Wanderers (15 page)

Esther had no choice but to take full responsibility for her decision. Instinctively, she turned to the one she could always count on for support: Skar.

Yet her friend was gazing at her with a mixture of concern and compassion that rattled Esther far more than the other reactions. When Skar spoke, it was as if she were talking to Asha or someone else not quite right in the head.

“Esther,” she whispered, “I know you've been upset since . . . what happened. Are you sure this was the best idea to—”

Since she wasn't sure at all, Esther responded with decisiveness. “Yes, I'm sure,” she said. “I wouldn't have asked Aras if I—”

Eli cut her off. “You should have asked
me.
”

Esther sighed. She knew that she had insulted Eli by going behind his back and usurping his new authority. With difficulty, she began, “As I said, he's just here to help, Eli, he's not—” but she never finished her thought.

“Your guide can't even
see
!” Eli shouted.

At this, Rhea and Silas burst into laughter.

Throughout, Aras had said nothing. But as if sensing the group's hostility, the dog growled and then exploded into loud barking as he strained against his chain.

Everyone jumped, none more so than Joseph. Stumpy bushed up her fur and seemed to grow three times her usual size, hissing and spitting. Joseph scooped her up and together they fled to the safety of their wagon, where he pulled the tarp shut behind them.

Unless she was able to think of something, Esther realized with a sinking heart, her plan would be over before it began.

“Listen,” she said, addressing the group. “Aras has been to Mundreel. He can get us there. He—”

But she was interrupted by the sound of more barking. Goaded by Rhea, Silas was taunting the dog, poking a branch at its snapping mouth and slapping the leaves across its muzzle. As he and the girl laughed, the animal's yelps grew to a deafening frenzy of screams and growls.

“Stop it, Silas,” Esther said, annoyed, over the noise.

“Let him have his fun.” Even though Aras understood what was happening, he seemed unperturbed.

Silas, emboldened by Rhea's shrill laughter, stepped even closer. Wielding his branch like a sword, he whipped the animal across the eyes; and when it recoiled with a yip, he hit the dog, hard, across the ribs.

Esther could hear the crack from where she stood, and she moved to yank the boy away. But before she could, she saw Aras drop his end of the leash. The animal coiled down like a spring and, with a roar, lunged forward. He flew at the boy and, ignoring the stick, sank his teeth deep into Silas's thin arm.

It all happened so quickly, Esther couldn't even react. Above the sound of growling, there was a shrill, high-pitched whistle which took her a moment to realize was coming from Silas's open mouth as he tried to wrestle free. But the dog refused to let go and began to worry the limb, shaking its head from side to side and dragging the small boy to his knees.

“Pilot,” Aras's calm voice pierced the commotion.

The dog seemed to hesitate. Then, with a final toss of its massive head, it let go and returned to its master's side, panting, its tongue lolling out. Aras once more picked up the chain and wrapped it around his wrist. Silas was left crumpled on the ground, sobbing, bright red staining the dingy white of his robes. Rhea ran to his side, shooting Aras a terrified look.

“Don't hurt animals,” Aras said, his voice even. “They our kin, you know.”

Silas deserved to be punished for his cruelty,
Esther thought;
still, he had nearly had his arm torn off.
Glaring at Aras, she pushed past him, about to rip a strip of fabric from her sweatshirt.

“Wait up there,” said Aras.

“What?” Esther was in no mood to talk. “He's bleeding. I got to tie up his arm.”

“You gotta clean it first. Don't you know anything?”

Esther bridled, but managed to keep her temper. “We don't got any clean water.”

“You don't need clean,” he replied. “Dirty is good, too.”

Baffled, Esther and the others could only stare at him. But Asha was already speaking up, her face flushed with eagerness at being the one with the answer.

“Over there,” she said, pointing. “
There's
some water!”

She was indicating a small, abandoned truck parked to one side. It had been destroyed long ago: its windows were smashed to spiderwebs of broken glass, its fittings had been mostly torn off and tossed aside, and one of its doors gaped open.

The hood was badly dented and held a rusty pool of water, left over from the recent rain.

