Wanderers (19 page)

Skar and Michal decided to remain outside and look for game while there was still light. The others filed in, grateful for the shelter. Eli was already gathering twigs and rubbish to start a fire in their one remaining fire bowl, as Silas headed to a booth in the back. He curled up and promptly went to sleep. Asha and Joseph did a quick Glean behind the counter, but found only a few inedibles: oversize bottles of what seemed like cleaning liquid, large plastic bags full of an unfamiliar powder, a broom. A small kitchen behind swinging doors seemed more promising, and they disappeared within to continue their search.

In her own booth, Esther tried to soothe a restless Kai. First, she held him in her lap, bouncing him up and down. Then she took his soft hands and clapped them together. But the boy jerked in her arms, fussing and struggling, so at last she set him on the ground.

Kai had been crawling for months, and in the past few weeks had learned to pull himself to a standing position. Now, he jerked free of Esther's guiding hands. He tottered forward, concentrating hard, and took four stumbling steps before sitting down hard.

When she saw Kai's astonished expression, Esther burst out laughing.

“You did it!” She crouched by his side and hugged him tight.
It seemed like a miracle.

But Kai was already trying to wriggle away. He wanted to try again; but it had been a long day and he was clearly tired, yawning even as he struggled to be set down. Esther knew that a baby could grow too tired even to fall asleep. She rummaged in her bag for something to distract and calm him with, some toy or piece of clothing.

Her hand struck something hard.

It was the book that Esther had taken as a reminder of her sister:
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
Over the past few weeks, Joseph had gotten into the habit of reading from it each night to help the boy fall asleep. Esther had listened, as well. Although at first she had to stop and ask Joseph many questions, she soon became absorbed by the strange tale of the girl named Dorothy and her quest to find the elusive Wizard. A piece of paper marked where Joseph had last read; they were almost at the end.

Now Kai grabbed at the book, familiar with the ritual and impatient for it to start. Esther was about to look for something else, when she sensed someone standing opposite her.

It was Joseph, apparently no use in the kitchen. “Shall I finish it?” he asked.

Relieved, Esther smiled and slid over on the bench, making room. “Sure.”

Joseph settled next to her, folding up his long legs in the restricted space as he found the book marker. And then he began to read.

The girl named Dorothy and her three friends, on their way to see Glinda, were being menaced by frightening creatures with no arms and terrible, flat heads that they used to attack. Esther didn't notice that Kai grew heavy and still in her arms; she was wholly engrossed by the strange and exciting tale. Before she knew it, he was on the final page.

“‘From the Land of Oz,' said Dorothy gravely. ‘And here is Toto, too. And oh, Aunt Em! I'm so glad to be at home again!'”

In the sudden silence, Joseph tiptoed away, and Esther became aware of the sleeping child in her lap. As she lifted him onto the table, she found herself moved by the ending of the tale. She could not explain why. Then she sensed something behind her and heard the familiar jingle of a dog's collar.

Aras was sitting in the booth at her back, Pilot resting his head on the boy's feet.

“Were you listening?” she asked. After a moment, he nodded.

“Is it true, that story?”

At first, Esther thought he was joking. Sarah had often read to her when she was little, fanciful stories of talking animals, trolls, goblins, and fairies. But Aras seemed sincere. “I think,” she offered, “that it was made-up.”

“What you mean? Ain't it in a book?”

“Not everything in books is true.”

Aras seemed to bristle. “Well, if it ain't true, then what's the point?”

Esther thought this over. Then she spoke, choosing her words with care.

“I think it means . . . that maybe you shouldn't trust in a wizard who doesn't even have any power. 'Cause the power's with you, all along. And that home is people. The ones you love.”

Aras stayed still, looking in the direction of Esther's voice, petting Pilot's head. Then Esther heard the creak of leather and the jangle of Pilot's chain as the boy stood up and walked away.

Esther sat alone, staring at the baby. Then she curled into the booth like a child herself. She meant to rest her eyes for only a few moments. Yet soon she was deeply asleep.

