Blood Red Road, Page 3

  Pa! she screams an goes runnin towards him.

  I cain’t speak. Cain’t breathe.

  Lugh’s gone.

  Gone.

  My golden heart is gone.

  I kneel in the dust.

  The tears roll down my face.

  An a hard red rain starts to fall.

  There’s a knife in my gut.

  It twists, rips me open. With every heartbeat, it slides in a bit further. I cain’t feel such pain an live. I wrap my arms around my body, double over. My mouth opens in a silent scream.

  I stay there a long time.

  The rain don’t let up. Around me, the parched earth turns into a churnin sea of mud.

  Look, Pa, it’s rainin.

  Too late.

  Nero flaps down an lands on my shoulder. Tugs at my hair.

  I straighten up. Move slow. I’m numb. I don’t feel nuthin.

  Git up. You got things to do.

  My hand. I look at it. Seems like it’s a long ways off. Like it belongs to somebody else. The shot scraped the skin off in a long strip. It must hurt.

  I stand. Make my feet move. Right. Left. So heavy. I wade through the mud to the shanty. Nero flies off to huddle unner the eaves.

  Hand. Clean yer hand.

  I pour water over it. Pack it with fireweed leaf an tie a cloth around it.

  Pa’s dead. You gotta burn him. Set his spirit free so’s it can journey back to the stars where it come from.

  I look in the wood store. There ain’t enough to build a proper pyre. But I gotta burn him.

  Think. Think.

  I find our little handcart. Wheel it towards the lake. Shove it through the mud till I come to where Emmi’s standin by Pa.

  She’s got bare feet. She’s soaked to the skin. Her hair hangs in wet rat’s tails. They drip down her face, her neck.

  She don’t move. Don’t look at me. She stares at nuthin.

  I grab both her arms, give her a shake.

  Pa’s dead, I says. We gotta move him.

  She leans over an retches into the mud. I wait till she’s finished. She looks at me sidewise, wipes a shaky hand across her mouth. She’s cryin.

  All right? I says. She nods. Take his feet, I says.

  I take him unner his armpits an pull. Emmi takes his feet. Pa’s got skinnier the past six months. No rain fer so long meant food’s bin harder to find, pretty much impossible to grow.

  You ain’t finished yer supper, Pa. Ain’t you hungry?

  Oh, I’ve et plenty, child. Here. Share the rest out between yuz.

  He knew he warn’t foolin us, but we all played along anyways.

  Skinny as Pa is, he’s a grown man. Too heavy to lift fer a scrappy little girl an me. We hafta heave him, inch by inch. Em slips an slides. She don’t stop cryin. Pretty soon she’s covered head to toe in red mud.

  At last we git him on the cart. Pa’s tall, so only the top half of him fits in. His legs trail out behind.

  Where’s Lugh? Emmi sobs. I want Lugh.

  He ain’t here, I says.

  Wh-wh-where is he?

  Gone, I says. Some men took him.

  He’s dead, she says. You jest don’t wanna tell me. He’s dead! Lugh’s dead! He’s-dead-he’s-dead-he’s-dead-he’s-dead-he’s—

  Shut up! I says.

  She starts to scream. She gasps an sobs an screams an screams an screams.

  Emmi! I yell. Stop it!

  But she cain’t. She’s gone. Outta control.

  So I slap her.

  An she stops.

  She gasps with shock. Takes in great shudderin breaths till she calms down. She wipes her nose on her sleeve. Looks at me. There’s a red mark on her cheek. I shouldn’t of done that. I know I shouldn’t. Lugh wouldn’t of. She’s too little to take a hit.

  I’m sorry, I says. But you shouldn’t of said that. Lugh ain’t dead. Don’t ever say he is. Now hold Pa’s feet outta the mud. Use his bootlaces. It’ll be easier.

  She does it.

  I turn an start pullin the cart behind me. It’s hard goin in the rain an mud. Water runs into my eyes, my mouth, my ears. Mud coats my boots an I slide.

  Em’s hopeless like always. She keeps fallin over, but every time she does I stop an help her up an we keep goin. At least she ain’t cryin no more. We reach the shanty. We shove an pull the cart with Pa on it inside.

  The shanty walls is made from tires.

  The home Pa built with his own hands is gonna be his funeral pyre. I bet he didn’t ever think of that.

