Writers of the Future, Volume 29 (36 page)

“Because I couldn't stop her,” Mara said evenly. “And because she was
right.”

The Lady backed away. Her fingers left hot impressions in Mara's
skin.

“I never took you to be simple before, girl,” she said. “What good could
possibly come of this? You know as well as I do, no one ever comes back.”

“No one has before. But Keera will. She's strong, and she's armed.”

The Lady made some croaking noise deep in her throat. “And you think
that will make a difference?”

Mara held her gaze, then looked away. “She was right about the
harvesters. We should know where they come from, and why they come. We need to
know.”

“You don't,” the Lady said. She turned and went to the window, clacking
across the wood floor on what could have been heeled shoes or taloned bird feet.
“I'll tell you now, girl: no good ever comes of looking for trouble where none
exists. Things were fine as they were. Everyone in the Goldwater is happy. Your
family kept everyone safe.”

The Lady's shoulders shook under the heavy cowl of her dress. Mara
watched her for a moment, not speaking, before she realized that the Lady was
crying. But her black bird's eyes didn't make any tears.

Mara lifted herself off the doorframe and went a little farther into the
room. In the quiet, she could hear the wind outside. “Lady,” she said. “Are you
crying for Keera?”

The Lady lifted her head. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Why?”

“Because she's one of my people. Like you are, and everyone down there.”
She gestured out the window with a loose hand. One of the many rings she wore slid
off her finger and dropped to the floor. She didn't bend to get it. “I care about
all of them. You don't understand, girl, how much I love you all.”

Mara stayed quiet, working her jaw.

“You don't understand,” the Lady repeated.

“But Keera will be back,” Mara said. “I know it.”

The Lady's neck shrank back into the cowl of her dress and her shoulders
shook in another dry sob. “I will watch for her,” she said, her voice strange and
choked.

Mara stepped up and stood beside the Lady at the window. She wondered
how to comfort her. If she even could. But the Lady seemed barely to notice her. She
stood shrunk in on herself, plucking at the sides of her dress with her hands
crooked into claws.

After a while, Mara turned to go.

“Your eyes,” the Lady said.

Mara stopped.

“Are they still well?”

“Yes,” Mara said. “They have been well since the last time I saw
you.”

“Good. Very good. I'm glad,” the Lady said.

“I can't thank you enough for your treatment.”

The Lady said nothing to that, and kept on looking out the window, so
Mara stepped to the door and opened it. There was a clean streak on the doorframe
where her back had wiped away the dust.

“It's well that you can see,” the Lady said abruptly. “Because now
you'll have to do your sister's job, won't you? All alone.”

Mara stood there for a moment, and then she said, “Yes.”

“You'll do fine.”

“Until Keera comes back.”

“Of course,” the Lady said.

Mara slipped out the door. The wind kicked flecks of dirt into her eyes,
and she blinked against the sting. She walked away from the house slower than she'd
walked coming there.

One of the clockwork finches swept down out of a sheltered place in the
eaves as she stepped onto the bluff. It swooped overhead, fighting against the wind.
“We're all watching for Keera,” it said.

“My thanks.” Mara didn't stop for it, but kept on toward the
trailhead.

“Of course, it might be better if she didn't come back.” The finch
trilled a laugh.

Mara bit her cheek, a spike of pain and a rush of blood in her mouth.
“Shut up,” she said. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“I always know what I'm talking about. My dear mother told me ‘Never
tell lies,' didn't she?” The finch settled on her shoulder and its wings brushed her
hair. It crowded in to speak directly into her ear. “Bad things happen to creatures
that lie.”

“Go away,” she said, whirling to dislodge it.

The finch lifted into the air. “What do you see, Mara?” it said. “What
do you see?”

She rushed down the trail, nearly running. She heard the finch behind
her for a long while, until she got far enough and the wind carried away its
words.

