Outpost (Razorland 2)

As I debated whether I should get up, Momma Oaks bustled in with a tray. It smelled better than I deserved. She set it briskly across my lap.

“You gave me quite a scare.”

I’d reminded her of Daniel. And I regretted it deeply.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“Doc Tuttle says you’ll be fine.”

Fine, I thought, was a relative term, but he couldn’t sew up the wounds he couldn’t see. I picked at my food, nibbling to make her happy. Momma Oaks sat down in the chair beside my bed.

“How bad is it out there?”

She frowned. “Don’t worry about it. You need to rest … and heal.”

“Ignorance isn’t conducive to rest.”

Sighing faintly, she ran a tired hand through her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d slept in that chair, determined not to budge until I woke up. Edmund peeked in on us while she debated which of us was more stubborn.

He took a step into the room. “I fixed your boots.”

That was almost more than I could stand because I knew how he was. He had no taste for emotional business, so from Edmund, that was like a hug. I nodded at him through misty eyes.

“Thank you. I was pretty hard on them.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said softly, and then retreated downstairs.

“I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you,” she decided aloud. “But if you try to get up, I’ll send to Doc Tuttle for another potion. You’ll sleep two more days, then.”

“It’s been two days?” I couldn’t imagine what must be going on, but then, it wasn’t up to me to fix it. I’d played my part.

“Indeed. They’ve surrounded the town. So far, they’re staying out of rifle range, and they seem to be watching.”

“Planning,” I said bitterly.

Momma Oaks’s kind face tightened and turned grim. “Once, I’d have thought you were crazy for saying such a thing, but I believe you’re right. They appear to be taking our measure and deciding how to get inside.”

“But they can’t?”

“No,” she answered. “Of course not. Elder Bigwater is having guards shore up the walls, just in case: And they’ve doubled the watches. We’re snug and secure in here, don’t you worry.”

Evidently she thought it was better not to upset me, but her eyes gave away what her firm words denied. She was scared to death and fighting to hide it. The dark circles beneath her eyes revealed sleepless nights, and her lower lip was rough where she had bitten it, not signs of a woman confident of our safety.

I pretended to believe her. “That’s good.”

“Eat now, and then rest. Promise me.” She held my gaze until I mumbled the words she wanted to hear.

Then I asked, “What day is it?”

When Momma Oaks told me, I laughed, the sound bitter and mirthless. She had gotten up to join Edmund downstairs, but at my reaction, she returned, perching on the edge of my bed this time. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my day.” Her blank look prompted me to explain. “The day I was born. After fifteen of them, I earned my name. I’ve been Deuce for a whole year now.”

“You mean it’s your birthday?”

“Yes, that’s what you call it here, I think.”

Justine had a party, as I recalled. I had a body full of itchy stitches and a tray with herbal tea and weak soup. I poked at the toast.

“I had no idea. Let me make you a cake.” She bent and kissed me on the forehead.

I couldn’t remember a female doing that before, but … I liked it. Everything hurt less. To please her—and because I was getting cake—I drank some of the nasty tea. My lip curled.

“Is Fade here?”

I’d have to go looking for him if he wasn’t. He had no safe foster home, unlike Stalker, Tegan, and me.

Her face softening, Momma Oaks nodded. “He’s got the cupboard off the kitchen. Wouldn’t hear of you staying there, even though he’s hurt near as bad. You lost a fair amount of blood, my girl.”

“I didn’t even notice.” Her mouth twisted in skepticism, and I tried to clarify. “When I’m fighting, when it’s all perfect, it’s like the whole world goes quiet. I can’t hear or see anything but my next strike. I don’t even feel—”

“Pain?” she guessed.

“Sometimes, I don’t. I’m one with my blades. That’s ideal for a Huntress.”

“I don’t care what you call it, but that’s the reason you’re in bed, and why you’re going to drink that tea and not budge an inch until I call you down for cake.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Cake … and Fade. Despite the mess outside Salvation’s walls and my grief over Longshot’s sacrifice, a spark of bittersweet joy rose up. He’d be happy to see me, wouldn’t he? It’s been two days.

“I’ll leave you water to wash,” she told me in parting. “But don’t you get up before I say so. And I’m fetching you some ointment for your poor burned skin.”

Obediently, I drank the broth and the tea and then ate the dry toast. From downstairs, I heard Edmund talking and Momma Oaks responding as she banged around the kitchen. Nothing from Fade. But then, he hadn’t been talking before he came back to Salvation. I was happy the Oakses had let him stay since he was injured and needed treatment.