In her dreams was a highway paved with golden bricks, one that led to a magical city ruled by a benevolent leader.

Another person in the restaurant was wide awake.

Asha sat alone on a soft, cracked seat that dripped stuffing. Unlike Aras, she had paid no attention to the strange story. Instead, she played with the tattered remains of blinds that covered the window and stared openly at Esther and Kai.

She had watched as the baby nestled in Esther's arms, as his hands reached up and explored her mouth or got lost in her hair. Although Esther kept her attention on her strange friend, Joseph, she never stopped soothing the child, stroking his cheek, bouncing him gently. Without even knowing she was doing it, Asha copied her exact movements in the air.

Soon, Kai was nearly asleep and Esther lowered him into her lap. Asha did the same thing. She held her thin arms by the elbows in her lap, creating a cradle. Then she began to rock it.

“Shh,” she whispered, “shh,” for her baby was crying.

Across the room, Eli had watched Asha watching Esther. Now he came over and sat across from her.

“What's your baby's name?” he whispered.

Asha looked up, surprised she had been seen. Yet she wasn't embarrassed.

“Asha,” she said, after a moment's hesitation. Then she frowned. “No, that's not right. That's
my
name.” She glanced around, and her eye fell on a dusty object stuck to the wall above the table. It had a broken glass panel and a push-button alphabet in the middle.

“What's that say?” She pointed at its name.

Eli squinted at the squiggly script, sounding out the letters under his breath. “Crosley,” he said at last.

“Crosley,” she repeated. “That's my baby's name.” Then she resumed her rocking.

Eli smiled. He had noticed Asha's interest in Esther before. But he had not understood how far it went, until now.

Asha imitated Esther not simply because she wanted to be the other girl. She did it because she wanted to be older—as old, in fact, as she really was.

And what could be more grown-up than having a child?

“Shh, Crosley,” Asha said to her baby. “Shh.”

Asha seemed natural as a mother. Yet no matter how much she yearned to have a real child of her own, whether she could handle it was another question.

She could not do it alone.

Eli didn't know what his future held. His life, already short, was ever more precarious. But he was only fifteen; perhaps he would live another three or four years. For as much as he disliked Aras, Eli had to admit the guide was far more competent than he ever would have imagined.

Maybe he could get them to Mundreel, after all.

And yet, Eli couldn't help glancing at Esther. In the flickering light cast by the fire bowl, her face glowed, and for the thousandth time, his heart ached. For Eli had always loved her, ever since childhood. He had protected and helped her when the town turned against her; he had even asked her to be his partner. But she had turned him down, choosing Caleb instead. And now that Caleb was dead, she seemed to have space in her heart only for his child.

Esther would never let Eli into her life, no matter how badly he wished it. It was clear to him, now. He had to live in the real world, today. If Esther would never be his partner, someone else might. Someone right across from him.

“Maybe,” he said, “you need a little help with the baby.”

Asha looked at him, as Eli extended his arms, palms up.

“Here,” he said. “Maybe I can get him to stop crying.”

Asha thought for a second. Then, very carefully, she passed the imaginary child to Eli.

“There you go,” he said, nuzzling it and holding it close. “There you go.”

Outside, the sky was an unearthly pink as the giant orange sun hung close to the horizon. Michal and Skar were hunting, as they did together nearly every evening now.

Of course, Skar was the only one hunting. Michal tagged along for reasons she couldn't name. With each passing day, she found herself opening up to the variant girl as she had to no one else. And she loved to watch Skar as she looked for prey. Skar, so small and friendly and vulnerable looking, moved with the same grace and intensity as Joseph's cat. The tall grass barely rippled as she advanced through it, her bow drawn.

Now Skar cocked her head and froze. Behind her, Michal stopped in midstep and held her breath.

Skar paused, motionless. Then in one movement, she brought the loaded bow to her shoulder and released. Michal had no idea what she was aiming at; but ahead, there was a high squeal and a flurry in the grass. Then all was still.

