The Woman They Kept (19 page)

She smiled at him again. “I
can see clearly.”

As
they rode down the side of the mountain Gideon gradually slowed his
pace, his jaw going slack, his pupils dilating. The green was not a
chemical spill at all, though it was no less shocking. Though there
was no bubble to keep the environmental toxins out, there were
living plants here. Not living like some of the other trees he'd
seen outside bubbles; those trees struggled to live, with grey dying
leaves and brittle branches. No, these trees were
thriving.
Their
branches were filled with green leaves thrust out into the air to
grab the sunlight, and underneath a plush carpet of grass grew.
Gideon stopped them when they were close, a deer stood at the edge
of the forest, watching them, its jaw moving in little circles.

Rolanda hopped off the
motorcycle and ran into the woods, chasing it.

“
Rolanda, wait!”
Gideon shouted. “You don't know what's in there!”

There was no trail for them to
ride into the woods, so Leanin and Gideon set off on foot, leaving
their bikes parked just outside the wall of trees. The forest
towered around them, shading the ground. Pine needles, leaves, and
mossy grass formed the floor underfoot. They saw the dark grey of
Rolanda's jacket darting between the trees and they followed.

There was a break in the forest,
forming a natural meadow where the grass grew even more lush, with
little bushes lined in a row speckled with berries. Rolanda was in
the meadow, talking to a woman in white who turned to them as they
approached.

The woman was old, the wrinkles
on her face and the sagging of her eyelids attested to that, but her
limbs didn't wobble and she stood straight. Her hair was greying
around the temples, the smile on her face like the parting of
curtains. She wore a long dress that she had pulled the front of
up, forming a natural basket that held little blackberries. Rolanda
was picking out of her dress, a smear of berry juice on her cheek.

“
Hello children,”
the woman said as they approached. “You don't need to put
your hands to your pistols like that, I'm just an old lady out
picking berries.”

Gideon's hand had been reaching
to his hip, he withdrew it with a blush. Pulling it out would have
been akin to threatening his own grandmother. “What is this
place? It's like nothing I've seen outside of a bubble.”

The old lady picked a berry out
of her dress and plopped it into Rolanda's open mouth. “We
call it Meadowood, because we have meadows, and we have woods.
Would you like a blackberry? They're fresh.”

Gideon stepped closer. “This
is all so strange.” He opened his mouth and the woman plopped
a berry on his tongue. A flash of sweet and tart caused him to
pucker and chew with relish, a drip of juice dribbling down his
chin.

“
What are you children
doing out traveling between bubbles? It's not safe out there.”

Gideon reached into her skirt
for another berry. The taste was like nothing he had experienced
before. “It's a long story.”

“
Well in that case you
best be coming to my home, we'll get you set up with a nice meal and
a place to rest for the night.” She turned and led them over
the hill.

“
Wait,” Leanin said,
“we don't even know your name.”

The woman turned and smiled at
them. “My name's Rheannon, you can call me Rhea.”

...

Rhea moved with surprising
agility over the uneven ground, skipping over exposed roots and
walking solidly where Gideon tripped. They went back into the
forest, there was no path that they followed but Rhea seemed to know
exactly what trees to turn at. Gideon was soon completely lost,
every tree and bush looked the same. Soon they heard the bleating
of goats and sheep and the forest thinned again.

A little stone cottage was built
into the side of a hill; goats ran up to greet them as they
approached. Rhea stopped and scratched the goats under the chin,
inviting the others to do the same. A wisp of black smoke trailed
lazily out the top of the chimney and the smell of burning oak
filled the air. It was a small house, but intricately built, each
stone different but fitting together to form the whole front, a
small door arched at the front and a few windows were the only
places where the stone stopped.

A grassy hill seemed to grow
around the cottage, hugging it like an overthrown blanket on a cold
day, cuddling around the top. An old man was chopping wood in the
front yard without a shirt on, his skin leathery and tough and his
chest hair as white as the tip of his bushy beard. There was more
hair on his face and his chest than he had on the top of his head,
and the tips of each strand glistened with sweat. He stopped
chopping and raised his ax in greeting.

“
Harold,” Rhea
called out, “we have guests, put a shirt on.”

Harold grinned as they
approached. He was a big barrel-chested man, his shoulders broad
and his forearms thick, but the grin he wore on his face was one of
childish joy. “Ain't nothing they haven't seen before.
Name's Harold,” he said, sticking out his hand to be shook.
It was a well worn hand, firm and rough and warm. “You guys
coming for some dinner? We should have more than enough to go
around.”

“
Harold,” Rhea said,
“They're traveling. We're setting them up for the night.”

Harold eyed the three. “Oh,
are we? Well, I guess I should stop pretending I have a say in any
of this.”

Rhea stuck her chin out at him.
“You don't. These are children who need a little touch of
home right now, and I plan on giving it to them.”

He grinned again and playfully
pinched at her backside. She giggled and danced away. “I'll
be in in a bit, I'm going to take a dip in the lake to get some of
this sweat off me. Rhea'll mother you to death in the meantime.”

“
Oh, I will not,”
Rhea said as she brushed past him and into the cottage.

When they entered the home they
were greeted with the warm and sweet smell of freshly baking bread
and cooking meat. It was a small place, but comfortable. There was
a simple wooden table and some chairs, a few deerskin rugs on the
ground. The ceiling curved in an arch and hallways tunneled back
away from the main room. A fire burned low in a furnace in the
corner, a big black pot bubbling over top. Rhea gave them each a
chair and told them to sit down.

“
We've got some stew that
should be ready soon, it's nothing fancy but it'll stick to you, and
I have a loaf of bread that should be cool by now.”

The door opened and Harold
entered, his beard dripping with water. “Harold,” Rhea
said, “get a towel, you're dripping in front of the children.”

