A Girl Called Badger

EIGHT



Flora’s two sons led Wilson and the tribal girl east through dry fields of corn. At a small concrete pillar the tall boys waved farewell and turned back. Wilson and the girl ran as fast as they could until Lagos was out of sight.

The road had broken to fragments and weeds covered it like mange. On either side the land was flat and open with few trees. To the south lay the humps of forested hills. A range of granite mountains glowered from the east.

The day was crisp and bright. Grasshoppers buzzed away as Wilson and the girl brushed by the stalks of tall weeds. A brown hare stood and watched the pair from the corner of his eye then bounced away.

Wilson cleared his throat. “What’s your name?”

“I knew it! You speak Anglan. Where are you from?”

“The western mountains.”

Without warning the girl grabbed Wilson’s arm and pointed. “Wolf!”

Wilson laughed. “That’s not a wolf, it’s a dog. Anyway, it won’t hurt you.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve given it food.” He whistled at the animal. “It hasn’t killed me even once.”

“How could it–”

“That’s a joke.”

The dog came a few steps closer. Wilson pulled a strip of meat from his pack and dropped it in plain sight. He continued walking east along the broken trail and the girl ran after him.

She touched the fringe of his jacket with her fingertips.

“Are you a god?”

Wilson snorted. “What kind of question is that? If I were a god, why would I walk and not fly? Why would I let savages crack me on the head? There’s only one god and he’s certainly not like me. He doesn’t wander the earth like a lost duckling.”

“Of course there’s the one god, but there are also gods like you.”

“You still haven’t told me your name. If I’m a god, wouldn’t I already know it?”

“My name’s Kaya.”

“That’s it? I thought tribal names were longer.”

She blushed and slapped him on the arm. “We’ve just met. You should know I can’t tell you that!”

“I’m sorry. Now Kaya, we’ve got a full day of travel ahead of us, so tell me about these gods. If I’m one of them I’d better start learning.”

The girl pulled a long blade of grass. “Teacher has many stories. The houses and roads are theirs.” She pointed with her grass blade at a rusted, overgrown heap. “They flew from place to place in those metal boxes. The gods flattened mountains and dug every tunnel and lake. What their minds wished, they created. Every part of the land was owned by the gods, and the wolf and the bear hid in caves.”

“Go on,” said Wilson. “Where did they go?”

“They created many good things and controlled everything they could see, but became bored. Together, the gods made a jar to hold all the evils of life and hid this under a mountain far to the west. Only a woman could touch it. A young girl called Adith was tricked into opening it by Lute, a man who wanted to control the power of this jar. But instead the evils broke loose and spread upon the earth. It killed the gods and destroyed their homes.”

“If it killed them where did you come from?”

“Adith of course. She and Lute survived and had many children.”

“I still don’t understand why you think I’m a god.”

“Don’t be silly. You said you’re from the western mountains. That’s where the gods came from.”

“I’ve heard strange things before but that’s one of the better ones,” said Wilson.

Kaya pouted. “Stop trying to pretend. You’re wearing His sign!”

“What? Where?”

She pointed to Wilson’s necklace. “That one of course.”

“It’s a cross.”

“And the sign of Lute,” said Kaya.

“Lute? We don’t call it that.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the cross?”

“No, I do, but it has nothing to do with this ‘Lute’ character.”

“What a strange god you are, Wilson.”

“If I’m a god why am I becoming so annoyed with your crazy stories?”

Kaya smiled. “Of course you get annoyed and have feelings, don’t be silly. Gods do what they like. If you wanted to fly you could. What else ... gods can be hurt but they get better in a single day. Also, you also don’t become sick like the rest of us. You have secrets and spells.”

“Spells are for children and old women.”

Kaya squinted at Wilson and wrinkled her nose. “I’ve caught on to your secret already. You can’t fool me with jokes and pretending.”

Wilson sighed. “Changing the subject––can you sing? Let’s take turns.”

Kaya knew several old tribal songs and Wilson traded hymns with her as they followed the road beside piles of rusted metal and the delicate brown skeletons of buildings.