It didn’t take long before I was bored … and lonely. There was only one remedy. I crept out of bed, careful not to make the floor creak, and pulled the book that had seen me through such troubling times. The Day Boy and the Night Girl offered great comfort; I’d found this book when I first came Topside, and the story had real meaning to me, unlike most of what I read for school. With reverent fingers I traced the design on the cover and the letters. I could decipher the words on my own now. When I touched this, I felt closer to Fade. I heard his voice as he revealed the end of the story, the wagon jostling us ever closer to Salvation, and a new life.

To renew my faith, I read them aloud myself. I hated doing so in class because I was slow, slower than anyone but Stalker. Not elegant. Not emotional, like some, who could make the words sound like they came from real people. I couldn’t.

But I read the words anyway.

“The king gave them the castle and lands of Watho, and there they lived and taught each other for many years that were not long. But hardly had one of them passed, before Nycteris had come to love the day best, because it was the clothing and crown of Photogen, and she saw that the day was greater than the night, and the sun more lordly than the moon; and Photogen had come to love the night best, because it was the mother and home of Nycteris.”

That felt like a promise. Except Fade was a between-child. He’d spent time both above and below. In the most accurate terms, the book meant Stalker and me. He was the one with hair like sunlight and who had been raised where it was bright. I had always lived in the dark. Suddenly unsettled—the book had lost some of its magic—I slipped it back on the shelf.

Then I went back to bed, as even those few steps exhausted me. I must have dozed, despite my best intentions, for I roused to Momma Oaks calling, “The cake will be done soon. Get ready if you can manage.”

“I can!”

It wasn’t a dishonest claim, though it took longer than I expected, mostly because I washed my hair in the basin. I hadn’t known a proper bath since the furlough, and I’d lost count of how many days that had been. I couldn’t go downstairs to greet friends and family looking like this. In order to finish, I had to request more water, which brought Momma Oaks in, clucking.

“Oh, look at your wet head. You’re going to catch your death of cold.”

“I’m fine.”

I eyed her, wishing she would help and not complain. She took the silent hint and fetched several pitchers. On her return, she set a pot of cream on the dresser. “This will reduce the redness and make your skin sting less. You’ve got quite a sunburn, in addition to those stitches.”

“I’ll take care of it before I come down,” I assured her.

She paused at the door. “Rex and his wife came to dinner last week.”

“Did they?”

“He said you called on him during your furlough.”

“I thought I should meet him since he’s my foster brother and all.” I’d also yelled at him; I wondered how much she knew, what he’d told her.

“I’m glad you did. It was beyond time he came home. So … thank you, Deuce. You’ve been a blessing to our house.”

Once Momma Oaks left, I concluded my makeshift bath in a hurry. My strength wasn’t what it should be yet, and I sank down on the edge of the bed, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. While I paused, I did up my hair in an intricate braid, prettier than the twin plaits I’d adopted for fighting, then I tied the bottom with a green ribbon. After that, I investigated the pot my foster mother had left for me. It smelled nice, but it was tacky to the touch. Because I’d promised, I used the sticky cream on my face and hands.

Once I felt a bit better, I went to my closet, but I didn’t choose the blue dress I’d worn to the festival. I might never put that on again. Too many memories came with the silky fabric, making me worry Fade and I would never be together again as we had been that night. Fighting my fear, I donned the green one that matched the ribbon in my hair. I checked my reflection, pronounced myself passable, and made my way downstairs.

There, I found a number of guests waiting for me: Edmund and Momma Oaks, Doc Tuttle, his wife, Tegan, Stalker, his foster father, Smith, and to my relief, Fade. The swelling around his eyes and jaw had gone down enough so I could make out his features again. His movements appeared tentative, as if his ribs pained him. And he didn’t smile at me. He looked away. When they noticed me, everyone spoke at once, murmuring good wishes and congratulations. Dumbstruck, I realized what Momma Oaks had done—and at such short notice too. This was a party. For me. I blinked away sudden, girlish tears.

Edmund took my arm, escorting me to the dining table as if he were just being polite, but I think he saw I could use the support. My stitches pulled, and two of the wounds throbbed with a low heat. But I couldn’t be induced to go back to bed under any circumstances.

“You’re looking much better,” Doc Tuttle said with a jovial smile. “Just in time for a special day, I hear. How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” I answered.

The elders all made noises about how I was growing up, and I didn’t even want to stab them. I didn’t tell them I was grown, and had been for a year. I was distracted by something else entirely.

The pile of presents.

Most had been hastily wrapped, and they weren’t pretty like the parcels at Justine’s house. I didn’t mind at all. Nobody expected me to bleed for these, unlike the gifts that accompanied my scars on naming day. These offerings were arrayed for my pleasure—and to show affection.

“Thank you,” I said, again and again, as I opened them.