Red Moon Rising (17 page)

Natka will not like my plan, and so I will not tell him of it.

24

WE AGREE THAT WE CANNOT
afford to camp. We will push the
Kwihuutsuu
to ride as far and as fast as they can, carrying us even as we sleep. I lead the way, refusing to tell Natka what my plan is.

The nose of the broken
Origin
is splayed out under us as we fly over
Maasakota
.

Natka is confused when we don't stop, but he follows. It should be less than half a day now. Kwihuu is lathered, I can tell, and will need to stop soon. I wish we could land at the homestead, but at this time of day, Aunt Billie will not be there. We are going to have to make a spectacle, I'm afraid.

It is with relief that I see the Origin Township market area coming into focus below us. That relief is immediately
replaced with trepidation, because I know this is a risky plan, and I also know that having Natka along makes it even riskier.

I hold up my hand and Natka slows. Our
Kwihuutsuu
hover over the outskirts of the market. We have come in slowly and quietly and no one has seen us yet.

“Cheese!” a woman yells, dropping her basket of cooling crystals. Homesteaders run to help her refill her basket as others run for weapons.

“
Naa sita
,” I tell Natka as we lower the beasts to the ground. Do not speak.

He snaps his bony upper lip at me, but says nothing. Without his silver paint and warrior clothes, he looks young sitting astride the dactyl. I know this is deceiving, though, and if the homesteaders recognize him as the Cheese who took Virginia's baby and her ear, they will know this, too. I am hoping they will be frightened enough to listen to me before attacking, but this is probably foolish.

We land Kwihuu and Suu at the edge of the market, leaving them to rest and chew scrub. They will come to us if we need them. The whistle hangs low on my neck, just under the
bibiloka
. I pull the bag tightly against my back, feeling the baby squirm. At times during the journey, I would fall back behind Natka, claiming to need to relieve myself, but instead would give the baby water and crushed hashava fruit mixed with sleeping root. She is waking now, just in time. She will be angry, soiled, and hungry. Perhaps not in that order.

Natka walks briskly to my side, his good hand hovering over the knife holstered on his thigh. I stop walking. He goes a couple of steps ahead of me and then turns.

“
Kehka?
” he asks, looking irritated. What?

I walk quickly to him, and without stopping again, reach down, remove the knife from his holster, and throw it as hard as I can back behind us, toward the
Kwihuutsuu
.

Natka makes no sound for a moment, then runs to me. I am walking quickly. He is blinking rapidly and spluttering. Finally he manages to bark out my name and I put my finger to my lips to tell him to be quiet.

“We cannot go into the camp weaponless, Tootie,” he seethes.

“Yes we can, and yes we will,” I say. I keep walking but turn to look him in the eyes. “You will not be taking any ears or babies or starting any fights today, Natka. We aren't even supposed to be here! You will be silent, contrite. If you are lucky, they won't kill or imprison you. I told you it was a gum rockhead decision to come.”

We are approaching the first booths of the market. All of the people have run elsewhere. It is empty now, and the wind is hot and brisk, blowing my long black horsetail over my shoulder.

Something crunches underfoot and I look down. A piece of cooling crystal that spilled from the woman's basket. I put my hand to my neck, feeling my necklace, happy that it's helping me breathe so clearly this hot, dusty day.

“Your bag,” Natka says, pointing. His head tilts to the side. “It moves.”

I nod. “Stay one step behind me. Do not speak.” I pull the bag around to my front and wrestle the squirming baby from it. Natka gasps. He says nothing but his eyes flash and his fists clench.

“I have returned the Livingstons' daughter!” I shout into the wind. My human language sounds tinged with Cheese now, but I am not ashamed. “I have returned her as a trade.”

A head appears from behind a metal counter in one of the open-air booths. Shortly thereafter the muzzle of a light rifle also appears.

“We are unarmed,” I say. Not smart, Mayrikafsa, I chide myself. You should have said that part first. I hold the child over my head. “And the baby is unharmed.”

Old Man Dan appears from a booth at the other side of the market. He is laden with a handbow and a light rifle, his gogs pulled tightly against his face. He is in no mood to negotiate, I can see.

