Devon Monk - Dead Iron

As they passed in front of the mercantile, Rose’s mother came out of the shop with a broom and started sweeping. When she noticed Rose riding past, she stopped and held one hand up, as if to wave. But Rose Small kept her gaze on the horizon, curiosity bright in her eyes, and a small smile curving her lips.

Cedar Hunt was glad it didn’t take long to gather supplies, including Mae’s mule, Prudence, whom they had found contentedly foraging in the forest. He wanted to start on the road today and get a ways from town before the people there decided they were to blame for the rail disaster.

His only concern was Wil.

Cedar finished checking on the mule, his horse, and the horse Rose had taken from the rail. They were on long leads beneath the trees, near enough they could make acquaintance, and far enough they wouldn’t foul each other’s lines.

That done, he stepped into his cabin, pulling his hat from his head as if he were entering a church instead of his humble shack.

There had never been so many people in his house. He paused just inside the door, not wanting to get in the women’s way. Rose was packing the last of the foodstuff from his cupboard and Mae was sitting on the chest she’d dragged over to his cot, checking on one of Wil’s many wounds.

Wil was still in wolf form and sleeping on the cot.

“I think this is about all that’ll take to the road,” Rose was saying.

“Not much for herbs and medicine, though we can probably gather some as we go. Perhaps we can stop in a town or city for supplies. A city,” she said, as if dreaming, “wouldn’t that be grand?” She turned, saw Cedar standing with his hat in his hands looking at Mae, and gave him a curious frown. “Have you seen to the horses, Mr. Hunt?”

Mae looked away from Wil, and over at Cedar.

“I have,” Cedar said. “They’re about set to go.”

Rose hefted up the two satchels of food. “I’ll just take this out, then. Unless you need me for anything?” she asked Mae.

Mae was still staring at Cedar, though he pretended not to notice.

“Mrs. Lindson?” Rose said.

Mae seemed to come to. “No. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. Go on ahead.” Rose nodded and walked up to Cedar, who stepped aside so she could use the door. She gave him a look as she walked past, maybe a warning, maybe an encouragement. Since she also rolled her eyes toward Mae, all he figured was she was telling him to not bother the widow too much.

Mae had gone back to lifting and replacing the compresses on Wil’s side. The cloths were not as bloody as last he’d seen them.

“How is he?” Cedar walked a short bit across the room and stopped halfway. The memory of her hands soothing his own wounds washed through his mind.

“Recovering more quickly than I’d thought,” Mae said. “The curse at least gives him that.”

She stood and Cedar could see the red line of scratches along the back of her neck, and the stiffness in her shoulders that hinted at more injuries beneath her long-sleeved dress. She’d spent the day working herbs to see to all their wounds, her own included, but it was clear she was near exhausted.

“Do you think he’ll be up for travel today?” Cedar didn’t know why he asked that. They’d already talked it over and decided they’d head out, even if it meant wrapping Wil up and putting him on a sled behind one of the horses.

“I think he’ll be up in the next hour or so. To eat. Then we’ll see how much more he can endure.” Mae finally turned.

Her eyes were red, glossy with unshed tears, even though her voice was flat and steady. “I don’t . . . I don’t know how much more . . .” She shook her head.

“He’ll be fine,” Cedar said gently. He walked the distance between them and, after a moment’s hesitation, rested his hand on her arm. “We’re all going to be fine.”

Mae stared at his shoulder, stiff, unbreathing. Then she stepped that much closer to him and placed her head on his chest, and her right hand on his arm, just as his was on hers.

Cedar inhaled the sweet scent of her, and swallowed hard. He held very still, not daring to comfort her, to pull her in against his body, to wrap his arms around her tightly and hold her as he desired, safe against the pain. There was no safety against this kind of pain, and the only comfort was time.

Mae cried, very, very quietly, while Cedar stared at the wall, holding his emotions under lock and key. Time was the only, and the kindest, thing he could give to her.

Finally, she took a deeper breath, held it, and let it out. Her hand clenched his shirtsleeve for the briefest moment, as she steeled herself to face the world again.

When she pulled back, her eyes were dry.

“Mr. Hunt,” she began awkwardly, glancing from his tearstained shoulder to his mouth to the wall behind him, seeming uncertain of how to explain herself, “I didn’t—”

“Do you need a hand waking Wil?” Cedar smoothly interrupted. He stepped around her, careful not to let his fingers linger against her arm, careful not to touch her again, for fear of what he might do. He walked over to the cot, placing his hand on his brother’s side.

Mae didn’t answer for a moment, then, “Yes,” she said on a grateful exhalation. “He responds to you much better than to me.”

Cedar called Wil’s name and smiled when he opened his eyes. It was a marvel to him that his brother was alive, even though he was still under the curse’s hold.

Mae brought out a slab of venison and put it on the floor. With the meat as encouragement, Wil stepped down off the cot and ate and drank. Then he walked a slow circle around Cedar, and a wider circle around the room, his limp easing some the more he moved. Finally, he glanced up at Cedar, copper brown eyes filled with a man’s intelligence and curiosity.

“We’ll need to be going,” Cedar said. “Traveling away from here, traveling east. We’ll go at your pace. Are you ready?”

In answer, Wil walked to the door and waited there.

Cedar took one last look at the cabin, his gaze resting on the heavy chain and leather collar pounded into the hearth. Mae and Rose hadn’t asked him about it, though he supposed they knew very well what he’d used it for. His fingers strayed to the Madders’ chain around his neck. He’d be more than glad to leave the heavy chain and collar behind.

Mae finished cleaning up and poured the last of the herb water over the coals in the fire. She dried her hands on her skirt, and came to stand next to Cedar.

“Well, then,” she said. “Shall we, Mr. Hunt?”

Cedar took one last look at the cabin, then opened the door. Wil slipped out quickly. “Yes, Mrs. Lindson,” Cedar said, “I believe we shall.” He held his hand out, ushering her through the door, and then followed her into sunlight.

They had gotten three miles or so out of town when Cedar heard a clattering of wheels following them.

He looked back. A tinker’s wagon, painted bright as a bordello bedspread, top-heavy with a crazy assortment of metals and gears and whim-wham, followed them. Atop the rattling monstrosity sat the Madders. Alun Madder smoked his pipe and held the reins of the two draft horses who pulled the contraption at a quick clip.

They pulled up behind Cedar, Mae, Rose, and Wil.

“Evening, fine folk,” Alun called out. “Where you headed?”

“Down the road,” Cedar said, leaning forward in the saddle a bit to ease the pain.

Alun chuckled. “We’ve been thinking we’d travel with you a piece.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“You still owe us a favor, Mr. Cedar Hunt,” Alun Madder said with a wide smile. “And we’ve come to ask for it.”

Cedar tipped his hat back and loosened the strap on the gun he kept lashed to his saddle. “That so? Seems to me your favors do nothing but bring trouble.”