Walk a Lonesome Road Page 10

  “You want more than I’ve got to give. More than I want to give.”

  “Yes, I know,” Ren says not unkindly. “I’m just explaining. I’m fucked up, but I’m a special kind of fucked up,” he says, his mouth twisting in self-disgust. “If it’s any consolation, there’s no earthly way I can hurt you with my talent.”

  “What...did you do?” Dek moves a little closer, but is careful not to touch him.

  “I ate it.” Ren gives him a quick, embarrassed smile. “What you were feeling. We can do that. Prefer to eat the nice stuff, but I can absorb your fear, your anger, your hate, as easy as I can your happiness. Haven’t had a chance to do that though,” he adds, mouth lifting briefly in an almost smile.

  Dek knows almost nothing about empaths—their talent has very little military application, and this is all like some kind of black magic to him. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Yeah, it does. But I know how to deal with it mostly, if it’s my choice. It’s the stuff I can’t choose to deal with—all that background anger of yours, their hate of us—that really screws me up. You probably should get out of there now.”

  Dek shakes his head at the sudden change of subject—Ren’s good at doing that to him—and carefully climbs out of the pool. He puts the brace back on and grabs the small travel towel Ren hands him, wiping himself down and enjoying the way his skin glows pinkly with absorbed warmth. He looks up at the sky and realises it won’t be long before they lose the light, and Ren’s not had his own bath. Still naked, he walks over to the tent and gets the bucket they use to melt snow in, and comes back. “Your turn.” The flecks of snow are delicious points of tingle against his skin, but it won’t be long before he chills, so he needs to make this fast.

  He draws the blanket from Ren’s shoulders and hands him the soap, then, before Ren can get cold, he starts to pour hot water over him. Ren splutters and shivers, but then begins to soap himself. Dek keeps the hot water coming, trying to give Ren at least some of the sensation of soaking in the pool, even if he can’t do it for real. As he pours, watching the water streaming down Ren’s snow-pale skin, down the obscenity of the scars and the utter wrongness of his belly, he thinks about what Ren said, about how hard it is for him to be around someone so hostile. It’s like he’s kicked something small and helpless in the guts. Dek’s got so used to his personality being of no importance to anyone, his problems being no concern but his own, he never gave a second’s thought to what this was like for Ren.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and though it’s too low for Ren to hear, he looks up, startled. He coughs as Dek accidentally pours water over his face, and then he smiles.

  “That was nice. What you...how you felt then. It was...warm. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dek says, still confused about how this works. He offers Ren the towel. “Hurry up, snow’s getting harder.”

  The rest of the daylight they have to use for chores—making a shelter to store the drying clothes, carrying water and feed to the urtibes, netting fish in the cooler pools, and collecting some of the plentiful weird but edible purple algae that grows at the edge of the hotter ones, stuff that lives off the rising mist and the minerals. Good for mother and child, Ren says with a straight face.

  They spit the fish on twigs over the fire and eat them whole, with a little sprinkled salt the only flavouring. They’re slightly metallic-flavoured and not the tastiest thing Dek’s ever eaten, but it’s the easiest meal they’ve had since they set out, and the algae isn’t bad, fried in gunhei grease and eaten crisp and crackly straight out of the pan. They give some of it to the animals raw, since Ren says it’s a general tonic, and with food so hard to get out here, Dek won’t waste something that useful.

  “Still can’t believe you learned all this stuff out of books,” Dek says, lying back on the blankets near the fire, and feeling warm and comfortable and full. The best, in fact, he’s felt since they left his house. The dull heat from the rocks under the blankets almost makes him want to sleep right here, curled up and comfortable. If it snows, he’d die, of course, but the idea is definitely tempting.

  “My mother was a botanist,” Ren explains. “Grew up in a house full of plant books.”

  The memory makes his mouth turn down a little, and Dek regrets mentioning it. “I grew up on a small farm,” he says. “Dirt poor. Da sold up and moved south to Tsikeni, started a veecle repair business. I left to join the army soon as I was legal.”

