The Wild Dead (The Bannerless Saga 2)

Enid took a couple of running steps, her instincts telling her to go after him. She tried, charging ahead. And immediately got tangled up in the overgrown scrub. Since she might as well try to get out of the mess by moving ahead instead of back, she kept going. Managed to keep her eyes on the guy, who was getting farther ahead. He’d be hidden among the trees in moments. Enid shoved through a willow stand, came out the other side ready to run—and slipped in the mud. Came down hard on her knee and caught her breath.

When she looked again, he’d disappeared into the forest. He knew the territory, she didn’t.

But this was new: she and Teeg were being watched. Someone outside the settlement had an interest in the goings-on here.

And likely he’d be back.

She joined Teeg back at the bridge, not limping too badly. She’d have a bruise, but hadn’t broken anything.

Teeg asked, “What did you see up there? You were running.”

“Not sure,” she answered. “But keep your eyes open. I think we may have some interested parties about.”

“Someone looking for Ella, you think?”

Enid shook her head; she didn’t know. If folk from the hills were looking for Ella—why didn’t they just come and ask? Because they didn’t trust the Coast Road. That simple. Had Ella really been about to migrate to the Coast Road, become part of Last House? That was Neeve’s story. What would Ella say, if she could say anything? What would her people say?

Something about it all didn’t feel right.

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They returned to the outbuilding at Bonavista. Underneath, a figure knelt by the body, a shape that wasn’t meant to be there. At first Enid thought it was the man she’d seen hiding in the trees upriver, and this was her chance to talk. But coming closer she recognized the hunched form, the ash-gray hair pulled back over her shoulder.

Neeve.

Enid tapped Teeg’s arm and urged him on. They came up to the work house, crouched to look under it. They weren’t particularly trying to keep quiet, but the woman didn’t seem to sense their approach. She had a bowl and cloth, and had pulled back the tarp wrapping the body. She was washing it. Pulling debris from the hair and clothes, wiping mud from the hands and face.

“Neeve,” Enid said. “Can we help you with something?”

Enid might have expected her to jump, to show some surprise at being caught like this—some indication that she felt guilty for being here. But the woman only glanced over her shoulder, a perfunctory movement. She expected to be found, and she didn’t care.

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stop thinking of her.”

Giving a signal to Teeg to stay back, Enid joined Neeve, sitting beside her, not close enough to touch, but able to study her face. Her expression was still, and gave nothing back

to Enid.

Her washing of the body hadn’t accomplished much. Ella’s clothing was still caked with dry mud, her hair still tangled. But her hands were folded neatly on her chest now, and Neeve had stitched her tunic shut, covering the wound. She set the cloth and bowl aside, folded her hands in her lap.

“Strange. Cleaning bodies, I mean. We always do it before we set them on the pyre. It’s not like they need it. It just seems . . . like the last nice thing we can do for them. When it’s too late for anything else.”

“What was she like?” Enid asked.

Neeve shrugged. “I couldn’t say. They’d bring down hides and salvage out of the hills, and we’d trade them for clothing, knives—”

“Knives?” Enid asked.

“Yes . . . oh. You don’t think . . . I never worried about it, they seem nice enough. And everybody needs a knife for cutting. They don’t have forges. Our knives are better.”

As she said, everyone needed knives. It didn’t mean anything.

“Did she ever say anything about anyone hurting her?” The person who killed her had gotten close, likely had been someone she knew. Someone who had hurt her before? Was that why she wanted to come to the Coast Road? “You ever see any odd bruises or cuts that you couldn’t explain?”

“Oh no, nothing like that.”

“She made eye contact when she spoke?”

“Yes—” Neeve stopped and hugged herself, realizing that she was being interrogated. “When I offered to make clothes for her, her eyes lit up. That was a while back, I guess. They’d been coming to trade for a few years. I knew her, at least a little. I thought I did. They, the ones of them who came to see us, never struck me as violent.” She rubbed a tired hand across her eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t help. I wish I could.”