The Secret City (6 page)

“I’ll be with you. He won’t shoot when I’m there.”

We get started. But I only have energy when I’m scared of being closed in. Even with one of them on each side I can’t go far. When I get to the bottom of the long stairway I sit down to rest.

And then, again, silent, mysterious, magic, and at the perfect time … comes the white mule. They help me up on her slippery back, I hold her scant mane and she tiptoes me down to a lean-to at the edge of town.

They set me up with the tarp hanging down across the front and leave to go back to get the lamp and the food. I hear the mule moving around outside. Having her there cheers me. I wish they’d left the tarp open so I could watch her. I curl and collapse into my pain. They’ll bring me something for that. It won’t be long.

But then the tarp swings open and there’s a man, a quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow slung across his shoulders. He’s dressed like some sort of Daniel Boone. A mountain man. A scraggly beard, another mop of hair. They
have
gone wild.

I sit up. I wonder if I still have my knife or did Allush or maybe that woman take it? I don’t dare check my pockets. He hasn’t said anything, but I keep my hands in view.

If he wanted to kill me before, he’ll no doubt want to now. I’m in no shape to fight. And he’s one of us, so just as strong as I am.

He says something in our old language, but I’ve forgotten it.

“I can’t speak Betasha anymore.”

But he goes on in our language.

I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

I start to get up. I don’t want him attacking me while I’m sitting down.

He kicks me. I should have grabbed his foot and pulled him over, but he kicked my wounded shoulder. I gasp and fall back. I say, “I’m one of you,” though he’s knows that. Maybe that’s why he hates me.

I turn on all fours and try to get up, but he kicks me again and I’m flat on my back.

Last time I used the freeze it didn’t work on my own kind, they just laughed, but I can’t think of anything else to do.

I stare into his eyes. I hold stone still. Eyes…. That’s all I see. All I know. It’s as if I’m looking through a dark tunnel with his eyes at the end of it.

First I see surprise there, and then nothing… a blank. He tries to turn away. It takes a moment but then he’s stone still, too. Two stones facing each other. I, breaking the rule of lesson number one not to ever do this on this world. Except this is my own kind.

I mustn’t let go. How long will it take? How long
can
it take?

F
INALLY
A
LLUSH AND THAT OLD ONE COME
. I
LET GO
and he falls back with an angry shout and more of our language. And then they’re all jabbering away in our language. I’m exhausted and he looks to be, not only angry, but as drained as I am. He’s shaking. Could be with rage. If he wanted to kill me before, he wants to even more now.

I interrupt. In English. I say I’ll leave as soon as I can. Just let me rest a couple of days and I’ll get out of here.

They talk more in our language. I recognize a word or two here and there but useless ones like “and” and “maybe” and “tomorrow.” I notice, too, that Allush and the man sprinkle their talk with a lot of native words as if they weren’t that good in their own language either.

Finally the old one says, “All right. Long as you’re gone within a week.”

I didn’t think they’d give me even that much time.

Then the old one says, “The freeze…. That was unfair. Haven’t you been trained not use it?”

“There wasn’t anything else to do—that I could see. He wants to kill me.”

Then she talks to the man, again in our language. Scolding him. (I remember, but, and, therefore, and the little fill in words all languages have: “for,” “uh,” “like,” “you know” … things like that.)

Finally he leaves. The old one and Allush set out the things they’ve brought. The little smoky pot of fire and the broth, blankets, a sleeping pad.

I feel as if I’ve never been this tired in my life. I fall asleep before the soup is heated.

I WAKE TO SHOUTS … WAILS, ACTUALLY … OF horror. I jump up, almost trip over the fire pot and the soup heating there and rush out. Allush and the old one are outside and before them is a limp pile of red and white. My God, it’s the mule. The beautiful white mule with her throat cut.

Allush and the old one kneel beside her. They’re stunned.

Nothing to be done. Nothing to say. I kneel beside them.

We all know who did it.

I feel for my knife. They did leave it.

Without me here it wouldn’t have happened.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I came. Without me….”

Allush says, “It’s not your fault.”

“It is.”

If I wasn’t so burned and then shot, I’d go after him right now. But I have to wait. And this isn’t my city. I don’t know my way around.

Allush says, “This isn’t the first thing he’s done like this, but it’s the worst. I never thought he’d go this far.”

But she can’t talk anymore. Then she manages to say, “I’m not staying here. Ever. I’m going with Lorpas.”

She doesn’t know me anymore than I know her. She may be sorry she said it and I may be sorry, too. I don’t even trust my own: “Love at first sight.” That’s what it was. Besides, it’s not me she wants to go with, she just wants to get away. But I feel happy even so. When has there ever been someone among my own kind who’s a suitable mate for me? And it’s easy to see she likes me.

We all feel too bad to eat, but they insist I have the broth. Even the old one who obviously can’t wait to be rid of me. She’s one of those people that’ll help either side of any war or any kind of hurt creature. When she sees how I’m in pain even trying to eat, she feeds me. She uses a battered stainless steel spoon. Everything’s old and scratched, the pan and the fire pot, too.

The dead mule lies right outside. They can’t drag it away. I could help if I had even one good arm. The body will attract wolves and maybe even a mountain lion. Best not to be near it. They’ll move me instead. They want to hide me in a different spot anyway in case that man comes back.

