Revenge and the Wild(22)

“Alley shouldn’t have come,” Westie said, wondering what she had done all those years ago to push him away. She remembered the day it had happened, but not the event, or the words she’d said that had led to the demise of their friendship.

It was on her fourteenth birthday. Alistair was a month from turning seventeen. Nigel had insisted on inviting all the teenagers from town to her party, saying she and Alistair spent far too much time alone together and hadn’t been properly socialized. Westie knew most of the kids from her short time in school, but Alistair had been homeschooled and never met any of them.

They all went down to the swimming hole. Westie was splashing around with Isabelle when she noticed Alistair sitting on the bank alone, wearing his mask to hide his scars from the others.

“Alley? What are you doing over there alone? Come swim with us,” Westie said. She splashed at him, but the water didn’t reach.

He stood up and headed toward her, but before he made it, a boy came up behind her, grabbed her waist, and dunked her. By the time she rose from the water, Alistair was gone.

She left the others to go look for him and eventually found him in his room, alone, staring out the window. Standing in the doorway, she knocked. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were impossible to read.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. His mask hissed. “Did someone say something about your mask? ’Cause if they did, I swear I’ll knock all their teeth out.”

She smiled at him, hoping to see his eyes squint, but they remained emotionless. He took several steps toward her. Thinking he was going to go with her back to the party, she took a step back, but instead, he closed the door without saying a word.

Months went by before he spoke to her. Eventually, he started talking to her again, but it was never the same. He stopped taking his mask off, and they no longer swam at the hole, or lay in the field at night counting stars. Every time she’d try to touch him, he’d shrug away from her.

He’d been her rock, her only source of comfort, and then he was gone. They lived in a big house like strangers. Each day of silence caused her heart to break a little more until the pain of her loss turned into an old friend. In Alistair’s absence, the nightmares of her dead family returned, and Westie got into the habit of hiding from them behind a bottle. It was also when she became determined to leave Nigel’s mansion and seek the cannibals who had killed her kin.

Westie felt a deep ache from the memory and looked down so Bena wouldn’t see it reflected on her face.

“Alley’s a distraction,” Westie said. “If we come across creatures and I die, it’ll be because of him.”

Bena didn’t even pretend interest. She was Westie’s oldest friend, but when it came to matters of the heart, Bena was as deaf as Alistair was mute.

“Many travelers have taken this road recently,” Bena said, ignoring Westie’s outburst.

“Is that bad?”

“Could be if they’re bandits. We should avoid the road. I know a path.”

“I don’t know which is worse, bandits or rattlesnakes.”

Bena gave her a cool look. She was being as stuffy as Alistair.

“A rattlesnake will not rape you, take your gold, and leave you for the creatures.”

“Fine.” Westie rolled her head back, letting the sun kiss her face. “Rattlesnakes it is. They can’t possibly be worse company than the two of you.”

A cold finger walked up Westie’s spine as they passed the blue-painted trees that stood as a warning, letting human travelers know they were leaving the safety of Wintu protection. She looked up at the dome, saw the smooth curve of it like a bell jar over the town, where it had stood for eight years. When settlers had first come to the area, the Wintu—as a peace offering—conjured the dome to protect the settlers from creatures, with the agreement that the Wintu’s sacred sites were off-limits. Every time Westie left that protection, she felt like she was running naked through a rose garden. It was only a matter of time before things got dangerous.

They traveled north along a game trail next to the Sacramento River. By the time the sun fell behind the mountain, Westie’s stomach was in a riot from nerves.

They cooled their saddles near the river for the night, far enough away from the rushing water so that they could hear anyone approach but close enough to catch the breeze.

Westie was laying out her bedroll when Bena sat down in front of a pile of wood and debris she’d gathered to build a fire. Whispering words to the earth in Wintu, she held her hands over the wood. Westie had seen her do the same thing countless times. Each time a fire would roar to life without a single spark. This time it didn’t work. Bena’s jaw clenched, and she tried again.

“Shit!” Bena said, and stood up.

Any other time, hearing Bena use a cuss word would’ve made Westie laugh, but there was nothing funny about seeing her friend so upset.

With a defeated moan, Bena said, “I’m going hunting.”

While Bena was away, Westie lit the fire, and Alistair brushed the horses. Westie sat on a fallen tree near the fire, watching him in the saffron glow.

“I’d lend you a hand, but it seems I’ve grown attached to it.” She waved her clockwork arm at him. “Unlike some of those with mechanical parts that are removable.” She leaned her head back and grinned even though her face wanted to do just the opposite. “That breeze is something to smile about. Feels nice against my face.”