  Ren tilts his head, gives him a smile. “You know, that’s the first information you’ve volunteered about yourself.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Dek growls, reaching for his mug of tea.

  “Oh, don’t get all nasty again, it’s just an observation. So all this outdoor stuff, you learned on the farm?”

  “Some. Some in the army, some since I bought the house. I enjoy it. I can rely on myself, don’t need other people.”

  “Lucky you,” Ren says wryly. “But that house isn’t exactly roughing it. I’ve seen people living worse in Vizinken. A lot worse.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen ‘em. The house belonged to an author and artist—wilderness artist. He lived up here for thirty years. When he died, he had no family so he left the place to Lom...my wife’s uncle, who owns the property next to it. I was looking for a place to live up here, so he let me have it for a fair price. All I had to do was update the appliances.”

  Ren’s grinning. “What?” Dek asks, annoyed at his life being thought so amusing.

  “Nothing, nothing. Just nice to see you so chatty.”

  “Prick.”

  “Yeah, can be. I like your house. But living like that.... I’ve had enough of being alone,” he says with a shiver. He puts his hand on his stomach—something he does a lot now. Probably because the ba...foetus is moving around so much.

  “You think you might keep it?” Dek says, sipping his tea. Ren’s smile slips. “It’s a natural question.”

  “Yeah, but not one I can deal with. I feel...like even thinking about it is being disloyal to Meram.”

  “How old was he when you...you know?”

  “Five,” Ren says, grimacing. “Such a happy little boy. Geya hated being pregnant and considering what she did for a living, that’s pretty ironic. She said she’d never have another kid but I loved the whole business of being a father. Everything, even the bad stuff. She let me get on with it, while she got on with her career. I think...that was when we probably drifted apart. I loved her...but I think she stopped being interested in the things I was. But I had Meram and...everything seemed fine. Then it all wasn’t.” He sits up and swipes at his eyes. “Crap, I wish I could stop this. Fucking hormones.”

  Not hormones, Dek thinks. Hormones aren’t making him feel this sad. “Maybe one day you’ll see him again.”

  Ren turns to him with red eyes, wiping at his nose. “If I live that long. Got to get the parasite out of me first.”

  Dek closes his hand over Ren’s wrist. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” Ren’s confused.

  “Don’t call it that. It’s a baby. Didn’t ask to be in your belly. Can’t help itself any more than the one inside that woman we met.”

  Ren stares at him, and then at Dek’s hand on his wrist. “I...I can’t let myself care. You know all about that, Dek,” he adds unkindly.

  “Yeah. And it was doing you harm. You hating this kid is hurting it. Maybe they can sense it. What if it’s an empath too?”

  “We don’t even know it’s a human being,” Ren snaps. “For all I know it’s Fei hon Detel’s child, or a genetic experiment, or a baby barchin, or anything. I’m not going to care about a...a thing.”

  “That working out for you? Hating it like that?”

  “Don’t try and analyse me, Dek, you’re too fucked up.”

  “You do it all the time, and you’re fucked up as me. Snow shoes fit either foot, you know.”

  Ren shakes his head at him. “You’re something, you really are. I liked it better when you d
idn’t talk at all.”

  “Fine by me,” Dek says, finishing off his tea, and getting up to swill it out. He takes their dishes and eating utensils and cleans them quickly but thoroughly outside the shelter, hangs them up to dry. He uses the latrine and wanders back, intending to tell Ren it’s time to hit the tent.

  He finds him staring into the fire. “Sorry,” Ren says. “I didn’t mean to be bitchy. Well, I did, but I know I shouldn’t be. This the most contact you’ve had with people in years?”

  Dek sits down again. “Over six. Not enjoying it much. Maybe sometimes,” he corrects honestly, thinking of this evening with its easy quiet conversation, and Ren smiles. “But I don’t want it. I want you gone.”

