I dunno, I says. I jest looked up an there it was.
The music plays on. The lost creatures of the lost world roam the walls all around us. They fly the skies. They swim the waters. Lakes an rivers an the Big Water. What DeMalo called the ocean, the sea. I never thought I’d see these sights agin. My heart cracks open wide, to fill itself with them. Greedily. Hungrily. I’m glad I don’t hafta hide how I feel. After all, I’m meant to be seein it fer the first time.
It’s beyond wonderful, I says. I would never of imagined this.
Wonderful fer sure, says Jack. But it ain’t nuthin to do with DeMalo. If this is triggered by the dawn, it happens every day. All that Pathfinder malarkey. He ain’t nuthin but a high-stakes con man.
He’s lied, I says. About everythin.
Don’t sound so surprised, he says. Anyways, lyin’s hardly the worst of his sins.
We sat in the sweetgrass meadow that mornin. The Stewards, DeMalo an me. The breeze dried my tears as he spoke. Of the music on the wind that led him to this room.
As that new day dawned, I had the vision. Just as you’ve seen today. Mother Earth revealed to me, through me, the glories of our world as it was. And she revealed to me my destiny. You are the Pathfinder, she told me. I have chosen you to heal me.
We’ve all believed him so completely. That’s becuz he believes it hisself. He’s told the tale so often, it’s become the truth even to him. At what point does that happen, I wonder. That you start to believe yer own lies.
It’s quite the make-believe he’s cooked up, says Jack. The dream of Mother Earth reborn, DeMalo the big hero with his visions.
On the walls all around people walk an run an dance. Long ago gone. Long unremembered an long unmourned. The Wreckers. But in this moment, they live fer me an Jack. I think of the ten skellentons, lyin in them bunks. Whoever they was—man, woman, child—they closed the door in the hillside one day an shut theirselfs in. Knowin their refuge might well be their grave. That they’d seen the last of the sky.
Suddenly I git it. They go together, I says.
What goes together? says Jack.
The seedstore an this room with these visions, I says. They left it fer us. Fer those who might come after. When them people lay on them bunks fer the very last time, they died with hope. That somebody would find this one day. But they didn’t mean fer someone like DeMalo to find it. A gift like this, a gift to the future, the chance to start over with them seeds … it’s meant fer all of us. Not jest people, but the earth itself an every creature. It’s fer the common good. The many. Not the few. They meant fer it to be used rightly an justly. These visions tell us so. Look!
Around the walls there’s the young an the old. The strong help the weak. The healthy tend the sick. All manner of people together.
He’s stolen this place, I says. He ain’t no visionary. He’s a thief. He’s a liar.
Saba, says Jack. We better go.
His voice right behind me makes me start.
It’s dawn, he says. The guard change. Remember?
He takes me by the hand an we run.
We ride into a strange kinda mornin. Uncertain day born of unsteady night. Short winds dash at us then die. Clouds threaten, then calm in a watery sunlight. At last a lumpy grey sky thumps down like a lid an sharp picks of rain razor us. It settles to a mean-tempered dank of a day. Jack jams his hat low an wraps his cloak high. Nero’s quick to wriggle inside it an hitch a ride. Me, I got my coat an my sheema. But it ain’t long before we’re miserably damp.
It’s all cloud an sharp rain inside of me as well. My thoughts clod an churn. Feelins spike me, slash at me. I try to grab ’em as they pass. Try to hold on long enough to take a good look.
One. DeMalo don’t have miraculous visions. It’s a trick. A cheat. He ain’t who he says he is. He ain’t what he says he is. He discovered the bunker an its secrets by chance. He claimed them fer his own an began to misuse them.
Two. He must be revealed fer the fraud that he is. Everybody needs to know about the visions. By everybody I mean the Stewards an the Tonton. The only way they’d believe is if they seen it fer themselfs. My Free Hawks an Jack’s gang, we’ll jest tell them what we found an they’ll believe us.
Three. What’s my next move? My next play in this endgame he’s declared? Whatever I do, I gotta use what I know to our best advantage. I gotta be wise, be cool. Think, plan, then act. In the right way, at the right time, when he least especks it. But I got so little time, there ain’t no chance in hell that I’ll—stop, stop. Be cool. Stay calm.