M
ara walked the edges of the
turnip field in the half light of dusk, so the shadows splayed long down the furrows
and she couldn't see so well that the weeds were growing up, choking out the plants.
She didn't make it out to the field as often as she should anymore. It was hard to
manage it by herself.

But everyone was safe, everyone was fine. She should have been happy.
The wedding her neighbor had mentioned was the next day, off in town. A cattleman's
son and a weaver's second daughter. Mara and Rey would go, wish them luck and
happiness.

But Keera hadn't returned.

Mara scuffed her toe in the dirt and kicked out a stone. It skittered
across the edge of the field.

It was true that Mara had trained for this job all her childhood, until
her sight went bad before her sixteenth birthday. She knew how to handle herself.
Everyone in the Goldwater was as safe as they'd ever been.

But she didn't feel right. The waiting set her on edge. Every morning,
getting up and not knowing if she'd see Keera and the gray horse trudging home.

She couldn't be certain if she was looking forward to that day, or
dreading it.

She looked up to judge the light in the sky. Less than an hour until
full dark. Even so, she stepped over into the soft, turned dirt of the field and
planted herself in the middle of a row. She found a tall weed, and pulled it out.
She pulled weeds until well past dark, until her hands were black with dirt and
sticky with sap. Until her mind filled with the monotony of the task, and she didn't
think about anything else anymore.

T
he married couple jumped over a
broomstick, held by a pair of their closest neighbors. Everyone cheered, circling in
a dizzy spin. Mara clapped, too, and Rey beside her. She didn't know the girl well,
or the groom. It didn't matter. They were Goldwater; they were home.

“They look so happy,” Mara said, watching the rosy bloom across the
young bride's face. The girl grinned and grabbed her new husband's arm, staggering
with weakness from the heat of the room—or maybe just pretending so.

“They do,” Rey agreed. “I wish them the best.”

He sat with his hands clasped across his knees, and he didn't smile.

Mara chewed on the side of her lip, then rose to her feet, letting the
crowd in the middle of the barn sweep her up. “Do you want to dance?”

“No,” Rey said. “You go ahead.”

“Fine.” Mara let her feet carry her, away from Rey and his solemnly
bowed head, away from the bench where she'd sat all evening and into the crowd of
her people. Someone took her hands and twirled her, and her feet knew what to do
even if she did not.

“It's good to see you here,” the man dancing with her said. “We don't
see enough of you and your sister, for all you do.”

“You know,” Mara said, following the flow of the dance. She swung under
the man's arm and came up on the other side. “We do what we must. There's not much
time for anything else.”

“Of course,” he said.

The steps of the dance swung her away and into the arms of another
partner. This one smiled politely and didn't seem to care much who she was.

She danced for a long while.

When the night grew dark and everything was winding down, Mara stepped
outside and found Rey sitting alone on a stump. She went to him.

He looked up. “Have a nice time?”

“I did. It's good to be friendly with the people in town. You must have
seen some old friends.”

“Yeah. But that was a long time ago.” He got up and brushed dirt off his
pants. “You wanna head back?”

“Sure.” She twisted her hands in her skirt, feeling suddenly guilty for
the flush in her cheeks and the pleasant tired ache in her feet.

Rey nodded at her and they started walking. A few other couples walked
by them and waved, and they waved back. But soon enough they lost all the townsfolk,
and they were walking by themselves on the path to their farmstead. And the night
was so dark, so still.

“I didn't mean to make you come, if you didn't want to,” Mara said.

Rey turned to look at her, startled from some thought. “No, it's all
right. I'm just in a mood.”

“Sure,” Mara said. “Because you couldn't be dancing with Keera.”

Something in her gut twisted sharply when she said it.

“I just miss her, is all.”

“Right,” Mara said. “I miss her too.”

Rey frowned, then his face smoothed out. He grabbed Mara by the wrists
and tangled his fingers in hers. “Come on, then, dance with me.”

“What, here?” She looked down the empty road, dark and quiet.