  Emmi helps me turn our big old wooden table upside down an we drag Pa offa the cart an lay him on the table.

  I go to the chest where we keep what clothes we got, which ain’t much. When I lift the lid, the smell of dried sage rises up. I pull out Pa’s thick winter tunic an toss it to Emmi.

  Tear it into strips, I says.

  I lift out Lugh’s winter tunic. I bury my face in it an breathe in deep. But we put it away clean. It smells of clean cloth an sage. It don’t smell of him.

  I git on with tearin it into strips.

  Once we’re done, there’s a good-size pile. I dig out the jug of rootmash whisky. Pa brewed it when times was better. We soak all the cloth strips in it. Then I set Em to stuffin ’em into the walls, into the cracks between the tires. I put the rest around Pa’s body.

  I start fillin my barksack with necessaries. Red gizmo knife, flint, medicine herbs, spare shirt.

  The same men that killed Pa took Lugh, I says. I’m goin after ’em. I dunno where they took him. It might be a long ways from here. It might take me a while to find him. But I will. I’m gonna bring him back.

  I put in a waterskin, nettlecord rope, an enough sourberry seed jerky an dried rootcakes to last us a few days. If we run out, I’ll jest hafta hunt.

  They got a head start an they’re on four legs, not two, I says. I’m gonna hafta travel fast.

  I collect Emmi’s waterskin, her tunic an her dogskin cloak. I don’t look at her when I says, I’m leavin you with Mercy by Crosscreek.

  No, says Emmi.

  I put her stuff in another barksack. Pa an Lugh told me to keep you safe, I says, an you’ll be safe there. Mercy an Ma was friends. She helped when me an Lugh was born. She came when you was born too.

  I know, says Em.

  What we both know but don’t say is that Mercy came too late. Emmi came early, Ma died an Mercy might as well of spared herself the trouble of a three day walk.

  Mercy’s a good woman, I says. Pa always said that if anythin was to ever happen to him, we should go to her. He told me an Lugh the way to Crosscreek. She might even have a kid fer you to play with.

  I don’t care, says Emmi. I’m comin with you.

  You cain’t, I says. I dunno where I’m goin or how long it’ll take me. Besides, yer too little. You’ll only hold me back.

  Emmi crosses her arms an sets her chin in that stubborn way she’s got. Lugh’s my brother too! she says. I got a right to look fer him, jest the same as you.

  Don’t give me no trouble, Emmi. I pick up the little peg doll Pa made her an throw it in the sack. It’s fer the best. Once I find Lugh, I promise we’ll come back an git you.

  No you won’t, she says. You hate me. You love Lugh an you hate me. I wish they’d took you instead!

  Well they didn’t, I says. Pa an Lugh left me in charge of you an I say yer goin to Mercy’s. Let that be a end to it.

  I shove Lugh’s slingshot into my belt. Tuck Pa’s knife into a sheath inside my boot. Sling my quiver an pistol crossbow on my back.

  Hazy red light trickles through the small window. It lands across Pa’s face.

  I kneel beside him, take his hand in mine. Emmi kneels across from me an takes his other hand. He’s still warm, she whispers.

  After a little bit she says, You need to say the words now.

  She’s right. You always say special words to send a dead person on their way.

  Pa said some fer Ma, before he lit her funeral pyre all them years ago, bu
t I cain’t remember what they was. Guess I was too young to take proper notice. Now it’s his turn to have words said an I cain’t think of nuthin.

  Go on, says Emmi.

  Then, Sorry, Pa, I says.

  I didn’t mean to say that, but my mouth moved an those’re the words that come out. But I realize I am sorry. Truly.

  I’m sorry yer dead, I says. I’m sorry you had it so hard here, specially the last while. Mostly I’m sorry you lost Ma when you loved her so much. I know you ain’t had no joy since she went. Well … now you’ll be happy. You’ll be together agin. Two stars, side by side.

  I’m goin after Lugh, I says. I’m gonna git him back, Pa. I won’t rest till I find him. I promise.

  I look at Em. D’you wanna … kiss him g’bye? I says.

  She kisses him on the cheek, then I strike my flint an light the spills around his body.

  Willem by Silverlake, I says, I set yer spirit free to return to its home among the stars.

  The flames start to lick at the table.

