August Ansel - Shadow Road

“We can’t keep him out here,” said Renna.

“No. We’re running a race against the weather,” said Arie. “This time of year, we’ve been lucky the sky hasn’t yet opened up on us.”

Curran kicked at a chunk of stone near the toe of his boot. “Fuck,” he yelled. He grabbed up the rock and hurled it into the trees. His voice bounced back in a faint echo. Somewhere in the dark, the rock hit with a blunt thud, loosing a shower of twigs and needles. Off to the east, a plaintive howl rose and fell, making Talus growl from her place beside Kory.

Arie fixed Curran with a flat expression. “Better?”

He sat down by the fire, not looking at her. “Maybe,” he muttered, “if I could get my hands on the asshole who set that trap.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Chances are he’s long dead. Did you see the state of it? Full of rust and a veil of cobwebs stuck all over the works. The damnable thing could have been laid years before the Pink showed up. In fact, by the look of it I’m surprised it didn’t let go on its own a long time ago.”

He stared at her for a moment. “So it was just Kory’s unhappy luck to stumble into it.”

She yawned widely and nodded. “Foul fortune.”

“Fuck,” he said again, whispering it to himself this time.

Handy squatted on his hunkers next to Curran, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, and added another piece of wood to the flames. “We don’t have supplies to hold us for long out here,” he said. “And even if we did, the boy can’t be out in the open like this. We have to get inside somewhere.”

“I guess we could backtrack,” said Renna. “Surely there’s a house in Arcata where we could hole up.” It was clear from her expression the idea repulsed her.

“Going backwards feels wrong,” said Arie. “Say we reverse course and find a place to wait. Even if Kory heals fast—which would be a damned miracle—then what? Take a long detour full of unexpected buggery? Retrace the way we came today?”

They sat quietly, letting the idea roll around.

Curran poked at the fire with a stick so that sparks rose in a delicate spray. “Hard not to imagine the worst after the shitshow today.”

Renna watched Kory’s still form. His shallow respirations hardly seemed to make the covering of blankets rise and fall. “I guess we could go back and ask the crazy lady to tell our fortune again.”

“Hayesville is close,” said Handy. “Three or four miles. Instead of skirting around it, we could go straight into the city limits. Find somewhere to shelter.”

“It sounds like the better risk,” said Arie.

“Let’s do it,” said Curran. “At first light we can rig a pallet to carry him.”

They propped their packs upright at Kory’s head and feet to form a rough tent with the last two blankets. When they had him protected from the damp, Renna offered to keep watch.

“I won’t be able to sleep with him in this shape,” said Arie, “and I’ll want to check that leg at least twice before morning. Try to rest.”

While Arie settled near the boy, Renna built up the fire and replenished their little pile of dry wood. Handy and Curran took the lantern and stripped off armloads of low-hanging green boughs to use for bedding, putting themselves outside the range of flying sparks. Then the three of them turned in together, huddled close to conserve what little warmth and comfort they could. The two men lay back-to-back and Renna curled inside the shelter of Handy’s arms. All of them seemed to crash at once, their breathing deep and heavy.

Arie touched the mandala in her coat pocket and moved her finger along the silken path of the little labyrinth. She listened to the breathing of the boy and the dog, timed her own breath to meet theirs. The fire burned brightly for a while, and she watched Kory’s face. His eyes rolled back and forth under bruised-looking lids and Arie wondered what he dreamed of.

Before the fire got too low to throw a decent light, she checked him closely. His forehead was slightly damp beneath her lips, his skin flushed. She pulled the blankets open around his neck and face, felt his pulse—a little fast, but regular. His breath smelled slightly of acetone; he hadn’t had nearly enough to eat for the exertions he’d had all day.

“Let’s have a little space, eh?” she told Talus. The dog obliged, scooting her rump aside but maintaining contact by resting her chin on Kory’s forearm. Arie lifted the blankets and exposed the injured limb. She didn’t want to unwrap the sheet so soon—better to give the wounds time to start the healing process. But she laid the flat of her fingers, ever so gently, on the places between the wounds. There was some draining, especially from the larger laceration, but no real bleeding. The flesh was only slightly warmer than normal, but was noticeably stiff to the touch from swelling.

Checking that the wrappings were not too tight, Arie covered him again. As she was settling next to him, Talus whimpered, a single, soft whine. When Arie looked, she realized Kory’s eyes were open, watching her. He moved his lips, but the only sound he made was a scratched whisper.

“You must be thirsty,” she said. She poured the remaining yarrow tea, now cool, into a cup. He struggled to lift himself onto one elbow and a terrible wince of pain cramped his face. “You let me do the work here,” she said. She lifted his head with her free hand and put the cup to his parched lips. He sipped, coughed a little, then took several large swallows and closed his eyes. As she laid him back, he belched, long and low.

“More room out than in,” she whispered.

She set the mug aside and took the mandala out of her pocket. Inside his nest of blankets, she found his hand. She tucked the wooden square under his palm so that his index finger rested in the smooth circular groove. “We sojourn, young friend. Your life is your own, as mine belongs only to me.”

Talus, who had watched patiently while she tended the boy, dropped her muzzle again and heaved a deep sigh. Arie patted the dog’s flank. She put another bit of wood on the embers of the fire and then laid herself down within easy reach of Kory. She’d keep vigil, but needed to release the chaos of this long and harrowing day. She pulled her arms inside the old wool coat, using one sleeve and shoulder as a pillow.

“Rest for you,” she said, watching boy and dog. “For you both. Rest for all of us.” A slight wind had picked up, and a thin gust made the dying fire flare yellow. Kory’s primitive tent ruffled gently but stayed put. Her eyelids drooped, but the image of Kory’s bloodied leg caught in that filthy hunk of rusted ironmongery was right there to keep her awake.

She rolled onto her back and could just make out the tops of the trees moving back and forth, dark shapes against a darker sky. There were a few stars visible amid the forest canopy and ranks of scudding clouds. Silent out there , she thought, and bloodless.

“Rest for the Mother,” she whispered. The last word had hardly formed on her tongue before sleep swept in, laying waste to the conscious world.

“He’s hot.”

The words, not much more than a whisper, floated through her head, untethered. A little part of Arie’s mind grabbed at them, turned them over and around, trying to connect them to orderly thought. Hot , she mused, still not connecting. An insistent breeze made a soft flapping sound near her and it held a smell of incipient rain. Something was not right with hot , nor with the threat of rain. But Arie’s limbs were heavy, her entire body perfectly at peace with itself.

“Here’s water.” Handy’s voice.

She lurched into a sitting position before she was wholly awake. “Oh no,” she said. “Damn my eyes.” Renna and Handy bent over Kory, Handy propping the boy’s head up and Renna helping him take sips from the mug. Even in the dim predawn light, Arie could see the hectic flush across his face and on his neck. “Let’s have a look,” she said.