Tate yawned and stretched himself out across his mattress. Bianca had already risen. Earlier he heard the clang of her dumping the pail of water back into the pot, then the thump of the door as she exited.
He stumbled out of bed and felt his way outside. His eyes were only half open, but he really needed to urinate. He circled his house, looking for a good place to mark. Sniffing, he stopped, alarmed. Someone else had marked here, a woman! “Idiot,” he muttered in response to his momentary surprise. Bianca would have to pee somewhere. He double-marked it, yawning again as he tried to wake up.
Both of them had stayed up late, waiting first for the beans and then the rice to cook. Well, he couldn't completely blame the slow-cooking beans. He had stayed up after Bianca went to bed, reading her notebook and thinking. Something bad happened as he read; he fell in love with her all over again. “No,” he thought, “Love wasn't the right word. It was connection.” He felt connected to her when he read her words, like he was diving into those luminous eyes and bathing in her synapses.
He shook his head hard. This Spring was really doing a number on him. Pulling his pants back up, he sniffed the air. If he had to guess, he would say Bianca was over near the creek. “Probably looking for the hot water tap,” he quipped, ambling towards the front door.
Once back inside, he prepared a quick breakfast, adding milk to the leftover rice in his bowl. Just as he was taking a bite, Bianca threw the door open. She struggled on the threshold to lift the pail of water.
“That's a wolf’s job,” he stood and took the bucket from her, emptying it into the pot above the fire.
“I’ve never heard of wolves fetching water before,” Bianca was panting from exertion. Instead of sweating, an odd mist seemed to rise off her. “That creek,” she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, “where does it come from?”
“Citadel,” he sat back down, picking up his bowl.
“Is it dammed?” she inched towards him, her eyes on his rice.
“Everything that comes out of Citadel is damned,” he chuckled at his own play on words.
Bianca pointed at his bowl, “May I have some?”
“No, go make yourself an egg. I have to get to work.”
She frowned at him then pursed her lips, “You mean that, about the dam?”
“Well, it was ten years ago, but I remembered that dam pretty clearly.” He scraped his bowl with his spoon, trying to capture the last grains of rice, “I didn’t want to be registered as cursed, so I snuck into the industrial part of Citadel. There are others like us there, you know.” He stopped, uncertain if this was a story he should tell.
“No, I don’t know, Tate, and don’t stop like that. Tell me the rest.”
He could feel his ears heat up from the eagerness in her tone. “You ever wonder where all the people with skills in engineering, science, machinery, and electronics are? Why Egregia is so backwards? If you have technological skills and you get cursed, they keep you in this . . . work camp, I guess.”
“Prison,” Bianca breathed.
“No one paid me any mind once I was there. They allow the cursed to do whatever they like, as long as they stay inside the camp. After being there for a day, I took a risk and asked someone if anyone had ever escaped and how they did it. You better check those eggs.”
Bianca looked startled, then removed her eggs with the ladle, “Keep talking, I’m listening.”
“It turns out that someone had made it out by climbing down the dam. Unlike the gates, the dam was unguarded, but it turns out there was another reason no one else had tried it. The curved sides of the dam don't look very steep from above, but climbing down them was the scariest thing I have ever done in my life,” he looked at Bianca thoughtfully. She was leaning forward, her eyes wide. Encouraged, he continued, “Once I got started I couldn’t seem to keep my feet in place. They kept sliding down the concave sides of the dam while I had no more than a fingertip hold on the edge of a brick. I was so frightened that tears were running down my face and I had no way to clear my eyes.
“When I reached the bottom, I was so shaky, that I lay there for a half hour, out in the open, drones buzzing overhead. Remembering something from a movie about following rivers, I walked beside the trickle of water from the dam for five days. On the sixth day I stopped, figuring I had run so far that the past would never catch me.”
The past sat on the floor and began peeling an egg, “So I should write a message to them as well, or maybe you should.”
“Me? You’re the writer. I’m just a timber wolf who really needs to get busy cutting timber,” he licked his bowl clean, setting it by his fiddle.
Bianca was no longer paying attention to him, a look of deep thought on her face. He barked a “bye” at her and exited the cabin. Digging around near the woodpile, he retrieved a length of rope and some wedges. He threw these into his cart, followed by the axe. Towing his cart, he headed away from the market.
He turned down a narrow path he himself had made, and snaked his way towards the end of it. The going was slow, and he took his time gazing at the trees, making sure he hadn't missed any good candidates for firewood. He stopped in front of a tree with a growth on the side, throwing the rope over his arm and removing his boots. Using his claws, he scampered up the tree. He tied his guide line and then shimmied back down.
Once on the ground, he put his boots back on and started clearing two rough escape paths. Logging was dangerous work, and he fully expected to someday give his life to it; either being crushed by a tree or taking an unlucky fall. Whichever it was, he wasn’t opposed to dying that way. Over the years he had arrived at a certain understanding of things. He wouldn't say that he was religious, but the prayers his mother taught him seemed to hold a measure of truth to them.
Before making his first axe cut, he placed a hand on the tree and muttered the first prayer every child in Citadel learned, “Pins and string, pegs and rope, in You I rest, in You I hope.” It was superstitious, but every time he said it, the tree fell where it was supposed to land.
No comments:
Post a Comment