  “Yes, you said, and I know why. I’m being selfish because I need...something to hang onto, or I’ll go crazy. Start running around the woods bare naked, painting my face with berry juice.” Dek arches an eyebrow at the image. “Won’t be pretty.”

  “Can think of better sights,” Dek allows and Ren laughs a little. “Don’t know what I can do to help. I haven’t got it in me to do it.”

  “You do, you just don’t know it. Even when you....” He extends a hand, carefully so not to spook Dek, and lays it gently on Dek’s wrist. “Just that. Lying next to me. Talking to me. You don’t know what that means after these four years. No one touched me when they weren’t trying to make me hurt. When you helped me wash today, I...I was crying, I was so happy just to be treated so kindly. Sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable.”

  Dek doesn’t know how it makes him feel, except a little scared at being so important to someone he’s desperately trying to get rid of. “You really sleep with my brother?”

  Ren laughs again and removes his hand. “Well now, that’ll give you something to think about for the next few weeks, won’t it?”

  “Prick.”

  “Yep. You ready for bed?”

  Lying behind Ren that night, Dek wonders how often his nightmares have been absorbed by Ren’s weird talent, and what they feel like to someone who can do that. Feels amazed that he, with his crippled body and mind, can give anything back to this damaged man. He didn’t think he mattered anymore, doesn’t think he makes any difference to anyone. Had thought the most impact he’s going to have in the future is when he dies and leaves his money to Tik’s boys. But here’s someone who needs him, needs what fragments of comfort he can give, and who’s grateful, desperately grateful, for what he sees as kindness even when it’s nothing of the sort.

  It’s dangerous. Ren can hurt him if Dek lets him close, and Dek’s afraid of only one thing now, and that’s more pain. If he knew then what he knows now, he might very well have left Ren to slip into coma and an easy death that day. But he didn’t, and he made a promise, and now he has to suck it up. “Don’t get used to it,” he whispers against Ren’s sleeping back.

  Part 2

  He’d have lingered at the pools, given his preference, because they’re both feeling more cheerful and comfortable from the warmth and being clean. But they’re already behind schedule and on a deadline, with, as Ren points out, the emphasis on ‘dead’ if they miss it, so after one more soak for Dek and bath for Ren, they head off. They’ve actually begun their descent, but the change is gradual, as is the impact of the thaw—barely noticeable at these altitudes. The main difference is the sun, which breaks through the clouds more than on the other side of the mountains. It’s more a bloody nuisance than anything else since it’s hanging too low in the sky to provide any real warmth, though more than enough to blind them in the mornings as they head east. The majesty of the gorgeous red and gold sunrise reflected on the gigantic snowfields soon wears thin when they have to squint their way along icy paths and hope like hell the urtibes with their woolly fringes can see where they’re going.

  The going is just as hard downhill as up, and more dangerous—they spend more time on foot, easing down tricky paths which have been used for thousands of years, but have also seen many deaths. Two days after the hot pools, they meet another group of refugees who have a worsening story of the war to tell them. Worryingly, the insurgents are starting to strike west, into the territory through which Dek and Ren plan to travel—troops are being sent to strengthen the defence of key facilities and towns. Pindonis can normally travel through Febkeinzian without special papers, but Ren’s lack of ID is a worry. They’ll have to avoid contact with the military.

  They give the refugees instructions and advice, and Dek does his damndest to convince the family not to even think about it until the snows melt, but he has no success. They’re Kundais like the others have been, the minority ethnic group which is being repressed both by the majority Thenas, and the other large minority, the Xirs. The Xirs are the ones behind the separatist insurgency. The Kundais are being squeezed, and see little option but to get out of Febkeinzian completely. It’s a poor country, and has been politically chaotic for decades, though full-out war has only broken out over the last three years. Previously, when Dek was stationed there, hostile activity was confined to random terrorist attacks and one attempted and quickly suppressed coup. The insurgents have a new leader, apparently, who’s given focus and a lethal unity to the disparate groups of rebels. Dek’s very glad he’s not stationed here any longer—it’s another Denebwei in the making, though this time, at least it’s not a Pindoni colony under threat.

