The Sword-Edged blonde

THIRTEEN

My first thought as I awoke was that my head hurt so much, if anyone spoke to me, I’d cry. The second was that the room was way too small for my head.

This was the third time in my life I’d been knocked out. Those who make their living relaying tales of heroic deeds at fancy banquets would have you think this was no more than an inconvenience, to be shaken off as easily as raindrops. Their heroes always snap wide awake and rush off to make up for lost time. I can guarantee that the folks who come up with those stories have never been seriously whacked in the head.

“Is he alive?” a woman’s voice asked. I couldn’t place it, but I’d heard it before, and recently.

“I didn’t hit him that hard,” a boy replied with a child’s superior impatience. “He’s breathing, isn’t he?”

“Quiet,” a new voice snapped. It was older, rougher and female. “He’s awake. Now get out.”

Door hinges protested, wood scraped against wood and I felt that slight change in air pressure that said a heavy door had closed. I decided to open my eyes.

The back of my skull felt like mashed potatoes. I blinked, groaned and tried to make sense of the confusing lights and shadows. Luckily the room was dark, but a table lamp provided some dim illumination. I blinked, tried to rise and found I was on my stomach, my hands tied to my ankles behind me.

“Don’t try to move,” the older female voice said. She sat just out of the lamp’s illumination.

“Okay,” I rasped out. The room was very small, and I lay on what felt like a blanket spread across uneven wooden crates.

“You were asking about Epona Gray.”

“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t know this one, but I realized where I’d heard the other woman’s voice before. “I guess I didn’t give Trudy a big enough tip, huh?”

“She knows I’m always interested in certain things.”

“Like Epona Gray?”

“Always.” She leaned forward. I saw frizzy hair backlit so that her head resembled a dandelion gone to seed. “You’re a smart guy, I’d guess. So I don’t think I have to explain too much. Whether or not you leave this room depends on what you tell me about Epona Gray.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where is she?”

“Dead, as far as I know.”

The frizzy head leaned back. “Then why are you asking about her?”

I wriggled as much as I could. “This is really uncomfortable,” I groaned. “I’d feel a lot chattier if you’d untie me.”

“And I’d feel a lot less safe,” she said. “You can answer my question just fine from where you are.”

I squirmed some more, but couldn’t reach the knife in my boot, or even tell if it was still there. “I knew her once,” I said. “I just wondered if anyone else around here might remember her.”

“Everyone that knew her is dead,” the woman said with deep certainty. “Except me.”

“Not everyone,” I replied.

“So you knew her?” she asked derisively. “When?”

“Right before she died.”

Again she leaned forward, and her frizzy hair caught the light. “And how is that possible?”

“Hey, lady, I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I met her the night she died, I only spoke to her for a few minutes, but since I was back in the area I asked a waitress a harmless question. This seems a lot like an over-reaction.”

“Nothing to do with Epona is ‘harmless.’ ” She leaned back again. “Tell me how she died.”

I saw no reason to keep it a secret. “She was poisoned.”

She paused for a long moment.

I took advantage of the silence and asked, “And what the hell do you know about it? I was the only person who walked away from it.”

The smile in her voice had no warmth. “Not the only one,” she said, imitating my tone. She reached over and turned up the lamp.

I could not begin to guess her age. Her face was a mass of scar tissue, and her hair grew in ragged white patches. “I crawled out of a burning house. I was on fire as well, but I made it to a creek and put out the flames. Did you know that, if you’re burned badly enough, you don’t feel it?”

“Yeah,” I said. I recalled those same flames myself, and the blood-soaked beast roaming through them.

“My parents died. My friends died. Everyone died because of Epona. On the very day I was initiated into her mysteries.”

I went cold. It took a moment to find my voice again. “You’re only about eighteen years old, aren’t you?”

She crossed her legs, deliberately letting her wraparound skirt fall open. Her legs were a little hairy, but had the smooth lines of youth. “How could you tell?” she asked sarcastically.