“Why do you say there is only one god?” asked Kaya, after an hour.

“In my village we believe in the one true god and his book. He created the sky and the earth, men and women.”

“You are speaking of Kimela. She created the first gods. Her husband died and she turned herself into a butterfly,” said Kaya.

“I knew you’d say something like that. We believe the one true god created us, sent his son to save us, and prepared a place for us to go when we die.”

“That’s strange!”

“What’s strange is your story of Adith. These ‘old gods’ were just normal men and women,” said Wilson.

“Normal to you but not me,” said Kaya.

“They died from sickness, most of them, a very bad sickness created by other men. You think the old times were fantastic but they fought each other just like we do.”

“The gods had tribes just like us?”

“You could say that. One tribe created the sickness and it killed many people. This caused all the tribes to fight together. Fire from the sky killed many of those that were left.”

“But not the gods in your tribe.”

“The people in my village were very smart. Their plans helped us survive the sickness and fires.”

Kaya laughed. “Now I believe you’re a god even more.”

“I have a feeling I won’t change your mind.” Wilson paused. “How were you captured by the Lagos?”

“I walked west of my village with friends. We gathered herbs for Teacher, but the strange Lagos men were there. We ran but they were too fast. They took the strong ones like me and my friend. The rest they …”

“I’m sorry,” said Wilson. “They brought you to Lagos?”

“Not at first. Many were chasing us from my village, so we separated to small groups. After a few days of hiding and running we came to Lagos. Those bastards treated me worse than a dog.”

“How long ago?”

“Not more than one moon, maybe two.”

Wilson stopped in his tracks and stared at Kaya.

The girl shook her head. “What?”

“Your friend’s name is Mina.”

“Yes! But how did you know?”

Wilson spread his hands. “I am a god after all.”

She tried to kneel in the grass but Wilson grabbed her hands and pulled her up.

“I know your friend because I saved her from the Lagos. They came near my village, probably chased by your people.”

The wide-eyed Kaya pulled at Wilson’s jacket. “Is she at your village?”

Wilson grimaced, thinking about his fights with Father Reed.

“For a time she was, but our people are taking her back to David. I was trying to find them when the Lagos–”

“They took her home?!!”

Kaya ran down the path at top speed. Wilson caught up and gently pulled back on her arm.

“We have to cross that ridge between the mountains,” he said. “Save your energy.”

“I don’t understand. If she was living in the beautiful cloud-home of the gods, why would she leave?”

“To see her father. Mina wants to partner with a friend of mine.”

“No! Did he use his magic on her?”

“He must have used something. Don’t look at me like that, it’s a joke!”



THEY FOLLOWED THE ROAD over the mountain to a yellow plain that stretched to the horizon. In the east rose a pillar of smoke.

Kaya pointed. “My spirit-home.”

As they crossed the heat-shimmered grassland it became obvious the smoke wasn’t from cooking fires. The smell of burning wood floated on the breeze along with the sharp crack of firearms.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Wilson.

He shared the rest of a water-skin with Kaya and they jogged eastward across the flatlands. The overgrown, picked-over carcasses of old machines dotted the waves of grass on both sides of the road.

The open fields gave way to dry hills scattered with spruce and pine, and the pair climbed toward the smoke. Kaya pointed out fields of corn, squash, and beans planted together. A steady and constant snap of firearms rolled from the north side of the road.

Wilson heard a violent rustle and pulled Kaya into the cover of tall grass. Men shouted nearby. A pair of tribals in yellow buckskin exploded from the bushes and legged it across the road.

“Westcreeks,” whispered Kaya.

A shot cracked and one of the fleeing tribals screamed. A man with a rifle pushed through the high grass. He wore a brown shirt with a white cross sewn on the left chest and a wide-brimmed hat. Hidden in the grass, Wilson could have reached out and touched his black leather boots.

The man pushed forward a metal lever that protected the trigger, put a cartridge in the open breech, and pulled the lever back. He aimed across the road and fired a spume of smoke and sparks from the rifle. When he fumbled and dropped the reload cartridge at his feet, he saw Wilson and Kaya.

