The Garden of Darkness

With a powdering of white, the surroundings looked different; trees glittered against the grey backdrop. Clare felt as if she were awakening after a long sleep. She felt—better.

“It’s good to be on the road,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Jem. “I was thinking that, too.”

They settled into a rhythm of walking by Sheba and the loaded cart during the day, setting up camp at twilight, rising at dawn. They saw no one—neither delayed onset survivors nor the Cured. But the land was teeming with animals. Several deer, before scenting Bear, looked curiously at Sheba, and one of them took a step towards the horse before bounding away.

Bear kept himself well fed, and they sometimes shared his messy meals.





AND THEN THEY found a house that was unlike the others.

The house was set back from the road and looked closed and lonely, yet there was no snow on the path to the door.

“Somebody’s here,” Clare said.

“I bet it’s not a Cured,” said Jem. “I bet it’s someone like us. I can’t see any Cured shoveling snow.”

They knocked at the door, and there was no answer. They tried the door, but it was locked.

“You know,” said Clare. “I think I’ve been here before. A long time ago. Or something.”

They moved back under the trees. They gave Sheba the feed bucket, but they didn’t unload any of the camping equipment, and they didn’t take off her harness. Jem was on edge; Sarai and Mirri were clearly nervous, but Clare felt a strange lassitude, and Bear lay down under a tree.

Ramah came out of the forest, not the house, and she looked like a figure out of a myth. Her hair scrolled down her back. She had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder, and she held a dead rabbit—its blood had trickled onto her hand. Bear stood up, but he didn’t growl.

Ramah was dressed strangely. She was wrapped against the cold not only with layers of clothing, but with the skins of some kind of animal as well. She looked gaunt and tired, but she didn’t seem wary of them at all. As soon as she was close enough, she spoke.

“I’m Ramah. You’re welcome here.” She gestured at Clare. “Lift your hair.”

“What’s wrong with her hair?” asked Jem.

“I’m the only one with my hair down,” said Clare. “Ramah can’t see my neck.”

“Why should she have to see your neck?” asked Jem.

“I have to know she’s not a Cured,” said Ramah. “I have to see that she isn’t wearing the mark.” Ramah stood, patiently, as if the world could wear down around her before she chose to move. She looked about ten years old.

Clare pulled her hair back. Then Ramah herself turned her own head from side to side. There were no marks on her neck.

“You can stay with us, if you like,” said Ramah. “I don’t have much food. This rabbit. Some cornmeal.”

Mirri stared at the goatskins on Ramah’s legs.

“Is that fur?” she asked.

Ramah smiled for the first time. “It’s goat hair. Let’s go in. You need to meet Bird Boy.”

Ramah took them into the house. Coals in the fireplace were burning a hot deep red, and the over-all temperature was almost warm.

Clare sniffed at the air.

“You can probably smell the goat,” said Ramah. “At least it isn’t raining anymore—when the goat’s wet, the house stinks.”

“It’s pretty strong now,” said Mirri.

“Bird Boy?” Ramah called up the stairs. “We have visitors.”

A moment later a boy came down the staircase. He had pheasant feathers in his hair and what looked like a necklace of crow feathers around his neck. His arms were raised as if he imagined they were wings, but he was making a considerable clumping noise as he descended. Even though Bear reacted with only mild curiosity, Jem pushed Clare roughly behind him. Sarai and Mirri were already near the front door.

“Hello,” said the boy. As he lowered his arms, he looked much smaller. As Clare looked on in disbelief, Bird Boy knelt down and embraced Bear, who not only tolerated the attention, but licked the boy’s face. Then Bear began the deep grumbling sound that to Clare meant he was utterly content. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“It’s just the two of us living here,” said Ramah. “There are two Cureds somewhere nearby—they’re very unstable.”

“Very unstable,” said Bird Boy, nodding and standing up.

“My dog,” said Clare. “He’s—he’s not tame.”

“Oh,” said Bird Boy, and he got down and hugged Bear some more, until Bear was on his back, and Bird Boy was scratching his stomach.

“I guess Bird Boy’s all right,” said Jem.

Clare just watched. Bear had let no one but her touch him like that. She might have been jealous, but she sensed then, and she later knew it to be true, that Bird Boy communicated with Bear on an entirely different level than the rest of them. Their conversation took place on a wavelength that only the two of them could hear.





RAMAH HAD FALLEN in with Bird Boy when she was travelling. Where to, she didn’t say, where from, she didn’t say either.