“Because I saw you that day,” I said. “I saw you pass your initiation.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped.

I rose as much as my contorted position allowed. “The horses should have killed you, but they didn’t. Your dress was too big. And you wore ribbons.”

The silence grew heavy over the next few moments. Finally, in a voice so quiet I barely heard it, she said, “Who are you?”

“Name’s Eddie LaCrosse. I’m from Neceda, in Muscodia.”

“Where is that?”

I told her.

“And you…” She took a deep, shuddering breath in the darkness. “You remember what happened?”

I nodded. “And I tell you the truth: I killed the monster who did it that same night, too.”

The position they had me in was really killing me by now, so when she stood and cut the ropes that tied my wrists to my ankles I let out a loud groan. She undid the rest of the bonds, and I sat up stiffly.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I worked my numb fingers and toes. “No problem,” I said out of habit. I gently felt the back of my head. The lump, tender and hot to the touch, swelled behind my right ear, but I felt no dried blood. The little bozo that smacked me had a light touch, at least. “Who hit me?” I asked.

“His name’s Leo,” the scarred girl said. “He always stays back to see how the robbery goes. He’s only seven, but he’s tall for his age and totally fearless.”

“He’s got a future,” I agreed. I’d never even heard him coming. A spasm of queasiness went through me, but I blinked it away. I wiped the sweat from my face with my sleeve. “So what kind of scam do you have going here?”

“Not many jobs for someone who looks like me, so I’ve learned to work the edges. I take in the orphans and the runaways, teach them how to survive. And when the boys get old enough, like Scotty, I teach them about women. If it’s dark enough, they can pretend I’m anyone.”

“And you’ve been here ever since…?”

“I traveled around. Some people helped me, some didn’t. I settled here because these old mines under the town make it easy to stay in the shadows. For obvious reasons, I prefer that.”

“Yeah.”

She leaned forward into the light. What expression her injuries allowed was pitiful. “ Why are you here? Please, tell me the truth. I deserve it.”

“I’m trying to find a line on Andrew Reese.”

“You mean he’s real?” she whispered.

“Maybe. If he is, he’s the one ultimately responsible for what happened to you.”

Her eyes were clear and bright blue, the beautiful eyes of a sad and tormented child. “Will you kill him if you find him?”

“Yeah,” I said. Truthfully I didn’t know what I’d do, but the lie seemed a small enough reparation for the life she’d been given.

Someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” she said.

Trudy the waitress stepped into the light, followed by the boy Scotty. “I have to get back to work, and-” She froze when she saw I was no longer tied.

“Relax,” I said. “We’re old friends.”

“He’s free to go,” the scarred girl said. “Trudy, show him out, will you?”

“He knows about me,” she said dubiously. “About all of us.”

“And I know about him,” the scarred girl said. “He’s been honest with me. There’s no reason to hurt him.”

Trudy scowled at me.

I looked at the scarred girl. “Can I do anything for you?”

“We don’t need your help,” Scotty snapped.

“We don’t,” the scarred girl agreed more evenly. “We’ve found our niche here.”

I started to protest further, but I sensed the futility. “Maybe I’ll check in on you again, if I’m ever in town,” I told her. “And if I find Andrew Reese, he’ll pay for what he did to you. To everyone.”

“But not Epona,” she said emphatically. “Epona gets no vengeance.”

“Why?”

“Because Epona lied to us. She claimed to be… well, you were there, you know. I believed her. I believed in her. That lie was the hardest thing to accept.”

I nodded.