“Holy cats!” the man yelled, and shoved the cartridge in the breech.

Kaya scrambled up from the thick grass. “Stop! It’s me!”

“Kaya? Where did you come from?”

She pointed at Wilson. “He saved me.”

“We thought you were dead!”

As bullet whizzed past, both Kaya and the man ducked their heads.

“What’s going on?” Wilson asked him in English.

The man shook his head. “Stay here.”

He reloaded his rifle and dashed across the road. Wilson heard the crack of his rifle twice and the hollow boom of a tribal gun. The man returned and both Wilson and Kaya stood up.

“Creeks tried to burn us out,” said the man. “Most of the village is fighting the fire.”

Wilson held out his hand. “The name’s Wilson.”

The man shook hands firmly and backed away. “No time to talk. Kaya, take him and help with the fire.”

He crossed the road and pushed through the manzanita bushes. Wilson and Kaya walked north and climbed over a rise toward the smoke.

A village surrounded by dry, cultivated fields lay before them, larger than Lagos and protected by a palisade of gray pine driven into the ground and spiked at the top. A pair of square towers stood inside the walls at the north and south.

Between Wilson and the walled village lay a blackened field and a line of flames throwing up gouts of smoke. A strong breeze whipped flying embers into a row of villagers who passed buckets from a stream to the front edge of the smoke. Men swung the wooden buckets and the flying curves of water disappeared with a hiss. Other villagers swatted the embers with straw brooms or turned up the earth with shovels to create a fire-break.

Wilson and Kaya ran into the thick smoke and spent hours dumping water on the fast-spreading fire. Most villagers could stand only a few minutes of the heat before having to stumble away, arms over their faces. Wilson looked but saw no familiar faces from Station.

At last they broke through the fire line and fought from the blackened areas with the wind at their backs. In the late afternoon the wind changed direction and clouds brought sheets of rain. The last flames met a gasping, undignified end.

Throughout the day Kaya’s fellow villagers hugged her and thanked Wilson. With the fires out, people crowded around the pair as they walked to the walled village. Wilson did his best to stay apart and stared at clumps of people scattered across the blackened, rain-soaked earth.

In the distance five figures crossed a field. Wilson recognized one of the figures from the long, easy strides and began to jog in her direction. As he ran through the damp grass the people in the group turned to look. One dropped a shovel and rushed toward him. She collided into Wilson with a squeal and knocked both of them to the muddy ground.

She kissed him. “Where did you come from?!!”

“You’ll have to ask my mother, she won’t tell me,” said Wilson.

Badger kissed him again. “You bastard. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more. I guess that’s why I’m here.”

They held each other like it had been a year instead of a week.

“Who else is with you?”

Wilson shook his head. “I came by myself.”

“You’re mad! That sounds like something I would do.”

“Well, now there are two of us.”

Badger scrambled to her feet and helped Wilson out of the mud.

“Whatever happened the last few days, you got the worst of it,” she said. “Looks like a mountain cat had her way with you then dragged your face through a thorn bush.”

“Why thank you, love. You, on the other hand, are more beautiful than ever.”

“I’m covered in dirt!”

“Just how I like it.”

Footsteps squished in the soft earth behind them. Four hunters from Station ran up, covered in soot and mud.

“Wilson! What’s wrong?” asked Liu.

“Nothing. I’m going to Springs with you.”

Carter, an older hunter, stared wide-eyed. “Founder’s boots, Wilson. You followed us?”

“In a roundabout way.”

With arms spread, Badger pushed Wilson and the amazed hunters to the village. “We can talk story during dinner. Right now I’m starving.”

Kaya waited at a pair of massive wooden doors in the palisade wall, apparently the main entrance for the village. She saw the group approach and quickly tied her wet chestnut hair back with a square of yellow cloth. Villagers who had fought the fire greeted Kaya with hugs and happy, loud voices, then entered the gate.

“Wilson savisto, are these your friends from the west?”

