Wanderers (22 page)

And yet she was thankful.

It could have been worse,
she thought.
A lot worse.

She glanced at Aras. Beneath the blackened grit that covered his face, the guide looked pale and shaken. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Aras shrugged and bent to stroke his dog. “You?” he replied after a moment.

Esther didn't answer right away. “I think so.”

It was the first time Aras had expressed concern for her, or for anyone else. But it was more than that. Today she had depended on him. And he had depended on her, as well.

We were partners,
she thought; and the realization made her blush.

Partnering was what happened when two people pledged themselves to each other. Was this what she and Aras had done, only with actions instead of words, and violent ones at that?

The thought made her uncomfortable. Yet it didn't repel or even displease her, which was another shock. It was a natural thing to pledge yourself to another; nearly everyone partnered at some point in their lives. It wasn't just Skar and Michal who had done it; Esther noticed that Eli and Asha had also begun to wear partnering ties, torn from the same piece of cloth. Yet it also made Esther realize how little she knew the boy before her, who now knelt and buried his face in his dog's fur, as if to find a way to avoid speaking.

Making a decision, she approached him. The dog glanced up at her, panting, and its tail thumped once on the dusty ground. By now, she was the only one it would allow to come near like this; if anyone else tried, it would bare its yellow fangs and growl, its matted fur rising in spikes along its back.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The boy laughed, startled. “What you mean?”

“You know.” Not for the first time, Esther felt frustrated by the constraints of language; she couldn't find the exact words. “Why are you . . . who you are?”

Aras kept silent for a long time. “It ain't important.”

“It is,” she said, “to me.”

He nodded.

Of everything Aras had been through, answering a question should have been the simplest. Yet for the first time since he had joined these people, Aras felt confused and vulnerable.
It was because of Esther,
he realized,
the girl who stood in front of him now, so close he could feel the warmth of her.
A funny expression he had heard once, “heart in your mouth,” popped into his mind.
That was how he felt now,
he thought.
Like his heart was in his mouth.

“It's a long story,” he said at last.

“I got nowhere else to go.”

He smiled a bit. “Okay. It ain't really that long.”

He stood; and with Pilot leading the way, he and Esther headed from the parking lot and down the narrow, two-lane highway. By now, it was dark and a crescent moon hung low in the winter sky. Aras didn't say anything until he sensed they were far enough away from the others to not be overhead.

“I always been a guide.” His words came slowly at first. “Even when I was nine or ten. I could still see, and I knew how to find places people wanted to go. Groceries full of food. Restaurants, stores.” He picked up a stick and began peeling off the bark. “And I knew how to get by. What to eat. How to make water safe. I don't know why, but I was always better in nature than with people.” He paused, then shook his head. “Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No,” Esther said. “It doesn't.”

“Maybe not to you.” For a moment, he couldn't speak. “Anyway, I got by. I took people where they wanted to go and they gave me a piece of what they found. Okay life for me and Min.”

“Min?”

“My partner.” There was a long silence before he continued. “Maybe two years ago, I was leading a group to a place west of here. It was rough, but I got us there. But something was wrong . . . I could feel it. They made excuses, didn't want to share. Turned into a fight, then one of them jumped me. The others piled on. I don't remember anything after that. But it was the last time I could see.”

He shrugged. “And that was that. Found my way home, somehow. After I got Pilot, it got better. I was able to get around some. Enough to take care of us. And I grow what I smoke. Ain't much, but it makes me feel better.”

Esther spoke up. “What about Min?”

Aras shrugged again. “Guess she didn't want to be with a blind boy.”

He turned away now, fumbling with his glasses. He realized he had said too much; he hadn't thought about his past, especially Min, in a long time. To his surprise, it still hurt; and revealing his pain so openly left him feeling raw and exposed.

Yet opening up to Esther also gave him an unexpected feeling: as if he had been relieved of a terrible load he wasn't even aware he'd been carrying. At the same time, his hands shook; he was desperate to light up one of the smoking papers he had stashed in his pocket. With supreme effort, he held back and reminded himself why.

He was doing it for Esther.

“Well,” he said with difficulty, “I better go.”

“Don't.”

The word hung between them, barely spoken. Aras realized that Esther hadn't meant to say it; he heard the intake of breath that followed it, as if she were trying to swallow it. Around them, he could smell pine needles, the rich scent of earth, and smoke. And Esther's hair. There was heat coming off it, she stood so close.

“I mean . . . do you have to?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I reckon not.”

They continued to walk down the highway, lit by the faint glow of stars. Aras let Pilot off his chain and the dog bounded off to explore the dark woods. Without him, the boy took Esther by the arm, his fingers barely touching the crook of her elbow.

She told him her story, as well. What had happened to her. The loss of her sister, Sarah. Her friendship with Skar. The earthquake that had forced them to leave Prin.

And Caleb.

Esther hadn't spoken his name in many days. Through sheer effort, she had buried her grief and rage in constant motion and effort. Now, she realized how much she had missed even the thought of him. Talking about Caleb like this to one who had never met him seemed to bring him back to life, if only for a few fleeting moments. And so she spoke, haltingly at first and then so fast, the words tumbled upon one another.

Yet when it came to speaking of Lewt and the murder, Esther trailed off in midsentence and stood in silence. Only then did she realize that her cheeks were wet with tears.

Then Aras did something that startled her.

He raised his hand and placed it lightly in front of her face. His palm covered it, from her brow to her chin, obscuring her own sight; it hovered above her skin, not quite touching. Then his fingers landed upon it, softer than feathers.

“I just want to know,” he said, “what you look like.” He paused. “Is that okay?”