  “I’ll be so fucking glad to get off these mountains,” Ren says wearily as they set up camp four days after they leave the springs. They’ve come to a small alpine field, a rare flat area among the crags, and Dek’s called a halt early because Ren’s exhausted, and walking’s becoming not only agony but dangerous for him. Dek’s bad leg is also demanding a rest too, and they could do with setting some traps and doing some foraging, letting the animals do some free grazing, scraping for the shoots of grass that in a few weeks will cover this entire area. There’s a stream trickling down from under the snow—the thaw is taking hold. Now they’re below the tree line again, things should be easier.

  “Four more days should see us out,” Dek says. “Make up some dough, I’ll build the fire.” They’re nearly right out of flour, down to what the poacher bequeathed them, and what’s left will make camp bread for tonight and that’s it. They’ve been hoarding nuts against this contingency, but it’s not the same, and Ren’s appetite has taken an odd turn, demanding stranger and stronger flavours than they have in their stores. It’s easier to add bitter herbs to bread than nuts, but Ren will have to manage at least until they get to the lowland and fresh supplies. Dek spends nearly as much time thinking about Ren’s digestion as he does about the path, and he doesn’t know how women do this. Neither does Ren, he admits.

  Pulling out the camp stool and their mixing bowl, Ren gets to work, his big hands crumbing the flour and fat. While he’s preparing the dough, Dek fetches him the makings of the supper soup, ready to add to the boiling water they don’t yet have. He’ll have to leave Ren to it since they’re low on wood and he’ll need to fetch some. He could do with a couple of saplings for his traps, so he moves down slope a little, towards a denser stand of tall trees, growing straight here because they’re protected from the vicious winds that howl up the gorges further up the mountain.

  The snow is lighter underfoot here, the canopy dense enough that he has to use the windup torch so he can see where he’s going. He finds what he’s looking for, and considers this a good place to set a couple of snares—already they’ve seen the scat and tracks of wekegs and nombas, forest foragers and though small, good enough eating to make it worth catching them. He cuts a sapling down and makes a see-saw snare on what looks like a wekeg run near a rocky outcrop, and with any luck, that will provide at least one meal for them the next day.

  He’s just cutting down a second tree, when he hears a distinctive cough-grunt that makes all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Kildit. He’s only heard this sound twice before, but it’s not something a man forgets. Not when he knows what kildits can
do.

  They aren’t supposed to be active yet, but sometimes tjuwais come out of hibernation early if their body fat runs too low, and kildits are related, so maybe that’s what’s happened. If he’s right, it’ll be starving after its winter sleep, and mean with it. As he draws his pistol, his mind replays all the horror stories he’s heard about these mountain carnivores—how men disappear, and all that’s ever found is a foot, or maybe a chewed arm. How they’ll charge in a pack and can take down wild urtibes five times their size and weight, tearing out throats with a single bite, or ripping out leg arteries so the animal bleeds to death in minutes. He’s thinking of Ren a quarter-demidec away, oblivious and slow with tiredness. He can’t let him be surprised by a kildit.

  He goes perfectly still and quiet, trying to see, hear, if it’s close. A few seconds later, he hears the cough again, but he can’t tell direction because of the trees. It’s close, that’s all he knows. He turns to move cautiously upslope—and finds the black-furred kildit two hundred midecs behind him, thin and mean, the mane erect and long teeth bared. It sees Dek at the same time Dek sees him, and begins its charge with an angry snarl. Dek can’t hope to outrun it—he pumps three shots into it before it’s on him, bearing him back and over the outcrop. The last thing he remembers is grabbing desperately for anything to break his fall, and thinking he’s probably not going to make it out of this one this time.