Rebel Heart (33 page)

Saba? It’s Molly. Yer talkin to yerself, she says. Here. Let me give you a hand.

I jump to my feet. No, it’s okay, I—

But she’s already pullin a raggedy shift over my head. Her eyes flick over the girly skivvies I’m wearin, the boots.

Stand still, she says. She starts to cover up my birthmoon tattoo, dippin her baby finger in two little pots of paste, brown an white, mixin on the back of her hand till she gits the colour right to match my skin. Where you bin? she says. Where’d you git the fancy gear?

It’s Cassie’s. I tell the lie agin. If I tell it often enough, I might even start to believe it.

Fine, she says, keep yer secrets. You smell nice. What is that, juniper?

I dunno, I says.

Okay, that’s covered up. An you look truly wretched in them clothes. You’ll pass. Now . . . She runs a keen eye over me as she rummages in the little bag at her waist. This hair of yers . . . She’s pulled out her comb an started combin an fussin an movin around me. Before I realize, before I can stop her—

Oh! She goes still. She’s seen it. On the back of my neck. My first-time mark. His mouth. His lips.

Above all others, you chose me, Saba.
His smell on my skin. His voice in my head. His mark on my body.

She smooths my hair to cover it. There we go, she says. There, now. You look fine.

Tears start at her kindness. I grab her hand, comb an all. Molly, I whisper.

Our eyes meet. Beautiful Molly. So tough, so kind, so sad.

This might not mean much to you right now, she says, but fer what it’s worth, I’ll tell you. Maybe I know it better’n most. Life ain’t black an white. People ain’t neether. Family, friends, lovers. It’s all a lot more complicated. The longer I live, the more I see, the less I know fer sure. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. So dry yer tears. Whoever he is, he won’t be cryin over you. Men never do. That’s the one thing I do know fer sure. Now, muck up them boots a bit.

She pats my cheek an heads back to th’others. She’s comin! she says.

They’re already headed fer the road by the time I pull myself together. Tommo an Creed lead the horses through the trees, while Bram an Lugh an Ash wrestle the cart along the narrow track. Molly an Maev hang back a bit, waitin fer me.

Ready? says Molly.

Tracker’s tethered to a big tree, on a short rope. Bram decided it’s better that we leave him here. He’s whinin, lookin anxious. This is where we part ways, him an me. I cain’t bear to look at him.

C’mere, sister, says Slim. Give a smelly old man a hug before you go. He hauls me into a awkward one-armed hug. Check my right pocket, he mutters.

I dig into it, outta sight of Maev an Molly. I pull out a tiny brown bottle. The silent enemy, he whispers. It’s called eccinel. One drop in a full cup, a man’ll sleep eight hours. Two drops, he’ll do a whole day, maybe half of the next.

An three? I says.

The longest sleep of all, he says. Use it with a cool head.

I throw my arms around his neck an hug him tight. Thank you, I says. I’m sorry about everythin.

I shall rise agin, never you fear, he says. I seen you fight at Hopetown, heard word of what you did at them other places. You don’t know it, but yer a bit of a legend.

No, I ain’t, I says.

Anyways, he says, when I seen who it was hijackin me, I had this idea you might join us. We’d be able to kick things up an march on to glorious victory. Well . . . I’m jest a foolish old man with romantical notions. I’m honoured to of knowed you. Good luck, m’dear.

An you, Slim, I says.

I give Tracker a last kiss on his head. Molly takes my arm an Slim waves us off. Tracker starts howlin.

I keep lookin back over my shoulder. Till the trees hide ’em from view. Till all that’s left is the sound of Tracker’s distress, ringin among the trees.

I’m next to Ash in the back of the cart. Molly an Maev sit opposite. We’re tied at the ankles an wrists, good enough to pass inspection, loose enough to slip free quick. Creed an Tommo bring up the rear on Prue an Hermes. Lugh an Bram sit tall on the driver’s bench with Bram’s work horse, Ted, in the traces.

We ain’t long on the road, maybe half a league from Bram’s place, when a dot appears on the road behind us. It gits bigger an bigger. Ash leans around me to squint. What is that? she says.

A smile starts to crawl over my face. It’s Tracker, I says. It ain’t long before he catches us up. He’s runnin flat out. Tommo an Creed give him room an he takes a flyin leap into the back of the cart.

What a boy! cries Ash.

He flops on top of our legs an rests his head on my lap. I shake mine as I stroke his ears. The dog that won’t be left behind. When will I learn?

A little bit later, a familiar call has me lookin skywards. It’s Nero, cruisin along above us.

I ain’t seen him fer hours, I says.

He drops down. He’s got the heartstone in his beak. Nero! Come here!

He ignores me an lands on Molly. The furthest he can git from me. He dumps it in her lap.

Well, Nero, hello, whatcha got here? she says. She holds up my heartstone. Did you lose this, Saba?

I give him a death glare. He jibbers at me. Smart-alec crow. That’s what he flew off to find this mornin when he disappeared. It must of washed up down at the rockpool. So, I didn’t imagine him jest outta sight. He’s bin lurkin around all day with it, on purpose waitin till now when everybody’s here.