Wilson nodded. “Kaya, meet Kira, Martinez, Liu, Carter, and Mansard.”

Kaya spread the ripped skirt of her mud-covered, formerly white dress and bowed gracefully.

Badger laughed. “You always catch the pretty ones, Will.”

“Don’t be like that! The Lagos captured Kaya and freed her––I just happened to be going the same direction.”

Badger grabbed his arm in mock surprise. “Of course! It must have been ... destiny!”

She waved goodbye to Kaya and led Wilson through the open gate.

Fine gravel covered the streets and on each side lay a walkway of pine boards. In contrast to the muddy alleys of Lagos everything on display was neat and well-organized. Wilson recognized a smithy, leather workshops, and storage for grain. A pair of matrons in black stopped in mid-sentence when the group from Station walked by. Others knelt on the walkway or touched Wilson’s sleeve like it was made of gold. The men of the village wore plain brown shirts with a sewn cross. The women favored dresses with patterns in fine silver thread. Some villagers carried books and most had pistols stuck in their belts. A few men carried single-shot rifles like the one Wilson had seen earlier.

Badger stopped at a wooden house raised half a meter above the ground while the rest of the group continued down the street. She opened the door and led Wilson to a small room that contained a narrow bed, a washbasin, and white towels.

“This is your room,” she said.

“Why can’t I stay with you?”

Badger shook her head. “You can’t––only partnered couples can sleep together.”

Wilson groaned. “More stupid rules.”

“And here’s one from me––you need a bath. I’ll get the hot water.”

She returned in a few minutes with two steaming pots.

“That was fast.”

“They have a water boiler,” Badger said. “Looks strange but it works.”

“Ladies first.”

“No, this is just for you.” She left one of the steaming pots with Wilson. He took a bucket of cold water in the corner and mixed it with water from the pot, then washed himself with soft yellow soap.

A stack of folded clothing lay outside the washroom and Wilson changed into a white long-sleeved shirt and brown trousers. He ripped long strips from a towel and wrapped his arm, then covered the fading marks with his shirt sleeve.

“How’s that lizard bite?”

Badger stood behind him, hair washed and brushed to her shoulders. The soot was gone and her face glowed pink. She wore a yellow and white printed dress over trousers.

“It’s better. The last few days haven’t helped.”

Badger put her arms around his neck.

“I’m thrilled to see you,” she said, kissing him. “But did you eat a fairy mushroom or something?”

“I don’t feel crazy, but it’s possible. None of this seems real, especially with such a pretty girl in my arms.”

“You don’t think I can take care of myself?”

“I know you can. I still had to do it, Kira.”

“But–”

“You’re the most important person in my life right now. Why would I trust anyone else with that? The journey to Springs won’t be easy. Some of them, maybe even Reed himself, will give up. I guess it sounds crazy but as long as we’re together I don’t care.”

“It looks like I’m the fairy mushroom,” said Badger.

“Oh, definitely.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything this crazy ever again.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I should have tried to change Reed’s mind, or stopped him before we left,” said Badger. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, it’s all in the past. How are you feeling?”

She smiled. “Better now.”

“I forgot to ask––when did you get here?”

“Early yesterday. Oh! That reminds me––the ceremony!”

“What ceremony?”

“Mina and Mast’s wedding. The alarm bells started ringing right in the middle of it.”

“What happened?”

“Well, just holding hands and silly, girly stuff.”

“No, after the alarm bells.”

“Oh, that. Couldn’t tell, really,” said Badger. “I smelled smoke, didn’t think anything about it, then rifles started popping off. Everyone got corralled into fighting the fire. I think whoever did it was long gone.”

“It was Westcreeks,” said Wilson.

“How do you know?”

“I saw a pair of them running hell-for-leather in the fields.”

“How did you know they were Westcreeks?”

“Ambushed some. Yesterday.”

Badger stared at him.

“It’s a long story,” said Wilson. “Let’s just say I had some help.”

“You can tell me later.”

They walked hand-in-hand out to the street.

“This way,” said Badger.

