Rebel Heart (9 page)

We stand on top of a bluff, lookin out over a wide, flat valley. Dry but fer the ribbon of water that loops its way through the middle. Like a thin, silver-skinned snake, it glints in the late afternoon sun. The last, sleepy memory of a once-mighty river.

There’s one straight stretch of the river. On the near-side, two rows of ragtag tents, tepees an flotsam skellies straggle along the bank. They’re shaded by some good-sized cottonwood trees. What look to be funeral pyres – three, side by side – burn an smoke some distance from the camp.

Forty shelters at least, Lugh says. He lowers the long-looker. Men an women, kids an dogs. No tellin how many. Horses, camels, carts.

What do we do? says Tommo.

Go down, of course, says Emmi. Why d’you think Tracker brought us here?

Tracker’s sittin off to one side. His head moves to whoever’s talkin, like he knows what’s bein said. Now he stands. Barks three times. He goes to the edge of the bluff, whinin, then back to us. Barks agin.

You see? says Emmi. He wants us to go.

I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, Lugh says to me. It’s jest . . . him bein so far from home didn’t seem possible.

I thought I imagined him, I says.

Mercy must be down there, says Emmi. In the camp. I’ll jest bet she is!

Nero swoops an soars overhead. He caws at us to git movin.

Scout it first, says Tommo. Make sure it’s safe. I’ll go.

No, I’ll do it, says Lugh. You all wait here.

Sometimes you boys is dumb as stumps, says Emmi. Tracker brought us here to git help fer Saba. He wouldn’t of done that if it warn’t safe.

Don’t gimme that mystical boloney, says Lugh. I swear, Em, you got so much air between yer ears, you wouldn’t know common sense if it walked up an slapped you in the face. Tommo’s right, we need to check it out.

Is that what you got? says Em. Common sense?

You bet, he says.

Then I’m glad I ain’t got none. Emmi takes my reins. C’mon, Saba, I’m gonna git you some help. These two can do what they like. She heels her horse an starts leadin me down the bluff.

In the east, a thunderhead gathers itself. It eyes us up. An heads this way.

We make our way towards the camp. Emmi an Tracker lead. Me next, with Nero ridin on my shoulder. Tommo an Lugh bring up the rear. Hermes ain’t bothered in the least by Tracker now. You could almost say they’re friendly. Which is odd. Considerin.

As we approach, a pack of mangy mutts rushes at us. Tracker snarls a warnin, teeth bared, hackles raised. They yip a swift retreat, tails between their legs.

On the edge of camp, there’s a crowd of raggedy kids playin a loud game of bladder ball. The dust flies as they elbow an trip an wrestle. Rough rules. As we git closer, they spot us. They stop. They stare. There’s one raggedy scarecrow of a girl around Emmi’s age. She gawps at me, open-mouthed. Like she cain’t believe her eyes.

Hey, says Emmi. Can you tell me where we could—

It’s th’Angel of Death! she yells. Run!

The kids scatter. They race towards the tents, hollerin, Th’Angel of Death! She’s here! Ma! It’s th’Angel of Death!

They vanish inside. Silence.

Emmi looks back at me. She knew you, she says. She must of bin at Hopetown.

Quite the reputation you got, says Lugh.

Saba’s the most famous fighter in the world, says Em. On her fight days, you couldn’t hardly move in Hopetown. People came from all around, jest to—

Can it, Emmi, says Lugh.

I’m only sayin—

Nuthin, he says. I’ll say what needs sayin from here on.

He moves up next to me. We ride slowly into camp. There’s a wide space between the two lines of shelters, like a road. We make our way along it. All quiet. Not a soul in sight. Nobody watchin the pots that bubble on the cookfires. There’s a few stools tipped over, like whoever was sat on ’em left in a hurry.

We edge closer together.

Where is everybody? says Em.

Behind us. Tommo’s voice, a cracked whisper.

We look back. A crowd’s appeared. Men, women an children. Dried husks of people. With fear in their eyes an weapons in their hands. Sticks an stones, bottles an bones.

Tracker growls. Starts towards ’em.

Tracker, stay! Lugh calls him in. G’day, folks. We don’t come to make no trouble. Anybody in charge here?

They don’t make no answer. A man at the front starts bangin two sticks together. Others join in. Wood. Stone. Glass. Bone. The steady beat beat beat of bad blood fouls the air.

We turn to face front. My mouth’s dry.

Keep movin, says Lugh.

We go on. They follow. They keep a gap between them an us, careful of Tracker.

The wind rises. The sky darkens. The storm from the east is nearly upon us. Thunder grumbles a threat. Lightnin forks in the distance.

