The Book of M (25 page)

URSULA CLIMBED DOWN FROM THE DRIVER'S SEAT
AND CLOSED
the door softly behind her. It was far too early in the day to stop, and we hadn't scouted the area to make sure we were alone, but it was a worse idea to keep going. Now that I've forgotten how to read, we have to figure something out fast—before we get lost.

“Dhuuxo, Intisaar, you're on watch. Ys and Lucius, take Wes and Victor and see if there's any firewood nearby. Everyone stays within sight of the RV at all times,” she said. Her grip on her hunting rifle was more fierce than usual, as if she was drawing strength from it. Ory, it was the first time I've ever seen the look of weightlessness in her that I see in the other shadowless in our caravan. Zachary touched her shoulder. Maybe he saw it, too. “You're with us,” Ursula said to him.

Zachary collected his tools from the RV. He could tell we wanted him to draw something—some kind of a sign we could understand without having to read. On the grass, he laid out his paints and brushes so we could see the colors.

“If we just stay on the huge road we've been following so far,” I tried to explain to him, using words and gestures, “we'll end up in New Orleans.” I had no idea how he could do it, but that's what I wanted his picture—whatever wordless map he could make us—to mean. That we had to keep going south, and we had to stay on the widest, biggest road. And then at the end, there would be a huge city.

At least we hoped there would be. Large enough or loud enough to catch our attention as we passed, since we wouldn't understand the road signs. Otherwise, what would be the point of stopping anyway, then? If there really wasn't anything in New Orleans, it wouldn't matter if we missed it—any other place would be just as good.

Zachary nodded slowly. He, Ursula, and I took a few steps back from the RV, to take in the big black strokes of paint covering its side
while he tried to figure out something to do. It was one thing to draw each of us, like Zachary often did. But how was he going not only to draw a city but also to convey that we were supposed to head for it and in which direction it was?

Zachary suddenly walked toward the RV, one eye closed, as if measuring something against its surface.

“Ursula,” I said, “he knows what to do.”

Ursula looked up from her thoughts to see Zachary touching the aluminum siding gently, examining it. When he pulled his hand away, I saw that there was a streak of color where his fingers had been, even though he had yet to touch his paints.

“Did you see—” I started to ask her.

“Yes,” she said softly. “It's been happening for a long time.”

Wes is taller, but Victor is bigger. We hoisted Zachary onto his shoulders. Ysabelle stood next to them, holding up his art supplies with her hands so he could reach them.

“You okay to hold him?” Ursula asked.

“Yep,” Victor said. The lion tattoo on his bicep bulged. “He barely weighs anything at all.”

It took Zachary the rest of the afternoon to sketch his plan onto the RV. Tomorrow he'll paint it. As soon as he finished, he laid down in the center of the floor of the cabin, exhausted, and fell deep into unconsciousness the instant his eyes closed.

I was the opposite. I don't think I slept at all once it got dark, even though it wasn't my turn to keep watch. I couldn't even lay inside the RV. Lucius gave me a surprised, amused look when I climbed out around two
A.M.
and went over to the place where he was standing watch for his shift, but he didn't say anything. He stared into the dark, distant trees, scanning for movement, and I looked at the RV.
Please let this work,
I thought. It was too dark to see what Zachary's faint marks outlined once the sun went down, but I sat next to Lucius's spare coat on the grass and stared at the dim shape of the RV anyway until the sky began to brighten again.

In the morning, I tried to puzzle out what Zachary had drawn, but the pencil lines were thin, and the indentations in the aluminum siding distorted everything. Maybe not even everything had been drawn yet. They might just have been guiding lines for his paintbrush.

From around the back of the RV, Ursula, Dhuuxo, and Zachary walked slowly, carrying the cans of paint they'd brought when they left Arlington. I watched them as they approached, feeling strange—almost like I've known them as long as I've known you, Ory. How long have we been on the road now? How long has it been since I left you? It feels like just yesterday that I walked away from the shelter, but I know that can't be true. I know I've already forgotten some things—the reading proves that. How many days between now and the last time I saw you have I also lost?

“Rough night?” Ursula asked when she saw my expression.

“Can't remember,” I joked.

Dhuuxo laughed, and even Ursula tried to smile, but then her face was serious again. “This will work,” she said. She set the paint down and wiped her hands. “It has to.”

I nodded, trying to believe her.

After Zachary mixed his paints and handed Ysabelle the right brushes to hold up to him, he turned around from atop Victor's shoulders and looked at Ursula. His hand hovered in the air, waiting.