  G’bye, Pa, Emmi whispers. I’m gonna miss you.

  We stand. I hand her the barksacks.

  Go on outside, I says.

  I light the spills set into the walls. I wait till the tires catch fire, till the flames start to run along the walls.

  G’bye, Pa, I says.

  I close the door behind me as I go.

  The rain stops. A hot southerly starts to blow. The afternoon sun blazes down.

  Nero hangs in the air above us, ridin the thermals in lazy spirals. Jest like Lugh said he would, he fled the storm an saved hisself. If only we could of done the same.

  It looks like any other day. It could be yesterday, last week, a month ago. But it ain’t. This ain’t any other day.

  I never knew. Didn’t know everythin could be fine one moment an then the next moment so bad that it ’ud be like the time before that moment was all a dream.

  Or maybe this is the dream. A long an terrible dream about a storm an some men in black who killed Pa an took Lugh away. Maybe I’ll wake up soon. I’ll tell everybody about it an we’ll shake our heads about how strange dreams can be.

  I feel a dull throb in my right hand. I look at it. There’s a cloth wrapped around it, all filthy an torn. I prod it. A sharp pain shoots along my arm. Feels real enough.

  Somebody’s sayin somethin.

  Saba? Emmi’s voice. Saba?

  Huh?

  What about Procter John?

  I look down. His body lies sprawled on the ground, his face twisted with pain. Guess he didn’t die right off.

  I told you he’s the right one. I should know. I bin keepin an eye on him all this time like you told me to.

  Leave him fer the vultures, I says.

  The smell of burnin tires on the wind. My scalp prickles. Smells real enough.

  I heave my barksack over my shoulder. I start walkin. I don’t look back. I ain’t ever comin back to this place agin.

  Dead lake. Dead land. Dead life.

  THE TRACKWAY

  THERE’S ONLY ONE NARROW TRACK. IT GOES INTO AN OUTTA Silverlake. Otherwise, it’s all open country around here. Low scrub, boulders an the ruins of one or two Wrecker buildins.

  The trackway runs northeast. It also happens that Crosscreek, where I’m gonna leave Emmi with Mercy, lies three days due northeast of here. Mind you, that’s three days by Pa’s reckonin. It won’t be three days fer Em’s short legs. An she’s a fearful slow walker.

  C’mon, Emmi, I says. Let’s see you step lively.

  I stride out. After ten steps or so, I check over my shoulder to make sure she’s keepin up. She’s stopped. She’s standin in the middle of the trackway. She’s got her arms folded over her skinny bird chest. Her barksack’s dumped in the mud beside her.

  C’mon! I yell. She shakes her head. I curse an turn back. I git to her an says, What?

  We shouldn’t go, she says. She lifts her stubborn little pointed chin. I know that look. She’s set to cause ructions.

  Why not? I says.

  We need to stay here, she says. If Lugh comes back an we ain’t here, he’ll be worried.

  He ain’t comin back, I says.

  He’ll git away from the men, she says, I know he will. An he’ll come back an we won’t be here an he won’t know where to start to lookin fer us or anythin.

  Listen, I says, you didn’t see ’em. I did. Four men took him. Tied him hand an foot an put him on the back of a horse. He ain’t gonna git away on his own. That’s why I’m goin after him. By myself. I promised him I’d find him an that’s what I’m gonna do.

  After you find him, she says, we’ll come back here. Right?

  I can see by her face that she knows we ain’t ever comin back, but she’s gonna make me say it.

  This place ain’t fit to live in, I says. You know that. We’ll find us a new place to live. A better one. Me an Lugh an … you.

  Her eyes fill with tears. But this is where we live, she says. It’s our home.

  I shake my head. Not no more, it ain’t. It cain’t be.

  After a moment, she says, Saba?

  What? I says.

  I got a bad feelin. I don’t think we should go. I … I’m afeared.

  I open my mouth to tell her not to be so stupid, but stop myself before the words come out. I’m in charge of her now an I don’t want her diggin her heels in every time I ask her to do somethin. I try to think what Lugh ’ud do if he was here. He’d probly tease her, coax her.

  Whaddya mean, afeared? I put on a face like I’m surprised. How can you be afeared with me in charge?

  She gives a little smile. Ain’t you afeared?

  She says it almost like she’s shy of me.