Then, in front of us, more people step in our path. They block our way. Armed with wood an stone. Glass an bone. Beat beat beat. A few of ’em hold up odd things. Sticks tied in triangles. A bead an skin dolly.

What’re those? says Emmi.

Charms, says Lugh, to pertect ’em from evil. He grabs my reins an pulls Hermes up tight next to Buck.

What evil? Em’s squeaky with fright.

They’re afeared of Saba, he says. I knew this was a mistake. Let’s go.

We cain’t, says Tommo.

To the front, at the back, they’ve blocked our way. There’s a wall of shelters on eether side.

The ugly beat closes me in. Traps me. An I’m tremblin. Shakin. I’m back in Hopetown. Back in the Cage.

The ground shakes. The crowd stomps. They chant fer the blood of the defeated fighter.

Gauntlet! Gauntlet! Gauntlet!

I won’t let ’em hurt you, Lugh says to me.

Nero screams an dives at their heads.

All this time, the storm’s bin movin closer. The wind wails. The red dust whirls. Our horses hate it. The noise of the crowd. The comin storm. They toss their heads. They squeal. They dance. It’s hard to keep ’em in check. Tracker darts an snaps at the crowd in front.

A stone, sharp and quick, flies at Lugh. Hits him in the shoulder. He cries out. Drops my reins. Suddenly, hands reach up. They haul on my leg, tryin to pull me offa Hermes. I kick out.

Lugh! screams Emmi.

He grabs my arm. The horses go crazy. More hands pull at me. I’m kickin wildly. Emmi’s yellin. Tommo snatches a stick an starts beatin at their heads. Tracker snarls an slashes. Somebody screams.

Boom! Thunder splits the air. The crowd stops. Falls back. The blood beat stops. They all look to the sky. Like they’re only jest noticin the change in the weather.

Mountains of clouds tumble this way. Quickly. Darkly. Their lightnin fingers stab at the earth.

Somebody calls out, The Sky Speaker! She’s comin out! Quick!

A woman shouts, Bring her to the Sky Speaker! She’ll know what to do!

More hands grab at me. I’m pulled offa Hermes back. I struggle an fight, but four men seize hold of me – two on each arm – an run drag me up the camp. A couple of women run alongside, holdin up charms.

Lugh! I yell. Lugh! As I twist to look behind, I catch sight of ’em bein hauled offa their horses. Emmi, Tommo an Lugh.

The rest of the crowd’s dropped their sticks an stones. They’re pushin past each other, scoopin up the smallest kids. Everybody rushin in the same direction. Towards the top of the camp.

We come to a piece of open ground along the riverbank, beyond the shelters. There’s a small, rough wood platform. It’s raised offa the ground about four foot, with steps on the left. A crude slat roof, the sides open to the weather. There’s a tattered tent pitched a few paces to the left of the platform. Thunder rumbles. Lightnin forks in the distance. The wind snatches at people’s clothes an hair, ripples the tent.

Everybody’s startin to kneel, facin the platform. They hush each other. Quiet their fretful kids. They’re gonna be caught in the storm, outside when they’d be safer in. But they don’t seem worried.

The men drag me to the front. They tie my hands with one of their belts. Kick the back of my legs. I land hard on my knees. I try to turn my head, look fer Lugh, but one of ’em grabs me by the hair. He yanks my head back so’s I’m starin up at the platform. I grit my teeth aginst the pain. Lugh! I yell.

Shut up! says the man. We’ll see what the Sky Speaker’s gotta say about you.

Nero’s swoopin an divin, screechin at the men. They hit out at him with their sticks. They’ll hurt him. Kill him.

No, Nero, no! I call. Go!

He sails to the tattered tent next to the platform an lands on top. He opens his wings wide an screams. Unease crackles through the crowd. Crows bring death. That’s what a lot of folk think.

The Angel of Death an her crow. At Hopetown, everybody feared Nero. When I fought in the Cage, he used to watch from a nearby light tower. Wouldn’t leave till I’d won. People believed I got my powers from him.

Another bunch of men wrestle Lugh, Emmi an Tommo up to the front. Their hands is already tied. A few heavy whacks from a stick an the boys kneel, like me.

Saba! says Lugh. Are y’okay?

Yeah! I says. Em’s beside me. Don’t be skeered, Em, I says.

I ain’t skeered of these cowards, says she.

The wind shrieks. A thump of thunder. A crack of lightnin as the storm draws near.

There she is! cries Emmi.

There’s a boy, Emmi’s age, comin outta the tattered little tent next to the platform. He’s leadin a girl by the hand, helpin her up the steps.