“All right, everyone,” she said. “Let's let him work in peace.”

We all crept around the other side of the RV to wait. Lucius napped
in the shade, catching up after his shift as lookout. He still had the rope tether on his ankle—the one that whoever is watching wears so if he forgets and begins to wander off, the tether will hopefully show him that he wants to stay, not go. I settled with my back against a tree, relaxing into the cool, rough bark, and Dhuuxo and Intisaar sat cross-legged in the grass farther away, talking softly to each other. I thought I saw another rose in Dhuuxo's hands at one point, but when I looked again, nothing was there. Ursula patrolled slowly, surveying the distance for movement.

I heard the scrape of something soft squeezing through leaves and leaned around the trunk of my tree to look. A small, skinny wolf cocked its head and peered at me. Its yellow eyes glinted, almost glowing.

We stared each other down for several seconds, perfectly still. “There are too many of us to attack me,” I finally warned.

“I know,” it said simply.

All right then. I settled back against the tree.

We both watched the RV. In the small space between the ground and the bottom of the vehicle, I could see Victor's and Ysabelle's feet standing on the other side. Deeper into the trees, there was another stirring—probably the rest of the wolf's pack, waiting for it to satisfy its curiosity and continue on with them.

“Are you building a den?” it asked.

“Sort of,” I said. “But when we're finished building it, we'll move it.”

“A moving den,” the wolf mused. “That's very interesting.”

“Is your den here, too?” I asked.

“No, no. But this is a fine spot. Far fewer humans around than where it is now, especially if you move yours away.”

The last part caught my attention. I scooted into a crouch from my place against the tree. Where was Ursula? “You've seen other humans recently?”

“That way, where the warm breeze crosses the third colder breeze,” it answered, using its ears to indicate the rough direction. They swiveled, pointing independently while its head stayed still.

I didn't know what the breezes meant, but I imagined it couldn't be more than a few miles. Within walking distance for the wolf. “Those humans, were they wearing white?” I asked.

“What is white?”

I looked around. “Uh—” Everything was green and brown. “Like snow. Did they look like they're covered in snow?”

The wolf shook its nose. “No. They looked more like you.” It lifted one front paw carefully, stretching it until a dark, graceful copy of its leg jutted out from its silhouette on the grassy ground below.

Other shadowless. Were they wandering? Or also heading somewhere in particular, like us?

“There were quite a few at first,” the wolf continued. “But they all split up. Headed in different directions. It's a very strange way to travel. I don't know why they don't move in a pack. It's always better to be together than alone. We wolves know that.”

“But are any near here?” I asked. “It's important.”

“Only one, and then two more that way.” It pointed in another direction with its ears, twisting them sideways. “You want to add them to your pack?”

“No,” I said. “We want to avoid them.”

“If you stay here for another few hours, you won't cross their paths then.”

“You're sure?”

The wolf puffed up its fur, as if to say,
I'm sure.

I nodded. The wolf edged closer and then sat down again, to better smell me. “Thank you for telling us,” I said.

The wolf shrugged. “Will you really move your den, once the others pass by?”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” I said. Once Zachary had finished painting, and it dried overnight. “Are you going to build your new one here after we do?”

“I'm considering it,” the wolf said, lost in thought. “I'm really con
sidering it.” Then it narrowed its liquid eyes and looked at me again. “I don't think I've ever spoken to a human,” it added.

“Shit,” I said.

“There isn't,” it replied. “I would have smelled it.”

It had happened again, Ory. The deer, the knife handle, your wedding band, now this. Damnit! I'm trying so hard. But I can't stop it all. “I've forgotten something,” I tried to explain to the wolf. I'm terrified now of what else I've also forgotten, but don't know that I've forgotten it. I hope you're still okay. I hope you stay okay until we reach New Orleans. “Do you know if we're heading the right way?” I asked the wolf.

“Where are you heading?”

“New Orleans. It's a—a huge den, with thousands of people.”

“I don't know,” it said. It fluffed its fur again. “We don't know the names of the human dens. We mark them by the pattern of their scents. You don't know its pattern, do you?”

“No,” I said.

“Sorry, then.”

“It's all right.” I tried to smile. The wolf looked at the RV again. On the ground, the sun had made its furry canine shadow lean toward me, so close I could almost reach out and stroke its flat, dark ears against the ground. I watched the grass move under it in the breeze, back and forth, while the shadow held perfectly still.

“I have to go,” the wolf announced suddenly. “A hare.”

“Oh,” I stammered. “Well—good luck.”

“Don't ask the sparrows the way,” it said as it darted off. “They always lie.”