Harold grinned mischievously at
Gideon and bear hugged Rheannon, lifting her up off the floor and
shaking his wet beard in her face. They both laughed and she fought
him off her.

“
You big lummox. And to
think, I let that animal sleep in my bed.”

“
I thought you liked my
animal nature in bed,” he said. Rheannon turned bright purple
and Harold walked off into another room in the house.

Rhea brought a thick loaf of
bread out and set it before them before busying herself filling up
bowls with steaming stew. “So what brings you to Meadowood?
Not many can find us here, we're not on many maps.”

Rolanda was looking all around
the house, her curious eye touching on everything. The dishes were
carved of wood, two sets sat on a shelf. There were a few paintings
hung up with Rhea's signature in the corner. A pair of baby shoes
caught her eye, tacked up on the wall, made of deerskin. “Where
is the baby that belongs in those shoes?” Rolanda asked.

Rhea's smile faltered and her
eyes became glassy. “You're very perceptive. We were going
to have a baby, but something went wrong with the pregnancy. Never
did end up needing those shoes. Harold thinks it's morbid, keeping
them up there. I just like to look at them every once and a while,
think about what he or she might have been like.”

Gideon cleared his throat.
“Rolanda doesn't mean to offend, she's been through a bit of
an ordeal and isn't quite thinking clearly these days.”

“
I see things just fine,
Gideon,” Rolanda said.

“
Seeing things isn't your
problem, thinking things is,” Gideon replied before turning
to Rhea. “Anyway, we're not really sure where we're headed
to. Maybe back home, maybe somewhere else. We're still trying to
figure that out.”

“
Well, why not Meadowood?
You can stay here for a few nights and rest, there are far worse
places to end up.”

Harold came back into the room
with a fresh pair of clothes on, homespun wool that was the same
color as the sheep outside, his beard neatly combed. “We got
a few extra rooms, made an addition onto the house a while ago when
we thought there might be more of us, you all are more than welcome
to stay here as long as you need to. We don't get people through
here, it'd be nice to have the company and some help with the chores
and such.”

Rheannon set down two bowls in
front of Rolanda and Leanin, and cups in front of Harold, Gideon,
and her own place. “We only have the two bowls, but we have
plenty of cups.”

Conversation stopped while they
were eating the stew. Gideon ladled the heaping piles of vegetables
and mutton into his mouth, barely controlling his desire to moan
with happiness. The stew sent waves of warmth through his body and
filled him completely. The chunks of lamb were loaded with juices
and chock full of flavor, the rich taste oozing onto his tongue with
every bite.

Harold opened a cask of a golden
frothy liquid and set it before them. “Honey ale,” he
said. “It took me a few years to learn how to harvest the
honey without getting stung all over the place. Turns out if you
blow smoke up their asses, they'll let you take all the honey you
want,” Harold laughed.

The beer was sweet and rich, the
honey taste sharp but pleasant, the alcohol warm all the way down.
After two mugs apiece the world was beginning to look quite
tolerable for Gideon. He was flush in the face and couldn't help
his eyes from wandering over Leanin and Rolanda, they were so
different but each was quite lovely in their own way. Rolanda had a
full breasted beauty, her hair cascading down her curves, soft and
silky. She may have looked thin then, with her ribs poking through,
but she would bounce back soon enough. She sat crouched, her arms
at her sides, saying nothing but watching everyone. Her face was
slight, her cheekbones high, her eyes full and deep blue. She was
smiling, it was slight, only a small curve at the corners of her
mouth, but it was there. Her smile could be so captivating.

Leanin was as different from
Rolanda as was possible, but Gideon still found her lovely. She had
a slight form, scars running along her well toned arms that ran deep
and purple. Her body was strong, capable, she stood straight with
her shoulders back and her chin jutting out. Her face was hard set,
her eyes a fiery and vibrant green, her hair short. Her breasts
were small, barely pushing out the shirt that she wore, but Gideon
wondered what they would feel like against his palm. The beer was
getting to him, he shook his head and forced himself to look away
from either of them.

“
Are you the only people
who live here?” he asked.

Harold and Rheannon laughed to
each other. “No,” Harold said. “Far from it.
There's around thirty families here, but we're all pretty spread
out. We see each other occasionally to trade, I get good bargaining
rates because of my honey beer, everybody loves the stuff.”

Rheannon poked him in the side.
“Harold, you're so proud.”

He stood and poured himself
another draft. “Damn right I am. This stuff's wonderful.”

“
How'd you guys find this
place? Or were you born here?” Leanin asked.

“
We moved here from
Lisbeth,” Harold said. “We hated the city, too many
people, too many unpleasant smells. We were originally trying to
get to Algernia, but we came upon Meadowood and walked around in it,
talked to some of the locals and just fell in love.”

“
Sorry if this is
disrespectful, but how does this place even exist? There's no
bubble to keep out the toxins, why doesn't the rain whither the
plants like it does everywhere else?” Gideon said.

Harold scratched at his beard.
“You're hitting on the crux of many a late night conversation.
Truth is we don't know exactly, though I have a notion or two. I
think that because it's all surrounded by mountains the bad air
can't get in and the good air can't get out. We've got our own
little bloody ecosystem here, never needed a bubble, never wanted
one.”

“
So the house was just
here?” Leanin asked, gulping the last bit of her honey ale.

Without being asked, Harold gave
her a refill. “Not at all,” he said. “Took a lot
of work for us to get to this point. We built the house, took a
good two years to do it. Lot of digging and cutting down trees.
Beamer did us a solid there, he's the neighbor on the other side of
the pond. Let us camp in his backyard while we were making it, even
stayed in his house on the colder nights. Hell of a guy, I still
give him a free cask now and again.”