Four. Four. It’s unbelievable. It’s shameful. But here it is. The cold stone of betrayal burns in me. I feel betrayed by him. By DeMalo. I feel deceived by him. I know this tight lump, hard right of my heart. I felt it when I thought Jack had betrayed me. You only feel betrayed if you place yer trust in somebody. If you believe what they tell you. I believed DeMalo. Believed him when he told me I was special. That I warn’t like nobody else. I believed that meant he would tell me—me above all others—the truth. But he plays me jest like he’d play anybody. He baits his line an reels us in. An what was my bait? My arrogance, my self-regard an the weakness of my flesh fer his. I swear, when DeMalo hauled me from Weepin Water that night, he landed me on shiftin sands. Me, who used to think I stood on bedrock.
I realize Jack’s stopped. That I’m stopped becuz he’s leaned over to grab hold of Hermes’ bridle. Guilty heat breaks on my skin. As if he might be able to hear my thoughts.
Sorry, I says. Did you say somethin?
I said, this is where we part ways, he says.
We’re at HorseArch, in the middle of the boulderfield. The worn hindquarters of a stallion rear atop the crumbled stone archway.
Jack sits back in the saddle. He edges Kell away. Puts distance between us. His hat hides his eyes. He’s only said one thing since we left the bunker. Lucky fer us they was late. That’s when we’d reached the safety of the wooded ridge an looked back to see the two relief guards appear. Since then, not a word, an that’s strange. Jack ain’t no chatbox, but he’s social. There’s always some to an fro with him. It ain’t like him to leave me alone with my thoughts fer so long.
You bin awful quiet, I says.
I got a lot on my mind, he says.
His distant tone slams the door in my face.
Yeah, I says, this changes everythin, don’t it? The seedstore, the fake visions. D’you think I oughta tell Lugh an the rest what we found?
Not yet, he says. It’s way too big. We’ll keep it between us fer now.
Right, I says. Listen, I wanna meet with yer network today. You an me an them. Can you git ’em all together later on?
He says, I thought we agreed it was safer you didn’t.
That was before all this, I says. I need to talk to ’em right away.
What about? he says.
Jest tell me where to meet you.
Sector Four, he says. At the watermill on the Don River. I’ll see you there late afternoon. It’s short notice, but I’ll git as many as can come. With a click to Kell, he tugs the reins an turns to the north.
Hey, I says.
He looks back.
You got my crow in yer coat, I says.
I fergot, he says. He’s asleep. He reaches unner his cloak. C’mon you, wake up, he says.
He picks him out an with a shake an a squawk, Nero takes to the air. Rain or no, he’ll be glad to fly. He’s bin tucked inside there fer ages.
Jack, I says.
He waits. His hat’s still low over his eyes. I’m shut out. He’s shuttin me out. This ain’t like him at all. Unease heats my belly. Sticks my words in my throat.
What’s wrong? I says.
Nuthin. It’s jest a lot to take in all at once. I’m gonna catch a little sleep, he says. You should too. I’ll see you later.
I’m glad you was there, I says. That it was you an me. We always do make a good team. I wouldn’t of wanted to be with nobody else.
He answers with a tip of
his hat. Then he flicks the reins an moves Kell out. I will a turn of his head. Look back, look back, gawdamnmit Jack. I ache fer a smile. Or a wave.
Jack! I call. The fog deads my voice. They’re melted to the mist as silent shadows. He probly didn’t even hear me. Nero perches on HorseArch an caws his impatience to be gone.
He’s right. I got much bigger things to deal with. I ride a thoughtful trail back to Starlight Lanes. I sort an sift an consider. All the words I bin hearin an speakin. What I’ve seen an thought an felt.
Whaddya make of this place, Mercy? Of New Eden?
Things ain’t always what they seem to be. People neether. The Chosen of New Eden, they’re all tryin to be what DeMalo says they are. Do you see? Not entirely real.
DeMalo an his visions. The bunker. The seedstore. It’s the lodestone. He’s the lodestone. Brothers an sisters an fathers an mothers. Stewards stolen from their families.
You’re paired with a boy you don’t know. Sent off with this stranger to work the land an make healthy babies for New Eden. How do you feel?