Skar relaxed. Then she turned to Michal with a smile.

“You bring me luck,” she said.

Michal smiled back. The hood of her robe was down, as it always was when the two were alone, and the soft breeze of the evening felt good. Being with Skar was the only time she felt she did not have to hide. It was the only time she felt safe.

Skar had walked to her prey and was skinning the rabbit, as her friend watched.

“Teach me to hunt,” Michal said.

“What?” Skar turned. “Why?”

“Because,” she answered. Then she blurted out, “I want to know everything you know.”

Skar smiled a little, then shrugged. “I don't know if I can. They started teaching me when I was just a baby.”

In fact, Skar had taught Esther how to shoot, much as she had taught her many other variant skills over the years. But teaching Esther had been easy, because her feelings for her were simple. Skar would always love Esther, who was her best friend; yet Esther had never once made Skar feel breathless and fluttery in the pit of her stomach.

The way Michal did.

“Okay,” Skar said. “Come here.”

As Michal advanced to her side, Skar was aware of total silence in the woods, except for the far-off cry of birds. She wiped the blood from her fingers before she placed her curved bow into the girl's outstretched hands.

“Don't be afraid,” Skar said. “You won't break it.”

The weapon was smooth and rounded, shaped from a single curved length of wood, with catgut strung between the two notched ends. Michal still hesitated, so Skar moved the other girl's hand until it gripped the center.

“Feel okay?”

“Yes,” Michal answered.

“Now put three fingers around the string,” Skar said. “One finger curled, the other two holding each other. Hugging.”

“Do it for me.”

Skar hesitated. Then she moved behind Michal and placed her hand on top of hers.

By now, Skar's cheek was an inch away from Michal's. Michal could not remember the last time she had been so close to another human since she'd been maimed.

“Now pull it back,” Skar said.

Together, the girls drew the string until it could go no farther. They stood like that for an endless moment; and then Michal let her face rest very gently against Skar's cheek. Michal wasn't sure why she did it, and for a moment dreaded Skar's response. But while it lasted, she closed her eyes and luxuriated in the smooth, soft warmth of someone else's flesh.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a small voice, her eyes still closed. “I can't help it. It feels so good.”

There was a pause. Then as if nothing unusual had happened, Skar reached her other arm and helped Michal steady the bow. Michal was now enfolded in the other girl's arms; she could feel the heat of her body pressed against her back and the small muscles clenched against her. The feeling was one of strength and softness at the same time, a strange and dizzying mix. And she could now smell Skar, a scent that was sweet yet spicy, a bit of both boy and girl.

“Okay,” Skar said. Her voice shook a little. “Now let go.”

They did, together, and the empty string snapped forward with a twang.

“That was good,” Skar said. “For your first time.”

The violent motion had separated them, and Michal staggered a bit. She felt self-conscious and averted her gaze. Yet when she glanced back, she saw that Skar was looking at her, with a serious, questioning expression.

“I love you.” The words came out before Michal knew what she was saying and she blushed.

“Me, too,” whispered Skar.

Michal had never felt this way in her life—not with Levi, certainly, with whom she felt at best an employee, at worst a slave. His skin had been pasty white and grotesquely soft; yet his physical attentions had been rough, even cruel. She had endured his touch, never desired it. But this was the opposite of how she felt with Skar.

As for Skar, she was shocked by the depth of her feelings for Michal. Unlike the other girl, Skar had known love. She loved her brother and Esther; she had even loved Tarq, at least at first. But what she felt for the girl who stood before her, the one with the rare soul beneath the damaged face, was beyond all that. It was something new.

“I want us to be partnered,” Skar said.

Michal started and her face flushed.

It wasn't that the idea of being with a girl shocked her. After all, boys sometimes became partners with one another, and females, too. But Michal could not help but remember the hateful, echoing taunts about variants that she heard her entire life: that they were freaks, animals, not really people.

Yet Skar, with all of her delicate toughness, was as human as she was. With Skar, Michal felt emotions she thought had been closed to her forever. What could be wrong with that?