This time we won’t have the mule to help me move. And this time I’m worse off than ever. After eating, all I want to do is lie where I am. And I don’t think they know where to take me. Just away.

I lean on them. I stumble. Each time I fall and don’t want to get up, they say, “Just a few more yards,” but I don’t think they know where they’re going.

Where they finally put me isn’t a shelter at all. Just under a tree where the branches hang down around us. We have to push through them to get to the sheltered spot next to the trunk. Then they go back and get the pan and blankets.

They’re going to spend the night with me. I’m already asleep when I feel them tucking me in. The old one doesn’t like me but even so, what sweet, sweet women—both of them.

ALLUSH

I
COULDN’T TALK BEFORE BUT NOW
I
CAN’T STOP
talking. Mollish listens. At least Lorpas is sleeping through it.

“What an evil thing! How could anybody? We loved her. We need her. How can she be dead? I know exactly what happened. She would have come right up to him. She would have put her head on his chest. She’d have come to be killed. And then, just as if one of our deer for the larder…. Has anything ever happened here as bad as this? We’re as bad as the natives. When one of the old ones died I was sad but it was a normal thing. It was holding hands. People sang. How could this have happened?”

And then I say it all over again.

Mollish doesn’t say anything. She holds me. I cry. I miss the cosy burrow, but I feel safe in her arms. Except where is there any safety if Pashty can die like this? And from one of us? Us!

If Lorpas hadn’t come…. Youpas always thought I belonged to him but I never ever did nor wanted to.

At least Youpas would never think we’d hide under a tree. We’re below the city and away from the trail. I hope he’s back there checking to see if we’re in any of the burrows. That’ll keep him busy all night.

I
N THE MORNING
, FIRST
LIGHT, WE MOVE
L
ORPAS
yet farther down—beyond the elderberries. We stay away from the stream-side path so it’s hard going. He probably misses his cane. I’d go back and get it, but I’m scared to. I’d rather make him a new one.

We always let Youpas do all the butchering. He must have gotten used to blood. Cutting throats is a normal thing to him.

We don’t talk at all. We feel too bad. Lorpas limps his usual limp. He’s using a dead stick for a cane. We try to help him but it’s hard with so much brush in the way.

And here’s a hut I never knew about before. Hidden behind rocks and trees. It’s not one of ours. Looks like an old miner’s hut. How did Mollish know about it? Though the old ones must have examined this whole valley before they built the city.

It’s made of logs caulked with moss. Must be a hundred years old yet still solid. Door at one end and window at the other. No glass, but shutters. It’s dirty and dusty and full of cobwebs. We spread our blankets and lie down anyway. I was awake all night last night, but this time I fall asleep right away.

I don’t know what we’ll do when Mollish dies. I should have paid attention more. I shouldn’t have spent all my days climbing trees and making pets of everything.

When I wake Mollish is gone. The sun slants sideways in through the doorway. It looks to be late afternoon. How could I have slept so long, uncomfortable on the floor with no pallet? You’d think I was the wounded one. Lorpas is outside in the sun, sitting with his back against the doorway. I’m relieved to see him. I was worried he might have left us all on his own to protect us from himself.

I go and sit beside him. Maybe now I’ll have a chance to talk to him. I’m not as afraid of him as I was. I want to talk about going back to the Down.

LORPAS

S
HE COMES OUT AND SITS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF
the doorway. Not too close. We look at each other but then, shy, we look out at the view. We’re about as low in the valley as you can get. Everything is up from here. I can see part of the rocky path where I first scrambled and stumbled and fell, down into this valley. A little river isn’t far. You can’t see it, but you can hear it bubbling. The miner or shepherd or hunter who built this hut had a good spot. I’ve seen this kind of hut in these mountains before. Twice I spent nights in ones just like it on the way here. They’re not built for anything but sleep and shelter in a storm. The ceiling is so low a man my size has to hunch over but it’s light and airy. Not like being in a burrow. There’s never a chair or table. The fireplace for this one is outside a couple of yards beyond me. It has a log next to it for a bench.

I have questions I want to ask, but I see her screwing up her courage to talk so I keep silent. Just when I think she isn’t going to speak, she says, “Are there more white mules down there?”

I think how delicate and beautiful that one was. How she looked as if she belong in the forest. I say, “Never another exactly like that.”

“How could he do that? How could anybody?”

There’s never anything to answer with things like this. I just shake my head.

She says, “We’re no different from the natives,” and I say, “I never thought we were.”

“I thought that’s why the old ones wanted us to stay away from them. So we wouldn’t get to be evil and nasty and believe ignorant things.”

“We’re no better. Look what our people did to me. These burns are from our own kind. They wouldn’t even talk to me. I was yelling, No, but they tried to snatch me home, anyway.”

She looks horrified. “But the old ones said Betasha was….”

“I don’t want to go home. They burned me when I tried to fight them off. I never believed the old ones when they said our world was better or that we were better. Our kind even burned the old lady I lived with. Killed her for no reason. They were laughing. They thought nothing of it. She was a native but she was like a mother to me.”

I see I’ve started her thinking. She says, “That’s what Mollish thinks. She doesn’t want to go home either but all the other old ones hated it here.”