I put the baby on my shoulders, bracing with a hand. She pulls my hair as she squirms. I hold up my other hand. “A simple trade. I would speak to Billie Darling. We seek medicine.”

Old Man Dan begins to laugh. Harsh, barking noises, bouncing off the meager buildings and booths. He takes several quick steps closer to us, though he is still three
Kwihuutsuu
wingspans away.

“You seek counsel with Ms. Darling,” he says, his voice mocking. “You seek medicine.” He steps closer still, giving the light rifle a shake and activating its firing coil.

He has stopped laughing and more heads are now popping up from behind counters and doorways. These people are like prairie spiders testing to see if an electrical storm has finished or is beginning.

“For decades you raid us. Steal our supplies, our horses, equipment from our wreckage. And you steal our
ears
.” He points the rifle at me. “You also steal our
children
. The very soul of our township. Now you want to
trade
?” He spits and shakes the rifle once more.

I swallow hard.

“Brother Livingston,” I say. “We have not come to fight. We have come with contrition. We have brought your girl back. I only seek to give you your daughter and speak to Billie.” I pause, never taking my eyes from him. “To my aunt.”

Huge gasps go up from the booths and doorways and even Old Man Dan seems shaken, as the rifle drops a smidge.

I laugh because the reaction surprises me. “Did you all not see my ears?” I ask. “Not note the blackness of my hair?” Because it is true. While my language is tinged with Cheese, and I wear their clothes and decoration, I will never resemble them physically. I have no scales, no bony upper lip. I have no ear membranes. My hair is not red, though it has become ropelike over the months. And yet, everyone seems shocked that it is me.

“Rae?” A harsh voice has come up behind me. I turn, placing my hand up on the baby's back to keep her settled on my shoulders.

“Rae.” It is no longer a question. Aunt Billie stands before me, dropping the handbow that must have been pointed at my back. She rushes at me and stops just short of hugging me. She seems smaller than I remember, but smells just the same—a mixture of herbs and sweat and soap.

“Aunt Billie,” I whisper. I am taller than she is now.

She looks at me, scrutinizing my face, my
peltan
, my Cheese shoes. She sees the empty holster on my thigh, then looks up into my face again. She reaches up and gently runs her fingers through the hair hanging over my shoulder from the horsetail.

“You look just like one of them,” she whispers, tears flowing freely down her face. “Benny? Is he . . . is Temple still . . .” She fights through her words, showing more emotion than I've ever seen, then calms herself. “Your sister, she is . . .”

“
Kela omma
,” I say, with a small smile, then realize I have spoken Cheese. “They are well, Aunt Billie. Temple thrives, Benny is . . . Benny is well.” I fear that Aunt Billie will collapse at these words, as the look of relief on her face has washed over her so quickly it has caused her eyes to close and her mouth to go slack.

“How fares Papa?” I ask, wanting to know, but also not wanting to hear her say it.

“He still recovers from his injuries,” Aunt Billie says, grinding her jaw, staring at Natka. “He shall never walk again, but is alive, thank the gods.”

“Mayrikafsa,” Natka says in a low voice.

I turn and see that Old Man Dan is standing only a few hands away now, pointing his light rifle at my chest. A few other men and women have ventured from the booths and are also pointing weapons at us.

“We just want medicine,” I say. “Then you have your daughter back and we leave.”

“And in a few days, you're back,” Old Man Dan sniffs. “With your beasts and your brethren. And you take more ears, more children, and do it faster and fiercer because those among you who need medicine are now stronger and healthy. You are indecent, inhuman creatures whose lives go against the gods in all respects.” His eyes roam up and down my shape. “We do not do business with heathens. Besides. We have no medicine.”

Old Man Dan steps closer to me and I clearly see his grizzled face dripping in swaths of skin around his neck, his red nose speckled with burst blood vessels. His gogs are old, the plastic cracked around the lenses. I doubt they work anymore. If they did, he would have seen immediately I was not Cheese. Or maybe that wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe his old-man eyes have stopped working as well. No. He is still looking me up and down, making me want to spit on him. His eyes work just fine.

“How stupid do you think I am?” he breathes, leaning
closer, his mouth curling into a frown, the yellow-white whiskers at its corners glinting in the suns.