“Come on,” Trudy said impatiently and grabbed my arm. She was clearly anxious for things to get back to normal. “I’ll take you to your stuff.” Scotty stayed behind with the scarred girl, standing protectively beside her and glaring until the door closed. As I followed Trudy down the dim passageway of what had been a played-out mine, I faintly heard the scarred girl singing that damned maddening tune. “Andrew Reese is broken to pieces…”

My sword and other belongings lay in a pile near a curve in the old mine tunnel. I buckled my scabbard and counted the money in my pouch. It was all there, and it turned out they hadn’t even thought to check for the knife in my boot. Well, they were just trainees. Then I trailed the waitress some more, having to stoop in many places. At last light shone down an overhead shaft and illuminated a ladder that led to the surface. My head still throbbed like a drum at a harvest festival, and finally I had to say, “Whoa, wait a second.” I leaned against a wooden support beam and made myself breathe slowly and evenly. I was in no shape to climb a ladder until the tunnel stopped wobbling beneath me.

Trudy impatiently put her hands on her hips. “Come on,” she snapped. “You’ve been lucky enough today.”

I wanted to lie down right there, but I knew I needed to get out of the tunnel and back to my job. I shook my head to clear it, a move I immediately regretted. Then I realized the soft voice I heard was not, in fact, my conscience chewing me out for being an idiot. It was a child’s voice softly repeating something.

It came from behind a tapestry hung over a crossing tunnel we’d just passed. If we hadn’t stopped, I never would’ve noticed it. I lifted the heavy fabric and peeked around. The area was just a tiny side room, originally carved to allow miners to step aside when ore carts needed to pass. Small candles illuminated it, their light hidden by the thick curtain. The little bait girl knelt before an altar, her pudgy hands clasped together in prayer. “By Epona’s white mane, I ask that my wish come true,” she said in her singsong voice. On the altar was a single horseshoe, and on the stone wall it faced someone had crudely drawn a white horse.

Trudy pulled me back. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

“You’re right. Let’s go.” Some lies took longer to accept than others, evidently.

I stepped ahead of her, and realized she lagged behind for just a moment too long. I dodged sideways, and her knife stabbed right through the spot my kidneys occupied a moment earlier. I punched her with the heel of my palm right between her eyes. The blow stunned her, and the knife clattered to the stone floor. The noise carried, and would soon bring her preteen reinforcements.

I slammed her against the nearest wall. I was pissed off now, and took her knife hand by the wrist. “Your boss and I had a deal, you backstabbing little bitch,” I snarled. “Did she tell you to do this?”

“No,” she said, too dazed to lie.

I bent her last two fingers back until the bones snapped. She cried out in pain, and her eyes opened wide. I slapped her to keep her attention. “I’m not going to kill you because your boss was straight with me. Next time be a good soldier.” Then I shoved her to the ground and went quickly up the ladder. No small, lethal hands reached to pull me back.

I retrieved my horse and crossed the bridge at the next open time for folks mounted on horseback, and eventually found the spot where, long ago, Cathy and I had departed from the road. Most of the forest had been cleared to build the newer buildings in Poy Sippi, but I still wandered for two days, trying to hit upon some familiar landmark that would orient me to the old half-remembered trail. Finally, just as I was about to admit defeat, I found the sign that had originally guided us.

I’d learned about that sign, and the others, after that first Poy Sippi lunch thirteen years earlier. Back then Cathy and I had crossed the bridge without incident and, after most of the traffic had dispersed onto other roads, we ducked into the woods that grew thick and heavy along the main highway.

We hunkered down out of sight behind a huge fallen tree. Cathy took a drink from her canteen and leaned back against the bark. Sunlight through the leaves dappled her face, and a breeze rustled her bangs. “I need a bath.”

“You’re not so bad yet,” I said as I took off my boots and stretched my toes.

She made a face. “Compared to that, I’m not. Did something die in your socks?”

“Keeps the bugs away.” I reclined and looked up at the patches of blue sky. I hadn’t noticed the color of the sky in a long time.

She closed her eyes. “I hate feeling skanky. Always have. It’s been the hardest part of this job.”

“Harder than fighting off grabby yahoos?”

She laughed. “Yeah, definitely.” Then she sat up and looked at me with careful, measuring eyes. I pretended I didn’t notice, but I did. She studied me for a long time before she said with certainty, “Eddie, you were right back at the Sway Easy. I should be able to trust you now. If I’m wrong about it, I deserve what I get.”

