Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

She thought about Jane. The dreams had left her, as though they knew that she had enough to deal with. Or, her traitorous mind supplied, perhaps they’d simply abandoned her in the end. She tried to call Jane’s face to mind, but all she could summon was a pair of green eyes, shining from within like the stars overhead. She remembered the warmth of Jane’s body, sweet and soft, pressed against hers, but all that did was make her feel the cold more keenly. She wrapped the sheet tighter around herself and shivered. How it could be so hot by day and still cold at night Winter never understood.

The crunch of sand beneath a boot made her heart jump wildly in her chest. The colonel had ordered a double line of pickets to defend the encampment, but there were still rumors that the Desoltai could get through, worming their way like shadows across the bare rock or blowing in with the sand. Every morning, they said, men were found dead with a single thin dagger wound to the heart, while all those around them had seen and heard nothing. Winter wasn’t sure she believed it, but she wasn’t sure she didn’t, either.

“Winter?” It was Bobby’s voice, a low whisper, as though she didn’t really want to be heard. “Are you awake?”

Winter sat up. Bobby was visible only as an outline against the stars.

“Sorry,” the corporal said. “I couldn’t get to sleep, and I thought. .”

“It’s all right.” Winter looked up at Bobby, but she couldn’t make out the girl’s expression. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Bobby held one arm awkwardly, gripping it with her other hand. “I cut myself earlier today, when we were climbing over those rocks.”

“Badly?” Winter said. “Do you want me to have Graff look at it?”

“No,” Bobby said. “That’s just it. It’s. . gone. When I unwrapped my sleeve to have a look, there was a little blood, but the cut was just gone. It hadn’t been five minutes.”

“Oh.” Winter looked into the darkness toward where Feor was sleeping. The Khandarai girl was invisible, too, huddled miserably under her sheet.

“I looked at it under the lamp,” Bobby went on. “The skin is there, but it looks-odd. Like. .”

“I know,” Winter said hurriedly, not sure who was listening. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “In the morning we’ll ask Feor. She has to know something .”

Bobby nodded miserably. Watching her, silhouetted against the carpet of stars, Winter found herself wondering how she could ever have mistaken her for a man. She was so small , slender-necked and thin-shouldered. With her head bowed and her shoulders hunched, she looked like a little girl trying to hide her tears. She was shaking, Winter realized.

“Bobby?” Winter ventured.

“It’s c-cold,” Bobby said, arms wrapped tight against her chest. “During the day it was so hot I thought I was going to die. How can it be cold?”

Winter shook her head. Then, impulsively, she extended her hand and took the girl by the arm, drawing her closer. Bobby looked up, startled.

“Come on,” Winter said. “Old soldier’s tradition, huddling together for warmth on cold nights. I read that when Farus the Fifth fought the Murnskai, whole companies would pack themselves tight to keep from freezing.” Winter smiled. “I always had trouble picturing that. A hundred big sweaty men , with the ridiculous mustaches they wore in those days-have you seen the paintings? The smell must have been awful.”

Bobby gave a weak chuckle. She folded her legs underneath her and sat on the ground beside Winter’s bedroll, and Winter put an arm around her shoulders.

“Mind you,” Winter said, “I can’t imagine I’m any better off at this point.”

“Me, either,” Bobby whispered. “I think I’d happily kill for a bath.”

“A nice hot bath,” Winter agreed. “Did you ever have bath duty at the Prison?”

Bobby made a face. “All the time. We hated it. Scrubbing all those tiles.”

“After a while I started looking forward to it.” That had been after Jane had initiated her into the joys of not doing as she was told. “I mean, nobody ever checks to see that the tiles are scrubbed, and the doors locked from the inside. I would mix up a big batch of soapy water, for the smell, then just fill one of the tubs and soak for hours.”

“Really?” Bobby giggled. “Did you ever get caught?”

“Not once. Mistress Dahlgren once complimented me on my attention to detail.” Winter squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll shove over.”

The bedroll was not really large enough, and Winter let Bobby have most of it, but she didn’t mind. And it was warmer, especially once Winter had twitched the thin blanket over them. Bobby’s body was tense against her, like a taut bowstring, and still shook with occasional shivers. Winter took the girl’s hands in her own and found them ice-cold.

For a long time they lay in silence. Bit by bit, she felt Bobby relax, uncurling like a clenched fist as the shared heat warmed her. Winter let her eyes close, and found herself on the point of drifting off.

I wonder what they’ll say when they find us in the morning. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Winter?” Bobby said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Only if I can ask you something, too.”

“Fair enough. You go first.”

“What’s your real name? You know mine.”

There was a pause. “I’ve always been called Bobby,” she said finally. “But it’s short for Rebecca, not Robert. And Forester was my mother’s last name. I never knew my father.”

“Oh. That’s convenient. At the Prison they called me Farusson, but that’s just the family name they give to orphans. I got Ihernglass from a book.”

“It’s a good name,” Bobby said. “Makes you sound soldierly.”

There was another pause.

“You wanted to ask me something?” Winter prompted.

“I just. .” Bobby hesitated. “I wanted to know the truth. About how you escaped. I’ve heard a hundred stories, but none of them sound right .”

“Oh.” Winter swallowed hard. “That’s a bit of a long story.”

Bobby wriggled, pressing against Winter a little tighter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t. .” Winter trailed off, leaving a gaping silence. She felt a little tension return to Bobby’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” the girl said.

Winter blew out a long breath. “It’s not that. It’s just that I’ve never told anyone.”

“Of course not,” Bobby said. “Who else would understand?”

That was true, Winter reflected. She was unlikely ever to meet another graduate of Mrs. Wilmore’s peculiar institution. She certainly never intended to return there. But forcing herself to speak still took an immense act of will, as though she were stripping off a final layer of armor in the face of enemy fire.

“There was a girl,” she said, “named Jane. She was brought to the Prison when I was fourteen, or maybe fifteen, I don’t remember. At the time I was-well, not a model prisoner, but not far from it. When I first saw her-”

“How long had you been there?” Bobby interrupted.

“Since before I could remember. I couldn’t have been more than six when I arrived.”

“How wayward could you have been at six ?”

“They throw little girls in there when their parents have been bad,” Winter said darkly. “I assume my father was a criminal of some sort. Or my mother, I suppose.”

“I see.” Bobby shifted against Winter’s side. “All right. You met a girl named Jane.”

“We didn’t get along at first.” Winter smiled, invisible in the darkness. “She was a hellion. Tried to escape three times in the first month, and the third time she bit one of the mistresses. Mrs. Wilmore whipped half the skin off her back for that. God only knows how I got to be friends with her.” Winter could barely remember how it had happened. She and Jane had come together like a pair of magnets, propelled by some strange internal forces. “But I did. We were. . close.”