Natural feelins don’t come into it.
They got no skills, no knowledge, no trust between ’em. They hardly know each other. It won’t take much to make their house crumble. It don’t stand on strong foundations.
Strong foundations. Family. Blood ties. Babies taken from the Stewards.
Not one of them girls wants her baby to be took from her. They try to hide what they feel, but I seen it in their eyes, their faces, every time.
Weak foundations. DeMalo’s weakness. Our strength.
Think like me, like me, not him.
Jack an me at the Irontree. He nearly had me undressed an I never noticed.
Boy, do you work fast.
Yer a movin target, I hafta. Here, lemme help.
I button, he unbuttons. I tuck, he untucks.
Do. Undo.
When you start to pick it apart, their house will crumble. Undo it. Fast. Quickly.
What do you believe, Saba?
On the whole, I’d say we’re stronger fer love.
Then I’m thinkin like me. Not like him.
The Starlight Lanes sign appears through the treetops. With its comet an stars an words that meant somethin to somebody, once upon a time ago. Then I catch sight of Molly. A little ways ahead, she slips from the woods onto the trail. She’s all rosy aglow an not quite tucked in. The day’s changed its mind since the mizzle of dawn. Now, early mornin sun sifts through the treetops. It gleams her hair golden as it rivers to her waist. Tied back, like always, in a tousled tail. She appears to have half the woods stuck in it. A battered bucket swings in her hand. She swings her hips with cautious abandon.
Mornin, I call.
She jumps from her skin. She whirls around. Dismay gives way to a wide smile of welcome. I bin pickin mushrooms, she calls, holdin up her pail. Oh! Nero’s jest landed on her shoulder. An a very good mornin to you, she says. Delicately, he picks a piece of moss from her hair. He gives it to her. Well, she says, thank you.
Followed by a leaf, then a twig, then another leaf. I’ve reached her by now. She’s very pink an very flustered. I tell you, she says, yer so lucky to have short hair. Mine collects everythin. Moss an twigs an—
Men? I says. Or should I say boys? I swing myself down from Hermes.
Her smiles crumple to woe. Oh gawd, she says, I swear, Saba, I didn’t mean fer this to happen. I had no idea. He jest—
Hey, I says. Calm down, don’t worry, it’s okay.
It is? she says.
This is me, remember? I says. You of all people know I ain’t in no position to preach. How could I return yer kindness to me with harsh judgement? An … he is handsome an charmin an, as we all know, he can be very persuasive—
Well, it warn’t so much that as—
—as the fact he’s bin after you since the moment he laid eyes on you. Yer only human, Molly, I says. Yer the loveliest, most gorgeous woman. You bin on yer own a long time. An I gotta tell you, it don’t ezzackly come as a shock.
It don’t? There’s wary surprise in her eyes, in her voice.
I seen you, I says.
Oh?
At Em’s party. You touched his hand.
Touched his hand, she says.
When he was goin on lookout duty, I says. You was at the food table with Mercy and he walked by you an you touched his hand.
Right, she says. You seen that.
I was th’only one noticed, I says. I didn’t mention it to nobody an I won’t. Molly, you so deserve happiness. Of anybody I know, you deserve it. Fer a night, a week, fer the rest of yer life. The only thing is— You gotta admit, it’s bin pretty stormy with you two already an I jest don’t want … I dunno, a lovers’ quarrel or somethin to cause more problems.
Say no more, I unnerstand completely, she says. I would never do nuthin to jeopardize this fight. I’ll talk to him, to Creed. He ain’t really my type anyways.
Oh, no, I didn’t mean that you had to—
It’s all right. She presses my hand an smiles. You can set yer mind at rest, she says.
Oh, Molly. Yer beautiful, weary brown eyes. Where hope’s so faded an thin, I could weep. I seen her today, Moll. Jest fer a moment. Barefoot, her hair a golden river down her back. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright with possibility. It was you. It was her. The girl you once was. If only I’d come along the trail a bit sooner. Or passed a little later. She could of walked in the sun a bit longer. I’m sorry.
I kiss her on the cheek. Her skin’s soft as dew. She smells musky an warm, of lovers in the woods. You better let Nero tidy yer hair, I says. But don’t be long. I got somethin to talk to you all about.