Esther found that her chest was rising and falling, quickly. She felt torn by so many emotions, she could not even say what she wanted.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was almost inaudible.

“Close your eyes.”

She did. Aras started with her hair, feeling along the spiky strands which had grown longer since they'd been on the road. Then he trailed his fingertips around her forehead, and down her nose. They brushed against her cheeks and chin. They reached her lips. He tapped each one, gently, assessing the cracks the sun had made. Then he rounded her chin, cupped it for an instant.

“Pretty,” he said.

By now, tears and sweat mingled and dripped from Esther's face to her throat. Aras slid his fingers down its length. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed, making her laugh. Then he put the fingers to his mouth and tasted.

“Nice,” he said.

It was different from what Esther had ever felt with anyone, even with Caleb. Aras had nothing in common with her partner: He was more like an animal than a human. And yet he was not unpleasing to the eye. She looked at him, as if for the first time. He had a strong aquiline nose, full lips. Dark hair in thick and tangled locks, rangy limbs. He was handsome, in his own way.

Aras moved even closer. He placed his hands on Esther's hips, to steady himself and draw him to her. She found herself pulled into his arms, too shocked and confused to resist and not sure if she even wanted to.

Aras kissed her. Again, he was unlike Caleb; for although he was gentle, he was feral in his sensuality and this made it impossible for Esther not to respond. Without thinking, she moved closer into his embrace and wrapped her arms around him.

She kissed him back.

It seemed to last forever, though it was only a second. Then confused, she pulled away.

“I'm sorry,” she stammered. She was blushing, although of course he couldn't see that. “I . . . I just can't.”

She knew it was crazy. Her partner was gone . . . gone for good. It made no sense to waste more than a few days in mourning. Grief was pointless and no one, not even Caleb himself, would have blamed her for moving on.

Yet Esther had never known anyone other than Caleb. There were moments when, awakening, she still believed he was alive. Try as she might to forget, she could not dissolve the profound love that kept her faithful to him, even after death.

She couldn't let go of him. Not yet.

She pulled away from Aras's embrace, not noticing the look of hurt that flitted across his face. He gave a brusque nod and then whistled for his dog, which came bounding to him.

Then without another word, he turned and walked into the night.

When Esther awoke, it was still dark. By the dim light of embers still glowing in the fire bowl, she saw that the others were asleep, bundled in blankets and sleeping bags in booths and across the fire-damaged floor. In a plastic milk crate near Joseph, Kai struggled in a dream, then relaxed.

She turned to locate Aras. When Esther had returned from their walk the previous night, he had conspicuously avoided her. During dinner, he and his dog had taken a place by the door, away from the others who had gathered around the fire. Esther now wanted to speak with him, before the others awoke, to apologize for her behavior, and to explain how she felt.

But Aras was no longer there.

On the battered Formica table next to her was a piece of paper. It was the title page from the front of her book, torn out and covered with a broken scrawl. Puzzled, she thought it had been written by Joseph. But this handwriting was unfamiliar: shaky block lettering that was full of mistakes. Holding it up, Esther was able to make sense of some of the words.

Mundreel is 2 dys awy. sty on the mane rud. If yu need to detor, hed north est.

At the bottom of the paper, written in faint pencil, were two final lines:
i no yu can do ths. Lov aras.

That was when she picked up something lying underneath. It was the object Joseph called a “compass.”

Alarmed, Esther rose and left the diner. Ignoring the broken glass that lay scattered across the parking lot, she ran on bare feet until she reached the road. Then she stood in the highway, straining to look both ways.

There was no sign of him.

Esther's heart sank. He had not given her a chance to explain and so all she could do was hope that he had forgiven her and had not left out of anger. As for her own feelings, Esther felt as torn as she had been the night before. She was haunted by the memory of his embrace. And already, she missed him with an ache that was almost physical.

Unthinking, she closed her hand around the compass; and when she grazed the delicate needle, the sharp sensation made her jump.
Aras would be alone,
she realized with a flash of fear,
with only an animal to help him.

Then she realized that she was wrong to worry. He was a guide by nature. Somehow, she knew, he would find his way.

It was herself she wondered about. How would she find her way, without him?

At that moment, Aras was already several miles away, heading south in the darkness. Alone with Pilot, he was able to walk at his own pace, down the center of the highway.

It was a relief to be on his own again. He had found that his clients were the same as they always were—frightened, needy, and pathetic in their ignorance. It was all so predictable: They were distrustful at first, then resentful, then increasingly dependent.

He thought,
You brought them where they wanted to go and then they were done with you. Your services were no longer needed; and you realized that they always saw you as a job to be paid for and then forgotten.

It was better to forget them first. And Esther was no different.

What stung the most was the way she had pulled away from him after their kiss. Memories of Min and how she had abandoned him came flooding back. Once again, he had found himself judged by a girl and found wanting. Like his partner, Esther had seen him as defective, as something less than a full human.

There was no way he could bear to stay near her another night. As soon as Aras was sure everyone was asleep, he had gathered his belongings and left.

One thing, however, continued to confuse him.

Aras still wasn't sure what had prompted him to leave that note, as well as his precious compass. Had he thought that doing so would keep them from coming after him? Even now, he regretted his sacrifice.

Then he urged Pilot to a trot, and again, he resolved to put Esther from his mind.

For a little while, anyway.

The air around him grew heavy and Aras knew he had to find shelter before too long.

Although he was not superstitious, the guide felt an inexplicable stab of dread.

He didn't know if the danger lay ahead of him or behind.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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“W
HERE'S
A
RAS
?”

Esther had been bracing herself all morning for this question. It was Joseph, ever observant and anxious, who brought it up when they were almost ready to leave.