  Me? I says. Naw. I ain’t afeared of nuthin. I ain’t afeared of nobody.

  Really? she says.

  Really, I says. I hesitate. Then I stick out my hand. She puts hers in it. C’mon, I says. Let’s go.

  We ain’t gone more’n half a league before we come across hoofprints in the dried mud. Five horses. The riders come this way with Lugh.

  I kneel down an trace around the edges of a print. I feel dizzy from relief. I feared they might of headed straight across open country from Silverlake.

  If they had of, I’d of lost a lotta time takin Emmi to Crosscreek an then comin back to Silverlake to try an pick up the trail.

  The hoofprints lead straight ahead. Northeast. Same direction we’re headed. Our first bit of luck.

  C’mon, I says to Em. We gotta hurry.

  I don’t give her no quarter. I walk quick, my footsteps jerky. No time to lose.

  She trots to keep up with me, her barksack thumpin aginst her back. Nero flies on ahead.

  Lugh was here. He passed this way.

  Lugh goes first, always first, an I follow on behind. I’ll catch him up. I always do. Always have.

  I’ll find you. Wherever they take you, I swear I’ll find you.

  I walk faster.

  Mid-afternoon. Second day on the road.

  I hafta stop myself from screamin. From walkin fast. Runnin on ahead.

  Emmi.

  We couldn’t be goin much slower an it’s all her fault.

  I wanna leave her by the side of the track an ferget she ever got born. I wish she’d disappear offa the face of th’earth. But I cain’t wish that. I mustn’t wish that. It’s too wicked. She’s my own flesh an blood, the same as Lugh.

  Not the same as Lugh.

  Nobody’s the same as Lugh.

  Never the same as Lugh.

  We leave a thin stand of near-dead pine trees.

  The hoofprints leave the trackway here. They head off due north.

  Wait here, I says to Emmi.

  I follow the prints till the hard baked ground turns to scrubby grass. The prints disappear. I shade my eyes. Stare out. There’s a narrow belt of scrub grassland but after that I cain’t see nuthin but wideness. Flatness. Desert. I ain’t never bin here but I know what it is.

  Sandsea.
/>   A mean, death-dry place of winds an shiftin sand dunes. A hard land. A land of secrets.

  Before Emmi, when Ma was still alive an everythin was happy, Pa used to tell Lugh an me stories about Wrecker times. Some of ’em was about Sandsea. He told us about whole settlements of people buried by wanderin dunes. Then, one day, the winds ’ud shift an the dune ’ud move on an all that ’ud be left was the shanties. No people. All gone. Not a trace of ’em left behind, not even bones. Only their dead souls, turned into sand spirits that wail in the night an cry fer their lost lives. Pa used to say he’d take us there an leave us if we warn’t good.

  I pile up some rocks. A cairn to mark the spot so’s I can find it agin.

  I walk back to the trackway.

  Em sits in the dust, her head bowed. She’s took her boots off.

  We gotta keep movin, I says.

  I look down. At her short, fine brown hair that grows in tufts. With her thin little neck an wisps of hair, Emmi looks more like a babby bird than a girl.

  It’s a wonder I didn’t break her neck when I slapped her. Jest thinkin about it makes me feel sick, so I try not to. I know fer a fact that Em ain’t never in her life bin slapped before I raised my hand to her. Lugh would never of done it, no matter what. Never. He’d be madder’n hell if he knew what I done.

  I crouch down beside her. What’s the matter? I says.

  Then I see her heels. They’re cut to a bloody pulp. She ain’t used to walkin so far. They must hurt like nobody’s business, but she ain’t made a peep.

  Why didn’t you tell me? I says.

  I didn’t want you to yell at me, she says.

  I look at her, her face so small an thin. I hear Lugh’s voice in my head.

  She’s only nine, Saba. You might try bein nice to her fer a change.

  You should of said somethin, I says. I wash her cuts an wrap her feet in clean strips of cloth. All right, I says, put yer arms around my neck.

  I pick her up. I carry her as much as I can fer the rest of the day, but even a scrawny nine year old gits heavy. I’m carryin our packs too so I hafta put her down from time to time. She ends up havin to walk a fair bit.

  She weeps quietly in the night.

  My heart pinches at the sound. I reach out an touch her arm but she flings my hand off an turns away.