No, I says. He stole it agin. He’s a thief an a menace an I’m gonna trade him in fer a umberella.

He laughs at me, bobbin up an down. Molly notices the stitches on his breast. She shoots me a quick glance as he takes off agin. Mission accomplished, he settles into a steady pace ahead of us. Molly tosses me the heartstone. I shove it in my pocket.

Scuppered by my gawdamn bird. Not fer the first time. An, if I know him – which I most surely do – not fer the last time neether.

We roll through the warm afternoon. We aim to be in place by curfew. Nightfall. Ready to go. Ready to move. Sadly fer our rear ends, the Cosmic don’t ride no smoother than she did before. Along the dirtpack road we rattle, in an outta the shade of cool, sweet-smellin woodland. Over clear-runnin streams. Past Stewards in their fields who stop what they’re doin to watch us go past.

They’re thinkin, I’m glad it ain’t me in that cart, says Molly. Wonderin if their turn will come one day.

Wouldn’t they like to know what we’re sittin on, says Ash. I am dyin to have a go with them little pinballs of Slim’s. I sure would like to of seen that causeway go up. Ka-boom! She winks at me. Ash, never more cheerful than when she’s got trouble to look forward to.

Bram kicked Tracker out. He’s keepin up with us, slippin through trees, runnin low through fields, disappearin from time to time, then showin up agin a bit further down the road. He knows he’s gotta stay away from other people.

Creed an Tommo ride close behind the cart. Creed cain’t take his eyes offa Molly. He tries, but eventually he gives up an jest outright stares. She ignores him fer a bit. But you can see her windin up. Gittin more hotter an crosser an vexed by the minute. Finally, she snaps.

Stop starin at me, she says.

Stop bein so gorgeous an I’ll stop starin, he says. Smile at me, Molly, please. One little smile an I’ll die a happy man.

You tire me, Creed, she says.

That’s my strategy, he says. I’m gonna wear you down, like water on rock.

I wouldn’t paddle in a shallow stream like you, she says. She sinks into her corner an glares at the road ahead.

He winks at the rest of us. I’m makin progress, he says.

Tommo’s makin every effort not to meet my eyes. What a relief. I couldn’t take trouble from that quarter too. Not at the moment.

Creed an Ash an Maev seem to of reached some kinda unnerstandin of what happened at Darktrees. Some kinda peace between ’em that’s led ’em to decide to stay here an work with Bram an Cassie to build the resistance. To do what has to be done, in the service of something greater than ourselfs. DeMalo agin. I cain’t git away from him. Right here in front of me, it’s what they’re all doin.

Maev’s quiet. She makes answer if somebody speaks to her, but I can tell she ain’t really here. She’s somewhere deep inside her own head, her own heart, tryin to work things out. Like me. I glance at the back of Lugh’s head as he talks with Bram, as they sit there, shoulder to shoulder on the driver’s bench. They seem to be gittin on pretty good.

Lugh an Maev probly won’t git the chance to be alone before we hafta leave New Eden. After this is over, after we git Emmi back, we’ll be straight on our way. An even if he did git a moment, knowin Lugh, he’d funk the chance. He’d never admit what he feels fer her. If Maev knew, maybe she’d change her mind an come with us. Maybe not. Maev ain’t run of the mill. Love ain’t all there is. An, like Molly said, you cain’t know nuthin fer sure, least of all the ways of the human heart. Still. I think she needs to know.

I jig her with my foot an she looks up. I slide my glance to Lugh, then back to her. I look at her steady. She goes pink. He loves you, I mouth at her. She goes even pinker, looks flustered, her eyes goin to him. Then back to me, with a little frown. He told me, I mouth. Do you love him?

She hesitates. Then, her eyes soften. Her face. She smiles. I give a little laugh.

What’s funny? says Ash.

Nuthin, I says. Nuthin.

The land we travel is rich an fruitful an kind. Lugh’s head keeps turnin to look at this an that. He asks Bram about crop rotation, irrigation an all sorts an I remember what Auriel said about him.
Lugh dreams of a settled life. He longs to plant himself in one place, plant the land around him. His hands itch to work good earth, put food on the table that he’s grown hisself, raise children. That ain’t you.

She’s right. The thought of workin the land don’t heat the blood in my veins. Too bad. I gotta fall in with what’s best fer all of us.

We pass a little slave gang. Three women an two men with iron neck collars, chained together at the ankles. Watched by a Tonton, they’re clearin stones an rocks from a field right beside the road. They all stand, easin their backs, as we rattle past. One woman raises her hand in greetin. Low, outta sight of the Tonton. I nod in reply. I wonder what they did to end up like this. Probly nuthin but be the wrong sort of person. Not fit into the new order.

With every roll of the wheels, every rattle of the cart, what DeMalo said repeats an repeats. The old an the sick. The sick an the weak. The old an the sick an the weak.

Precious resources. Water an land.

People like me. People like us.

The young an the strong.

Some of the people. All of the people.

I ponder his words. Who deserves a share of what little there is? Who decides?

Have I lied to you?

The lies that lurk in the shadows of truth.