“We will call a truce,” I say, thankful that Natka must not know this word because he stays quiet.

Old Man Dan laughs. “A traitor, holding my daughter hostage, says her newly adopted people will call a truce. Who are you, girl, to make promises like this? What must they think of us to have sent a
girl-child
as a negotiator?” He fair spits the word “girl-child” at me.

Aunt Billie steps forward, her eyes narrowed to slits. “She is not a traitor, Brother Livingston. She is a captive. She has obviously been sent here in a nonthreatening gesture. She has no weapons. She has your child. She asks for a trade.” She turns to me. “What kind of medicine do they need? For what illness?”

“Infection,” I say. “Fever. I tried to remember some of the tinctures you were teaching me, but I couldn't.” This doesn't seem like the time to bring up the fact that Klara and Jo believe humans have magical germs and medicines that they can use to kill and cure at their own whims and mercies.

Natka, who is two hands taller than me, so nearly three hands taller than Aunt Billie, looks over her head at me. His lip snaps up and his hand has flicked to his side even though his knife is no longer there. It rests on his hip, his fingers tapping. I shake my head ever so slightly to reassure him that there's no need for fighting or impatience. Not yet, anyway.

Aunt Billie walks past me, letting her hand squeeze mine as she passes by. This small move of affection tears at me, throwing my concentration, making my breath catch. My hand flies to the crystal around my neck. I am okay. Easy breathing. Just surprised.

“Let us speak, Brother Livingston,” she says, placing a hand on Old Man Dan's arm, lowering the rifle. “In a private area.” Then she raises her voice and speaks to the people who have come to surround us. “No harm will come to my niece and her companion while Brother Livingston and I have discussions. Or so help me.”

Hearing Aunt Billie speak this way fills my throat with a rock that is difficult to swallow around.

Natka turns, his back to my back, so no one can sneak up on us again. The baby has wrenched free a handful of my hair, and from what I can tell, is sucking on it.

The air is stifling, the hot breeze not helping one bit. There is a flash of light in the distance. An electrical storm brewing. Oh, gods, if we are to make it home on the
Kwihuutsuu
, we will need to be in the air very soon.

The men who surround us are still, their weapons aimed and ready. They openly stare at me, their faces streaked with sweat and dirt, their beards wild in the wind, their eyes roaming. Some faces fill with pity, others with hatred, others with something more unspeakable. No one makes a sound and I can hear the quiet snuffles of the
Kwihuutsuu
carrying on the breeze. There are more flashes of light in the distance.

After the suns have begun their afternoon descent in the sky, and the roiling storm clouds have increased and moved closer, Aunt Billie and Old Man Dan emerge from the booth where they held counsel. Aunt Billie's jaw is set. She holds out her hands for the baby. My eyes search her face.

“And the medicine?” I ask.

“Once you turn over the child, I will take you to the medicine storage site.”

I do not like this.

“Are there not herbs at the homestead?” I ask. “In your treatment room?”

Aunt Billie shakes her head. “Not the kind you seek.” She holds her hands out for the baby again. “You must trust me, Ramona.”

It has been so long since anyone has called me by that name, it takes me a moment to respond. I reach up to take the baby off my shoulders. Natka hisses.

“Kehka ke ton?”
His eyes spark.

“What am I doing? I trust Aunt Billie,” I say, wishing I felt those words as strongly as I used to.

“
E'e naa
,” he says. “I do not.”

“E'o.”
I tap my chest.
“Lonkah.”
I hold his angry stare. “You will have to trust me, then.”

Aunt Billie takes the baby from me, kisses her soft head, looks her over quickly, nods once, and hands her to Old Man Dan. He holds the child in front of him like a shield and backs away from us.

“I will take you there,” Aunt Billie says. “Follow me.”

I motion for Natka to follow us. Aunt Billie walks out of the market and away from the center of the township. The wind is strong now, the electrical smell of a brewing storm has reached us. I look nervously to the blackening sky and worry that Aunt Billie is going the opposite direction of Maasakota. It will take us even longer to get to the
Kwihuutsuu
and get home now. We cannot get trapped here during a storm. We cannot.