Darkthaw (9 page)

I spin on my heel, skirt the tent, and break for the woods. I don't rightly know why, but the thought of Charlie alone with Nico and Daniel puts a sick feeling in my gut. The sick turns to a panicked fluttering in my chest when I don't find them beyond the row of spruces. Where could they be? What could he possibly need to show them?

I push farther into the woods, not caring when the branches pull and slap at me, tear at the skin on my arms. “Daniel!” I call out. “Nico!”

I stop to listen. Nothing.

“Daniel!” I call again. I can hear that note of terror in my voice and swallow hard to ground myself, set myself right.

Surely he wouldn't harm them. He's got his own little brother along with . . . He wouldn't . . .

I'm about to holler again when I hear a scream. It's ahead of me, at the bottom of the hill of brush.

“Daniel!” I take the decline in three unsteady strides, busting through the brush and skirting a large moss-covered boulder. There's a little creek—a trickle of water, truly—running between two small boulders, and pools are collecting in the rivulets of mud.

The screams come from down in the creek.

THE BOYS CROUCH WITH THEIR BACKS TO ME.
Josiah and Nico have sticks. They're fishing around in the water.

Daniel screams again as Nico turns to him, a small something—insect?—in his hand. He holds it out to Daniel, making him scramble away, laughing.

Charlie stands beside them, watching.

As I slip down the bank, he turns to me. Unsurprised, like he knew I was coming.

“Daniel!” I say again.

Daniel starts and looks up. His face breaks into another smile. “We're catching frogs! Look at 'em all!” He points with excitement at the creek.

The water is teeming with tiny frogs. Must've been a tadpole clutch in these pools. Nico swings his hands toward me and opens his palm. The small frog leaps off, straight at me, but I'm hardly worried about that.

“I was calling you!” I say to the boys.

Nico looks at me in confusion. “We didn't hear.” He turns back to the pond.

“Settle down, Em. The young'uns were safe with me,” Charlie says.

I ignore him. “You don't go off without telling us.” I'm admonishing the backs of their heads. “Nico! Daniel!” The boys pull their gazes from the creek and turn. “You hear me? You don't just leave camp like that.”

“But we were with Charlie,” protests Nico.

“I know,” I say, feeling Charlie's gaze on me. “I know that. But . . .” I pause. “But you need to tell us where you're going, no matter what.”

“You let us go off with Isi,” Daniel says.

I grit my teeth, my face going hot. Can't meet Charlie's eyes. “Just tell us from now on, you hear?”

The youngsters nod, serious-like, and turn their attention back to the frogs. Charlie's still staring at me. I expect him to say something nasty, so I force myself to look at him, brace myself to take it. He should know his place anyhow, and I'm not scared anymore to put him there.

But he uncrosses his arms and softens his look. “Apologies, Em,” he says. “I should've told the womenfolk where we were headed. Thought they'd get a kick out of this. I used to look for frogs when I was a young'un.”

When he was a young'un. A picture of him as a child flashes in my mind. His pa was on Council, so he didn't much consort with us. I knew him from a distance. He was forever trailing around after his pa's cloak, his face all smug. Like he was better than us.

Charlie was a mean braggart back at the settlement. He
admired his pa—
must
have some bad feelings toward Kane about his death. But of course he was a child once, too—one who shot stones and played jacksticks and caught frogs.

He looks at his brother, Josiah, and smiles, and all at once I feel foolish, charging out here like he was feeding them to wolves.

“It's all right,” I say, uncrossing my arms.

We watch the youngsters squeal and dig, get their hands muddy to their elbows. My eyes linger on Nico. He's lost his cautious look—he's happy out here. They all are. My heart swells at their amazed faces.

“Em,” Charlie says. “I know we've got some bad blood between us, from the past.”

I wait.

“But the way I see it, we can't go backwards. We're out here now, and I know that wasn't your decision. I know you were only doing as you saw fit when you went after them Lost People, when you brought them in.”

I swallow. This sounds like an apology.

“Anyhow, I wanted to say I'm grateful you've taken us in. Hope I can find a way to repay you.”

And I don't know what to think or say. Soeur Manon told me I would change, that I'd make decisions I never thought I'd have to. Well, mayhap forgetting what happened at the settlement, trusting that we're all moving forward, is part of that.

I still the flicker of doubt in my mind.

“Appreciate that, Charlie,” I say. “I want to put the past in the past, too.”

‡

When we get back to camp, Kane and the rest are arriving back from hunting.

“Thank the Almighty!” Sister Violet says, hurrying forward to take Daniel by the arm. “Where were they?”

“Just looking at the new frogs,” I say.

Kane sets a rabbit carcass on a rock near his ma and sheathes his knife, his eyes on my face. His ma shepherds the boys to scrub their hands. No one takes much mind of Charlie, who's heading back to his own tent with Josiah. No one, that is, except Isi. He's standing with his arms crossed, a strap with two gutted animals on it dangling from his hand. He makes no move to take it over to Matisa, who's getting a rack ready over the fire.

He stares at Charlie, and then at me.

I feel my face start to flame, like it does when I'm embarrassed. I feel a rush of anger. What does he think? That I'd betray Kane with Charlie? The very thought makes me want to either shudder or laugh. I could explain, could march over to him and tell him that the youngsters were missing.