Even looking at it caused a murmur of apprehension to ripple through the crowd.

“Good,” said Aras. “Somebody fetch a bowl. A fire bowl. And some kind of cup or bottle, too.”

There was again a silence, during which the only sound was Silas snuffling. Aras cocked his head and then shrugged.

“It's up to you,” he said. “Don't matter to me if your friend dies.”

Esther saw Eli's face darken and his fists clench. But just as she was about to hold him back, Joseph poked his head from his wagon. He held out a dented fire bowl that had seen better days, as well as a chipped mug that had the words
FIRST NATIONAL BANK
on it.

“Here,” Joseph said. He handed them to Esther and ducked back inside.

“And a piece of clothing,” Aras said. “A shirt or something would be good.”

Esther was as confused as everyone else. Nevertheless, she went into the other wagon and rummaged in it until she found a T-shirt. It was still clean and in good condition, with months of use left. Still, if she was to convince the others to trust Aras, she had to commit to his plan, whether she understood it or not.

She only hoped Aras knew what he was doing.

“Okay,” he said. “Now we need a fire.”

“You better hurry up,” Esther said to him, under her breath, as she bent to gather kindling. “That boy's bleeding bad.”

Aras grunted. “Here,” he said. He dug his firestarter out of his pocket. “Use this. Only don't waste any. I need it.”

Skar alone volunteered to help. She looked dubious, too. Together, they built a good-size pile from twigs and trash they found littering the small woods that surrounded the garage. Then Esther used the firestarter to get it blazing.

Throughout, Aras crouched to one side. His dog lay in the dust on its back; its owner tickled its spotted stomach, and the animal, which moments ago had almost killed a boy, now writhed with a kind of innocent pleasure.

“You done yet?” Aras called.

“Just about,” replied Esther.

The boy got to his feet and Esther handed the fire bowl and mug to him. He checked them by touch before giving them back.

“Okay,” he said. “Take this and scoop as much water as you can into the bowl.”

Everyone murmured and Eli glanced up sharply.

“Don't do it.” His voice was harsh. “He's crazy.”

But Esther shook her head. Then she approached the destroyed truck, its hood brimming over with the deadly liquid.

Holding the cup by its handle and using the utmost care, Esther lowered it into the pool. It grated across the corroded hood as she scooped up a small amount of water. It was mostly clear, although there were orange flakes of rust in it, a few dead insects, and a dried leaf. Forcing herself to move slowly, she poured it into the fire bowl on the ground next to her, taking care not to spill any. She did this again and again until there was no water left in the hood.

“Okay,” she said. “Done.”

Behind her, she could sense the others give a collective breath of relief. But it wasn't over.

“Now bring it to the fire,” said Aras. “Take your time.” Again, the warning was snide.

Carrying the water was even more of a challenge. When Esther picked it up, the fire bowl, nearly full, sloshed its contents and some of it splashed onto the ground at her feet. She froze; and in the silence, she could hear Rhea exclaim. Only when she realized that none of it had touched her did she dare to continue. She finally settled the metal container on some stacked bricks that held it over the leaping flames.

“Now what?” she asked.

“We wait,” replied Aras.

Boiling water was nothing new; it was how Esther and her friends prepared much of their food. But they used only the safe kind of water that either came from the spring or in sealed bottles from the Source.

It was terrifying to think what would happen if you heated the other sort of water, the sort that could kill you. As steam first began to rise from the fire bowl, everyone shrank back, and more than one of them covered their mouths and noses.

But eventually, curiosity won out. Within minutes, everyone had edged forward and now peered over Aras's and Esther's shoulders to watch the water churn and bubble. Even Joseph could be seen observing from his wagon. No one paid any attention to Silas, who sat alone, nursing his injured arm and whimpering in pain.

Aras snapped his fingers at Esther.

“That's long enough,” he said. “Take it off and let it sit.”

Again working with great care, Esther used an old towel to lift the fire bowl off the flames. She set it on the ground, where it sent out white tendrils of vapor.

