August Ansel - Shadow Road

The porch was a study in chiaroscuro, black shadows broken by stark moonlight that angled through the upright porch rails. The temperature difference from inside to out was a shock. Arie could see her breath. Curran hugged himself, shoulders pulled up high.

“Do you think we need a watch tonight?” she asked him.

He nodded. “We’re secluded out here, but yeah. It feels like anyone could sneak up on us. Maybe I’m a little paranoid.”

“Doesn’t seem like paranoia. We did it, after all—snuck up.”

There was a sharp snap of branch in the trees beyond the clearing, and they both jumped. A frantic rustle commenced in the undergrowth, some small critter making nightly rounds.

Curran gave Arie a wry smile. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll keep first watch. I’m a rock.”

It gave her a small shudder, that grin. The effect was skull-like, half his face starkly pronounced in the light of the bone moon and the other half obliterated by full dark. “Thank you,” she said, glad the dark porch masked her shiver. “I’ll speak to Handy and Renna about spelling you in a while.”

“I’ll find someone when I need a break.”

“Let’s get in,” she said. “We’ve shivered enough in the past few weeks. I want more of the fire.” She grasped the latch, a hand-smithed piece of beaten iron that was almost icy under her fingers, and paused. “He loves that dog,” she whispered.

“It’s uncanny,” said Curran. “She knew, too, Talus did—felt him in here from the start. When I found the place yesterday, I kept expecting her to be on guard, and she was totally cool.”

“That’s a boy who needs a guardian angel.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “He sort of feels like the guardian to me.”

When Arie pushed the door open, warmth flowed around them like an embrace. Kory and Talus were curled together, both apparently sound asleep. Curran retrieved his blanket from the sofa. He wrapped it shawl-like around his shoulders and dragged the rocking chair next to the narrow window by the front door, positioning himself so that he could lean back and still keep a steady look at the clearing.

Arie squeezed his shoulder as she passed. “You did well, finding us this place.”

“Night, Arie.”

The stairs were a steep climb. By the time she got to the top, her left knee throbbed. The angled roof was low, but the loft felt spacious. A narrow cable ran from front wall to back, rigged with a privacy curtain of colorful mismatched sheets. Handy and Renna had already retired behind the set on the right.

“Brother,” Arie murmured. “Still awake?”

“Come in,” said Handy.

She pulled the curtain to one side. He leaned against a magnificent headboard, a single piece of wood ornately carved into a series of spreading branches.

“Wow,” said Arie.

Renna lay close to Handy, curled on her right side. “Isn’t it amazing?” She lifted her arm and traced her fingers across the surface of the wood. “It’s like glass,” she said. “I can’t wait to see it in the morning.”

Arie sat down on the foot of the bed. “His parents must have been remarkable people.”

“Past tense,” said Renna. “What do you think happened? The sickness?”

“Likely,” said Arie. The staircase was open to the room below. Kory was probably sound asleep down there, but she kept her voice to a whisper just in case. “Nothing about this place smells of abandonment or violence.”

“It’s more like a fairytale cottage.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Arie. “And not necessarily in a good way.”

“Too good to be true,” said Handy.

“Yes. Tomorrow we’d do well to find out where his mama and papa got themselves off to.” Arie stood and yawned so hard her jaw popped. “Curran is taking watch,” she said. “He’ll wake you later. Sleep well.”

“We’re near gone already,” said Handy.

She pulled the curtain closed around them and crossed the head of the stairs to the other side.

This was obviously Kory’s bedroom. Everything about it spoke of a bright, curious young mind: a neat pile of small, flat stones; a series of labeled diagrams that changed from legless tadpole to adult frog; and, on a desk under the window, a notebook covered with neat, blocky handwriting. The notebook sat beside a small telescope.

His bed was in the center of the space, much as the bathtub was arranged, so that Kory could look out at the sky all night. Here in the loft, fifteen feet above ground level, there was very little to impede his view of the constellations. The gravid moon, so near full it was hard to see the single hair-sliver of shadow remaining, was framed in the upper half, throwing its borrowed light across everything in the boy’s room.

Arie unbuckled her belt and laid it across the desk. Otherwise fully dressed, she slid under the quilts. The mattress, solid but yielding, seemed to rise up and form itself around her body. She closed her eyes. Her old joints loosened. Elbows, knees, and hips rejoiced. Even the pillow felt as though it had been sculpted to receive her head, and only hers, world without end, amen.

She sighed, and the contentment of it made her eyes flicker open again. The earlier twinge of bewitchment returned, but it was softer. Terribly easy to ignore. How seductive it would be to settle in. She hadn’t felt such utter physical satisfaction since long before the Pink slammed its furious fist into the world. Tempting, this perfect little place.

And perfectly vulnerable.

No good sight lines. The surrounding forest ideal for swallowing the sounds of an encroaching threat. Most dangerous of all, though? Comfort. Physical ease that blunted care. Somehow, using his parents’ rules, Kory had been alert enough to have his rifle ready, but not until they’d all come here together. Only yesterday, Curran had gotten right under the boy’s nose. If Curran could find the cabin, others could, too. Especially if they were following the easy trail of four adults and a dog.

Her mind was humming now, even as her body sank toward sleep like a drowned thing. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I’ll burn their contentment to the ground. Again.

“Curran?” She said it conversationally. To her relief, his answer came back immediately. He was awake, watching for them.

“I’m here.”

“Set us off with a song, will you?”

He did, as if it were hovering on his tongue, voice dark and sweet.

His song was, finally, the right anchor to pull her down. She went with it, sparing not another thought for anything.

AT FIRST LIGHT, Kory roused everyone with the sounds of the kitchen stove being put to work. The cabin had gotten cold during the night, but once the fire was stoked and they’d put away hot tea and re-warmed biscuits, the chill lost its edge.

Curran sipped tea from his spot on the couch, still wrapped in a blanket, hair standing on end. He’d kept watch nearly all night, only waking Handy for a spell around four o’clock. Talus was up on the seat next to him with her head in his lap. He gave her a companionable thump on the butt and she took his wrist between her teeth, pretending to bite. “Guess she still loves me, eh Kory?”

The boy grinned. “She makes a good pillow.”

The early morning was already fine, not a hint of coastal low clouds or drizzle. As they finished breakfast, the sun broke over the horizon and skewered the clearing in front of the cabin. Most of the perfectly mismatched windows were set into the east-side walls, allowing that good morning light to fill the space. The stained glass upstairs cast its image onto the smooth plank floor below so that it appeared painted there.