No, that's not what he's thinking. The way he looked at Charlie, and then at me, it was . . . It hits me like a rock in the gut: it was the same.

Mistrustful. Wary.

My heart sinks.

“Em?” My head snaps away from Isi to find Kane. Somehow he's crossed the camp and is beside me. “You all right?”

“Sure,” I say, brushing at my tunic.

“Thanks for going after the boys,” he says. “I—” He pauses.
“I worry about them doing something foolish out here. But not when you're around.” He smiles that funny half smile and my worry over Isi melts away.

I smile back. “Course,” I say. “I defended them from those frogs, no trouble.” Out here in the sunshine, with Kane standing so close, my panic from earlier seems right laughable.

“Did you now?” His smile widens, pulling up the other side of his mouth. “Mayhap we should put you on frog patrol.”

I shrug. “I'm not scared.”

He laughs and takes my hand, squeezing it in his warm, strong one. My cheeks flare bright red as I dart a glance over my shoulder, searching for his ma.

Everyone is busy with getting prepared for dinner. Isi is gone.

I turn back to him, and my pulse skips into my throat as he leans close, his collar open, the smooth skin of his throat and the top of his chest radiating a heat that matches the hot breath in my ear.

“I know,” he says, his voice low. “It's why I love you.”

The Watch flats are empty. Everyone is gone.

I sit beneath the dogwood. The soil shifts through my hands. I am digging. Digging.

The river sings beside me, voices of all those long dead. All those we cast in the Cleansing Waters.

The earth beneath my palm shifts, moves of its own accord. My hand springs back from the movement—away from whatever is coming to the surface.

The head first, shaking—shedding its earth-trappings—and the rest emerges slow. Brittle fingers, grasping at the earth. The soil falls away as it pulls itself up out of the dirt: Matisa, but not Matisa.

One half of her body is whole. Her long hair shines in the sun and her skin glows with health. The other half is only bones; bright white, like they've been picked clean by the wind.

I stare at her. Half life, half death.

The dead under the river sing out loud.

Make peace with it
.

I wake in a sweat.

The cool blue of dawn is bright. I can hear the others rising, shaking off the last bits of sleep. Beside me, Matisa's bedroll is empty.

I push from our tent, searching the camp.

Isi stands in the trees, bent at the waist, checking his horse's hooves.

“Where is she?” I call to him, hurrying across the camp.

He straightens and frowns.

“Matisa,” I say, though I know he understands. “Where is she?”

“In the forest,” he says, moving to the back of his beast and picking up its hind leg. “Gathering wood.”

“How long will she be?”

“How would I know?” Isi scowls at me.

I feel a flash of irritation. His stare from last night resurfaces in my mind, deepening my ire. “Thanks for the help.” I turn to go.

“Save it for Matisa,” he mutters.

I whirl. “Beg pardon?”

His scowl turns into a glower. “Matisa is doing what you want, bringing these . . .
people
”—he eats the word with distaste—“to safety. Now you complain when she isn't at your calling?”

“I wasn't complaining!”

“How much more does she need to sacrifice for you?”

My face flames. I close my mouth, whirl on my good foot, and stalk away.

I feel his stare all morning. Anytime Charlie's anywhere near, if I so much as turn my eyes his way, Isi's gaze burns into my skin. I busy myself pointing out birds and clouds to Daniel and Nico. I try to distract myself with the sound of their chatter and laughter.

But by the time we stop for the midday meal, I'm still wound. Anger throbs deep in my chest as I fumble in my pouch for my tincture. I'm so rattled I don't notice Andre talking to me until he touches my arm. I start and grab at the clay vessel before it falls from my hand.

“Emmeline,” he says. “You are troubled?”

“No,” I say quick. I look over at Matisa, handing out portions to Rebecca and Josiah. I grit my teeth. “A mite.”

“C'est quoi le probl
è
me?”

I look over at him: his watery eyes, his wiry mess of beard, that Almighty-lovin' battered hat. He pats my hand. My shoulders drop in a sigh. I contemplate telling him, but I'm not sure what to say: I don't like the way Isi's looking at me?
Isi thinks Charlie and me are the same? It sounds foolish, even if it feels true.

I shrug. “It's just more . . . difficult than I thought. Out here.”

He grunts like he's agreeing.

“And I'm having these dreams . . .” I trail off and look at him, helpless. Can't explain Matisa in my dreams, why I'm digging. Or why we're back at the settlement, the place I was so sure we should leave.

His eyes soften.
“Moi aussi,”
he says.

I lean close. He used to dream at the settlement, too, and his dreams urged him out to the woods, like mine. “What are your dreams about?”

“
Je pense
. . . I think . . . about my new life. Out here.” He smiles, a bit shy. “I dream of a cabin. On the river.
Une belle place
.” He shrugs.

I smile. “Sounds real nice.”

“And you?”

“Not so nice.” I take a quick drink of the tincture.

He pats my free hand. “Things are not easy now,” he says, “but they get better.” He smiles.
“C'est le désir de Dieu.”

WE FIND THE RIVER THAT WINDS NORTH TO OUR
settlement in the late afternoon. The waters are wider here than back home, rushing past the rocky cliffs in a fierce roar. Matisa says we'll follow it to the crossing, which should only be two days at most. And then it will only be a week until we reach her people.