“Sure, here,” Rey said, and pulled her into a quick waltz step. Mara
laughed and followed his lead, winging down the path with his arm snug around her
waist.

Her smiled faded when she noticed the fixed set of his grin, and the
stiffness of his shoulders under her hand. But they still danced.

“You two make a fine pair.”

Rey stopped dead and Mara just a hair after him, dragging out of his
grip. The hand that he'd held was warm, and she gripped it against her stomach as
she peered out into the darkness. They had danced almost all the way to the
crossroads between their two houses. “Who's there?”

Quiet in the dim of the crossroads, just barely visible by the glint of
the moon off all that metal, sat the clockwork finch. When it saw that they had
spotted it, it shuffled its wings back and forth with a tinny clink. “All apologies
for disturbing your frivolities,” it said.

Mara walked closer to the little bird. “What is it?”

“A harvester,” it said. “Coming by the river road. Tomorrow.”

She looked up at Rey, and he stared back at her without expression. She
nodded. “All right,” she told the finch. “We'll take care of it.”

M
ara and Rey walked a little
farther up the river road this time before settling in to a good-looking spot, all
bushes and low-hanging branches. It wouldn't do to go back to the copse they'd used
before, wouldn't do to establish a pattern. Routines made people sloppy.

“So there's only the one,” Rey said. “Shouldn't be bad.”

“No.” Mara adjusted herself in the underbrush, made sure she had enough
room to move and aim and fire without being seen. “Don't you wonder why one would
come alone, though?”

He shrugged. “It's still a harvester. Who knows what even one of them
could do?”

“They die as easy as anything else.”

Rey had nothing to say to that. They settled back in the bushes and
waited, rifles over their knees. Something splashed in the river and Mara startled
up to look at it—the river ran so shallow this time of year, anyone could walk in
it—but it was only a fish jumping, its tailfin slipping back under the surface and
the rings of its splash warping and disappearing into the current.

“Be still,” Rey said softly. “I think I see something.”

She squinted down the road and was still. Dust coming.

“You ready?” Rey said.

“Of course.” She breathed out between her teeth and put the butt of the
rifle's stock to her shoulder. They waited in silence. Not even birdsong. The sound
of Mara's own pulse strangely loud in her ears, pounding high in her throat.

The harvester rounded the bend. A thickset man on a gray horse. His
scythe rode naked on his back, the blade shining in the sun.

“Got it,” Mara said. She aimed a little high to compensate for the
distance. The trigger at half pressure. Breathe out, fire.

The stock thumped into her shoulder and the shot cracked out. The man
slumped in the saddle and the horse shied violently, scooting sideways into the
trees. The harvester's body slid from the saddle and landed crumpled on the edge of
the road, twitching.

“Good shot,” Rey said.

“Thank you.” Mara looked at her hands. They didn't shake. She laid her
rifle down. “Let's go pull him off the road.”

The harvester had fallen on his shoulder, his face in the dirt. Blood
streaked the ground and Mara's hands as she went to turn him over, but there wasn't
much of it. His scythe had jammed up through its bindings in the fall and its
crescent blade stuck out over his back like a wing.

“Harvester for sure,” Rey said, after Mara had wrestled the body onto
its back. “Still got the scythe. Mean-looking bastard, ain't he?”

Mara nodded, but the man's face swam in and out of her vision in a blur.
There was his heavy brow, a hole through the middle of it; there were his ruined
teeth, exposed by a slack eerie grin–

But there, too, was something else, someone else. Some other face she
almost recognized.

She blinked twice and her vision cleared. The dead man came into solid
focus. She brought a hand up and pressed hard over her eyelids. Not now, it couldn't
be going now. Not when it seemed as if she finally had a chance.

“Come on, help me get this ugly lug off the road.”

Mara grabbed the man's feet and Rey took him by the shoulders. They
didn't have to carry him far, since he was practically off the road anyway. They
took the body into the trees and down a little slope to a place where the tall brush
would hide it. They laid him at the base of the slope without ceremony.