At Aras's instruction, Michal presented the cup, now draped with the clean shirt. Esther lifted the fire bowl and poured its contents onto the folded fabric. The cloth acted as a strainer; as the steaming water seeped through, it left a fine residue of grit and rust. Within seconds, the cup was nearly full.

“Now,” Aras said, “get the boy who teased my dog.”

Startled, Esther glanced up. She caught Eli's reaction; he shook his head
no
once, with emphasis. As for Silas, he was backing up, terror in his eyes as he clutched his injured arm to his chest.

“I ain't coming near that stuff!” he shouted, his voice shrill. “You trying to kill me!”

Aras sighed. Then he fumbled for the cup, steam rising from it.

And he brought it to his lips.

Everyone gasped. Michal made a move to knock the cup from his hand, but Esther held her back.

“Wait,” Esther said.

Aras blew on the cup and then drank. After he had finished a few gulps, he lifted his head, a faint smile on his face.

Was he mad?
Esther's eyes flickered toward Skar, then Joseph, but they were looking to her for guidance. Although her impulses had failed her many times in the past, she had no choice but to trust them today.

After what seemed an eternity, she nodded.

“Do what he says.” It was Eli who spoke, although it was with difficulty. He had seen Esther's response and that was enough for him.

When Silas didn't move, the older boy picked him up and carried him, even though he fought and kicked. Then Eli held the whimpering Silas down as Esther used the hot water to bathe his arm.

In moments, the wound, though still deep, was clean.

“
Now,
” Aras said, “tie up his damn arm.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

A
S
E
STHER TIPPED A BOWL OVER HER HEAD, MOONLIGHT MADE THE HOT
water gleam silver as it ran down her shoulders and her naked back.

It was a delicious feeling, and the first time she had bathed since leaving Prin. Back home, cleaning oneself was something one did rarely, if ever, with a washcloth and a scant cup or so of precious bottled water. But tonight, after she had dipped out another fire bowl's worth of water from a nearby stream and repeated the process Aras taught them, Esther found she could allow herself the impossible luxury of a hot shower.

She was not alone. In the dark woods around her, she could hear the others bathing themselves, too, scrubbing clothing, and washing off the accumulated dust of the road. The idea that water—the poison that fell from the sky, filled lakes and streams, and collected on the morning grass like a deadly veil—could be made harmless was almost too miraculous to be believed. The revelation brought a sense of boundless plentitude and with it, a rare festive mood to the caravan. People called to one another through the trees and shouts of laughter rang in the night air.

Yet while one of their biggest problems had been solved, another was not.

Esther was starving.

She had eaten only a few mouthfuls of the food she had brought back; she wanted to make sure everyone else had had enough, and now there was nothing left. She could barely recall the last meal she had eaten nearly three days earlier: a meager bowl of rabbit stew and some flatbread. And although she had drunk deeply, trying to fill herself with water, it didn't begin to dull the painful emptiness that gnawed at her gut.

Then she heard a jangle of chain.

Two eyes gleamed in the moonlight: It was the dog Pilot. Holding on to his collar was Aras.

“Who's that?” he called.

Blushing, Esther tried to hide her nakedness. Then she remembered the guide couldn't see her and, after a moment, let her arms drop.

“It's me,” she said.

“You weren't at dinner,” he said.

“I wasn't hungry.”

Aras snorted at the obvious lie.

“Yeah,” he said, “maybe not. But maybe you better come with me. I got something to show you.”

Esther dried herself off as best she could and put her damp yet clean clothes back on. Then she trailed behind as the dog led its owner deeper into the meager forest, skirting trees, an empty metal barrel, a destroyed sofa. Esther found herself keeping her eyes on the white of Aras's robes, which gave off the faintest glow in the moonlight; the darkness had rendered her nearly sightless, as well.

As he walked, Aras kept one hand in front of him, touching trees, brushing their rough surfaces, and making his own calculations. Occasionally, he made the strange clicking sounds he used to communicate with his dog; the animal responded to each one, turning or slowing down. Aras finally stopped under one tree. Kneeling, he felt around on the ground. Then he stood.