She’s got a length of dark cloth tied around her eyes, a blindfold. She’s small, fine-boned as a bird, with maybe sixteen year on her. She wears a long white robe. Bare feet, bare arms, bare legs. With skin as white as a white winter moon. Hair of palest fire. It hangs to her waist, loose an alive, threaded with feathers an beads. There’s a small skinbox slung around her waist.

The boy ducks to the side, leaves her alone in the middle of the platform. She starts to drum on the skinbox, beatin out a rhythm with her hands. The wind whips her robe around her legs. Flings her hair into a wild dance.

Emmi shouts to be heard. It’s the Sky Speaker! She’s gonna help you, Saba, I know it! That’s why Tracker brought us here.

Jest then, there’s the most almighty thunder crash. The boy pulls the blindfold from the Sky Speaker’s eyes. She drums ever more frantic, a look of fierce ecstasy on her face. Lightnin slashes at the ground, not thirty paces off. The world lights up. A brilliant flash of blue-white.

The Sky Speaker’s shakin, head to foot. Her eyes roll back an she waves her hands wildly. She starts to babble, a endless stream of sounds, no words I can make out, maybe some lingo I ain’t never heard before.

Suddenly, her body gives one massive, powerful jerk that slams her upright. She lifts her face to the storm-ripped sky.

The man holdin my hair lets go. She’s gonna speak! he yells. He raises his arms, holds ’em high.

The kneelin crowd’s all got their arms raised. They look at the Sky Speaker, hope twistin their faces.

Her robe billows. Rain begins to lash. Her head snaps towards me. Her eyes fix on me, here at the front in plain view. She’s got eyes like Tracker’s. The lightest, palest blue. Wolfdog eyes. Chills runnel my skin.

The boy who helped her to the platform rushes to her side. He follows her gaze an points at me.

It’s her! he cries. The Sky Speaker’s choosed her! Bring her up!

There’s a boom of thunder. My captor yelps an fumbles to untie my hands, shoutin, Here! Help me! Before I know it, him an two other men’s boosted me on to the platform.

Then I’m standin there, three foot away from the Sky Speaker. Starin at her as she’s starin at me. Lightnin crackles around us.

She starts to speak, but I cain’t hear nuthin over the wild noise of the storm. So I move in, closer an closer till I’m standin right in front of her. She grabs my hands. Grips ’em tight. Her eyes, her strange pale eyes hold me, but I don’t think she’s seein me. Her pupils is tiny black dots. She speaks quick, in little gasps.

The dead, the dead, they walk in yer footsteps. I see ’em. All around you. I see ’em. So many. Inside you. The shadow. It rises. It’s strong in you. It’ll take, it’ll have you, mind an body an . . . mind an spirit, it’ll take you, it’ll have you, it’ll—

Help me, I whisper. Please.

Jest then, she staggers. I catch her in my arms. Her body starts to shake, uncontrollable. Her eyes roll back.

An she goes limp in my arms.

I’m on my knees, holdin her. She’s light as a child. Fer a moment, I fear the savage blast of power through her body might of killed her. I feel fer a neck pulse. She’s alive.

The boy’s already beside me. Helpin me lay her down.

Turn her on her side, he tells me. He shoves a grubby finger into her mouth an clears her tongue. Then he crams in a filthy cloth. He seems to know what he’s doin. Help me lift her, he says. Take her in the tent.

I glance at Lugh an Tommo an Emmi, their hands still bound. They’re tense. Wide-eyed. Everybody in the crowd’s watchin. This could be my only chance.

Let my friends go, I says.

His foxy face hardens. It’ll cost you, he says.

The red hot surges. I grab him. Twist the neck of his shirt. Quick an hard, to cut off his breath. I says, I am the Angel of Death, little man.

As Nero swoops around us, screechin, the boy claws at me, eyes poppin with panic. I let go. He falls back, gaspin in air, then yells to the men holdin Lugh an th’others. Let ’em go! She wants to speak to all of ’em! Now!

They hurry to free them.

The wind wails on, the thunder rolls, but the storm’s movin away. You can see the whipcrack of lightnin as it sweeps its way west along the river valley.

I look out on the crowd. At those who so lately would of beat us to death. The Sky Speaker’s word holds power over these people. They’re startin to go, to disappear into the rainy murk. One or two hold up their charms in my direction. Water drips offa my hair. I’m shiverin.

Lugh an Tommo scramble onto the platform. Tommo hauls up Emmi.

We lift the girl. Lugh an Em take her legs, me an Tommo her arms. Not that we need all of us, she’s so light. As we start to move, as the boy leads the way down the stairs, Lugh mutters, Now what?

Now, says Em, we confer with the Sky Speaker.