“Shut up, son of a whore!” I scream. My cries echo through the chamber. A few figures huddled by a distant fire stir. I push myself to my hands and knees and crawl. I feel light-headed. The pain is searing through my body. Soon I am groveling in front of the frozen igloo of the dark healer.
“Faria,” I call out. No answer, no sign that anyone dwells here at all. Yet the flickering light of a fire dances within. The old man would make me beg before helping, wouldn’t he?
I’m not above begging. There is no pride or dignity left. I have nothing to lose but my life, which I will lose anyway if I do nothing. I pull my body through the entrance of his dwelling. I have nothing left.
The dark man gazes into the flames. “I knew you would return,” he says. “You did not heed my warning.”
I collapse, utterly destroyed.
Faria drags me close to the fire.
“What’s your price now, healer?” I ask.
“You have paid enough today. We’ll worry about the difference tomorrow.”
I cry like a babe. “When does it stop?” I ask through salted tears. “When does it stop? The pain? The suffering?”
“It never stops” is his quiet answer. Not unkind, but truthful. I feel something jab into my back, and my vision goes dark. Then I feel nothing.
I wake. I’m lying under some sort of animal hide. I feel a dull ache below, but it’s not the scorching fire of before. I prop myself up on my elbows. It hurts.
The dark, painted man sits where I first found him, meditating by the fire. “Be careful.” His voice is ominous. “The stitches will take some time to dissolve. Limit your activity. Your body needs to heal.”
“I’m not sure Jinam Shank or Vaarkson will care,” I mutter.
“Stay with your gang. Do not wander alone. Stay out of any place where you could be caught on your own.” He points to the igloo exit. Rags and furs sit on the ground there. “Used garments, furs from off-world, as well as nareel and lion-seal hides from the North Sea. They come in the monthly shipments. I collect them from the backs of those I cannot save.”
I dress myself in the layers of a dead man’s clothes. “Thank you.” I duck to leave through the crawl space but pause. “Why did you save me?” I ask.
“All the gangs use my services.”
“That’s no answer,” I say.
“You remember why you helped your friend? Toshi, was it?” he asks.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” I say bitterly.
“Knowing he betrayed you, has your answer changed?”
I should have let him die, I think. “No,” I say instead. “He would have died if I didn’t help. There’s no way I could have known what would happen.”
“You’d do it again?”
“Of course I wouldn’t do it again!” I shout. I wince. The outburst causes pain inside, but I’m sick of the shaman’s enigmatic questioning. “There’s no use dwelling on something that can never be,” I mutter.
The old man stares into the flames.
“You should have let me die.” I stare at the ground.
“I would,” he says. “But you wouldn’t let yourself die.”
A beat passes.
“Will anything happen to Vaarkson or the Haulers?” I ask.
“That depends on you, Edmon Leontes.”
I return to the Picker camp, but there’s no fanfare at my arrival. I take a seat outside the circle of men around the fire. A few steal furtive glances in my direction, but no one says a word. Perhaps I can forget it ever happened. I pull the furs Faria has given me close and try to steal slumber before the call of the morning alarm.
“You.”
I wake to the scarred visage of Jinam Shank. He’s flanked by Carrick and a few others. I look at him through bloodshot eyes.
“You will never speak of what has occurred!” he hisses. “Your shame and weakness would bring danger to all of us.”
I’m an object of shame and humiliation.
I want to respond that if he’s too weak to protect a member of his own gang, if he would rather cover up what’s happened, then he’s as vulnerable as anyone would think anyway. He doesn’t deserve to be foreman.
It’s not the time. Yet. I keep my mouth shut, but I remember his words.
“Do you understand?” he asks.
I understand this: There will be no justice, unless I seek it myself.
“Do you understand?” he repeats.
I nod and roll over onto my side.
The next day’s alarm sounds. I follow the line of Pickers to the tram. I feel looks of disgust whenever the men pass their eyes over me. I was singled out on the auction block because of my parentage. I was tested and forced to kill. Now I’m an object of scorn. They all know what has happened regardless of Jinam Shank’s warning to never speak of it.
The day is spent in the dim light of my helmet fireglobe. Again, I pick at rocks. I move slowly, not wanting to tear any of the stitches Faria has made internally. My haul at the end of the day is meager, and I draw more glares.
We return to the upper caverns. The crowd surges forward from the train car, and I lose track of my gang. I look for Shank, for Carrick, anyone I recognize, but the sea of people is like a rushing force of nature. I’m caught in the human current pressing through the tunnel. Soon, I realize I’m surrounded on all sides by men of the Hauler Gang. They jab legs out, trying to trip me. Someone grabs my ear. Another slaps my face. They’re herding me away from the entrance to the village and toward one of the dark dead-end tributaries.
It’s happening again! I need to get out. I’m hyperventilating. I’m losing all focus. I catch the eyes of one of Vaarkson’s mooks, a man with a snaggletooth leering at me. Vaarkson cannot be far behind. I feel the looming presence of the big man somewhere in the pack.
Keep your head, fool, my father’s voice whispers. I grit my teeth and shake out the fear. I see a guard with a humbaton ahead.
I have to act. Play the fool now to survive. “Guard!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Help me!”
The guard looks in my direction. I shove toward him against the human river.
“Help me!” I break free from the morass and fall at the man’s feet. I grab his leg like a sniveling child.
“Get off me!” he shouts contemptuously.
I cling like a mussel to a rock in the sea. It works. The Haulers who have been trying to corral me break off and head into the village cavern.
“Get off!” The guard brings the butt end of his humbaton down on my head.
I black out for a second as I hit the ground. When I look up through blurred vision, he holds the stun muzzle of the weapon in my face. I raise my hands in protection. “I’m sorry, m’lord. I’m sorry,” I grovel.
“Get out of here, worm,” he says, then spits.
I scurry toward the village with a sigh of relief. My head throbs, but I’m alive and safe. I follow the flow to the Ration Bar, grab a tray, and take up my place in line. I’m shoved continuously by those behind me until I reach the counter. The server slaps a ration pack onto my tray. I greedily tear the foil open, but I’m shoved again. I almost spill my only food for the day onto the icy floor.
I move through the mess tables protecting my pack like a mother seal. I pass the Haulers’ table, and they snicker. Toshi eyes me nervously. He’s frightened, alone, even as he’s surrounded by his new gang.