I find ’em at Peg’s flyer field. Tracker leads me up the hill behind the junkyard to the long stretch of scrubby grass on top. It’s from here that Peg tries to make like the birds. This mornin, with the help of Moses an Bean an far too many ropes, they’re all doin their sweaty best to launch her latest junkcraft to the sky. I call ’em to order, but they’re so childishly excited that they won’t be deterred. The whole thing’s ridiculous an doomed. I give up. They won’t be long.
Slim shouts advice from the safety of his slingchair. I sit an stare at the ground an think about what I’m gonna say. By the time Molly turns up with Nero an her leaf-free hair an Mercy, who she met on the path, they’ve managed to tangle the windcrank, the camel, the mule an all of them in a week’s worth of knots an then some.
It’s a moment’s fun. The day’s turned out fine. How I’d love to join them. Be carefree fer once. But my time’s runnin out. I got a tyrant to topple.
This is a joke, right? Creed’s ready smile ain’t nowhere to be seen today. From his sullen mouth to boots that positively twitch to kick at somethin, he bristles spiky discontent.
A joke? I says. Far from it. It’s the only way we can win.
Win? He looks around, with a half-smile that’s more like a frown. You hearin this, folks? he says. No guns, no bows, no blastpacks, no knives. We’re gonna fight the man with—what was that you called it? Oh yeah—bad manners.
Disobedience, I says.
We’re all stood or sat or sprawled in a kinda circle. Each accordin to their own state of mind. I’m on my feet, holdin fast to my ground. We’re still on the hilltop at Peg’s flyer field. She tends to her junkmetal love. Mutters an cackles as she untangles it from the mess of ropes an does things with spanners an bolts. Nero plays one of his favourite games. She puts somethin down, he nips in an steals it. She’s so busy, she don’t pay our talk the least bit of notice.
I says to them, It’s like I said. DeMalo’s built New Eden on fault lines. Lots of ’em an he don’t even know it. The main one is he’s broke families apart. That goes aginst nature. It goes aginst feelin an blood ties. He believes them things make fer weakness, but he’s wrong. They’re strong an they endure an we can use ’em to beat him. Mercy’s told you about the babyhouses—how the mothers are when their infants git took from ’em. That’s one fault line.
Tonight I plan to make a little rumble there. If it works, if I’m right, that fault line will start to crack open. Then we’ll go to work crackin open the other fault lines. The slave gangs. An Edenhome. We’ll do it right unner their noses. They won’t notice what we’re up to till it’s too late. Once we got enough cracks, at the right moment we make a big gawdamnn rumble an the whole thing will break wide open. New Eden will crumble.
Silence. But what a clamour. Slim plucks at his whiskers. Ash works her boot heel into the dirt. Between the rest of ’em—Lugh an Tommo an Creed an Molly—there’s frowns an raised eyebrows an looks an so on. From her seat on a rock, Mercy gives me a tiny smile.
A big gawdamnn rumble, says Ash. What kinda rumble you talkin about?
I cain’t say yet, I tell her.
You don’t know, says Creed. You got no idea, do you?
A good leader responds an adapts, I says.
An that does make him smile. At last. You ain’t a good leader, he says.
It’s a lot to ask, I know, I says. This is a new idea. But don’t dismiss it outta hand.
Creed laughs. Why shouldn’t we? he says. We got a whole weapons dump ready an waitin. Hey, Slim, there’s plenty of ammo in that secret store of yers, right?
Plenty, he says.
Why wouldn’t we use it? Creed opens his arms to receive everybody’s agreement. We’re fighters, he says. It’s what we know, what we’re good at. We bin beatin the Tonton in straight fights all along. This ain’t no different.
Why fight if we don’t hafta? I says.
He says, That blast at the bridge must of done somethin to yer brain. It sure as hell rattled yer nerve. Ever since then, you bin all, thou shalt not kill. I tell you, that’s hard to swallow, comin from you. They didn’t call you the Angel of Death fer nuthin. Remind me. How many dead on yer dance card, dear?
Our eyes hold. He’s gone fer the wound. Anger raises its head in me. Growls low in its throat. I silence it with a twitch of my hand.