back on his elbows. I never do know what to espect when I’m with you, he says. But even so, I gotta say tonight’s bin particularly unpredictable.

We live in unpredictable times, I says. Tomorrow night. Weepin Water. Don’t be late.

I take hold of the rubber rope an whistle at Tracker to warn him. Then I leap from the platform. I let go as the ground speeds at me. I fall an land in a crouch. Tracker dives outta the way, startled. I scoop the spilled arrows, fill my quiver an shoulder my bow.