She dug inside her pack and pulled out the small map she’d previously consulted only in private. She unfolded it on the mossy ground between us.

“Here’s where we are,” she said, indicating a spot next to the river’s wiggly outline. “And here’s where we’re going. There’s no road or path; we have to look for landmarks.”

The destination seemed to be high in the Ogachic Mountains ahead. “What’s there?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Have no idea. Except that it’s where I’ll find the person I’m supposed to deliver this package to.”

“Do you know this person’s name?”

She nodded. “Epona Gray.”

“A woman?”

“Sounds like it.”

I looked at the map. Our destination really was in the middle of nowhere. “Does it seem odd to you that a woman would get a package way out here?”

“Depends on the woman, I guess,” she said. “Or the package.”

“I don’t know anything about either,” I pointed out.

She looked at me again for a long, quiet moment. Something had changed in her expression. “Yeah,” she said at last.

She peered over the log to make sure we were alone, then unbuttoned her shirt. Strapped around her stomach was a soft fur-lined belt, and in it she’d stuck a thin sealed parcel no bigger than my hand. She pulled it free and handed it to me.

I examined the box. It was a faceless wooden case, tied with string, and the knot had been sealed with unembossed wax. It could hold nothing bigger than my hand. When I shook it, a single large heavy object slid around inside. “Sounds like a rock.”

“Might be,” she said as she put it back and buttoned up her shirt. I realized I hadn’t even glanced at her to see what skin she might reveal.

We waited until dark, then crept back onto the road. There wasn’t much traffic at night, and the nearly full moon provided plenty of illumination. A breeze blew from the east, keeping the air cool and clear. Something about the combination of wind, moon and silence made us speak softly; it was the kind of night that, in retrospect, earns the name “magical.” At the time, though, it was just another night on the job.

Cathy told me about her first delivery, escorting a valuable show dog through fairly harmless territories to the home of its new owner. It had been just her and the dog, a medium-sized wolfhound, walking together for two weeks. The customer tried to stiff her for her fee because the dog had replaced so much flab with muscle. He was not successful.

“That poor dog used to howl at the moon for hours every night,” she said wistfully. “It was the saddest, loneliest sound you can imagine. She never had a proper home, just kennels and dog shows and such. The lady who sold her had never even petted her. I would try to calm her down, comfort her, and it would work for a while. But then she’d move away from the fire and just howl some more.”

I had my hands in my pockets and looked out at the trees tinted blue by the moonlight. Our footsteps were the only unnatural sounds. “Sounds like she had a tough life,” I agreed.

She kicked at the road’s surface. Without looking at me she asked, “Want to know a secret?”

“Sure.”

Her voice grew softer. “One night, when she seemed so alone and pitiful… I howled with her. I took off all my clothes, danced around in the moonlight and howled…” She smiled at the memory.

For some reason this made me uncomfortable. “How much had you been drinking?”

She laughed quietly, musically. “Oh, I was cold sober, Eddie, just like I am now.” She twirled slowly, like a child, and looked up at the sky. “You think she’s a goddess?”

“The dog?”

“No, the moon. Priestesses say it’s the light of the goddess. They say her tug makes women bleed once a month so we can have kids. What do you think?”

“I dunno.”

“I hope she is. I hope there’s a goddess somewhere who hears all those howls in the moonlight.”

“It’s not my area of expertise.”

She laughed again and danced ahead of me. Her long shadow reached down the road. I’d never seen her like this, so… uninhibited. Janet had the same paradoxical quality, as if more life experience somehow made her more innocent. A big knot of conflicting feelings fought unsuccessfully to untie itself in my gut.

After that little outburst, we walked in silence until, past midnight, we made camp. I watched her sleep for a long time, enjoying the play of firelight on her features. She had great lips, I belatedly decided-full enough to be delectably pouty in the right circumstances.

A wolf howled in the distance, too far away to be a threat. And I had to admit, the urge to howl along was pretty damn strong.