“Tell me about this place,” said Wilson. “These aren’t your normal savages with pointy teeth.”

“You’re right, they’re not,” said Badger. “This place is well-run. It’s because of that cult figure they call Teacher.”

“The typical medicine man, I bet. Barking at the moon and covered with weeds.”

“Not really. It’s strange––he seems more like a priest than a medicine man. The villagers treat him like a god. He’s the reason there’s a smithy in the village and hot water. And why all the young people speak English.”

“He’s not the chief?”

Badger shook her head.

They walked through straight, graveled streets and eventually came to a central square bordered with two-story wooden buildings. All were painted a garish red with chains of bright flowers tied to porch railings. The white and yellow petals were scattered over the damp gravel. Citrus trees stood to one side in wheeled boxes. Across the opposite side of the square a man in a white jacket lectured a large group of boys with rifles in their hands.

“This is the place.” Badger led Wilson to a building behind the group of boys. They overheard instructions from the white-jacket man.

“... and you will be taking spots on the east and south ...”

Inside the building, a girl in a coffee-colored dress showed Wilson and Badger to a waiting room. Tea was served while the rest of the expedition wandered in, including the four Station hunters that Wilson had met before.

Mast burst through the door with a raucous laugh, Mina on his arm. She wore a white dress with a pattern in silver thread. Mast was still in his Station leathers.

He slapped Wilson on the back. “You devil! How did you get here?”

“Sleepwalking,” said Wilson.

“Looks like you hit a few trees on the way.” Mast looked around the room. “Who’d you bring with you?”

“Nobody, just me.”

“You came here alone? I don’t believe it! You’d be a dog’s breakfast, in more ways than one.”

Wilson shrugged. “How was that first meeting with Mina’s family?”

“Her father was so happy to see her alive, he took all the gifts I offered, no discount.”

Mina smiled. “He is practical man.”

“You’d better watch your step,” said Wilson. “Or her father will test those new rifles on you.”

“My father would never use gun. He use knife,” said Mina.

Mast leaned close to Wilson. “The scary part is I can’t tell if she’s joking.”

“The wedding is tonight?”

“Not today. Tomorrow we continue,” said Mina. “Many people are busy after the attack. Wilson, thank you for saving my friend Kaya. I saw her today.”

“It was nothing, but you’re welcome.”

Mast laughed. “Look at Wilson, the hero of the day.”

“Don’t make a joke––Kaya was a slave this morning,” said Mina. “Because of Wilson, now she’s home.”

The fields were also burned because of him but Wilson kept that thought to himself. He slid his foot across the floor, nervously.

“Where’s Reed?”

Carter cleared his throat. “In a meeting with Yishai and Teacher.”

“Who’s this Yishai?” asked Wilson.

“My father,” said Mina. “The village leader.”

“Does Reed know I’m here?”

“I don’t think so,” said Mast. “But he’s going to see you at dinner. Even with that thick skull that surrounds his brain he’ll put it all together. You should find a pointed stick or a carrot and get ready for battle. Or just head for the hills.”

“I just got here. I’m not leaving.”

“Then apprentice, prepare for the pain you’re about to receive. Although what could be more painful than you looking in the mirror every morning.”

“That’s the most predictable thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No,” said Mast. “That would be–”

“I’ll murder you both if you can’t shut up,” said Badger.

“–a threat of death from Badger,” said Mast. “Just what I was about to add.”

The girl in the coffee-colored dress led them to another room. Red porcelain dishes sat on tan cloth atop a long table. Ivory and blue flowers were arranged around three candles in the center. To the side stood a group of three men: Father Reed in a green priest’s jumpsuit, a tall man in a brown tunic, and a blonde-bearded man in a white robe. The blonde man wore a silver cross around his neck.

A conversation between the three faded to silence as Wilson and his friends entered. Father Reed dropped a cup to the floor.

“Wilson!”

“Good evening, Father.”

The priest rushed up and pulled him out of the room.

“What on God’s green earth are you doing here?”

Wilson sniffed. “I couldn’t wait at home like an old maid. I want to help.”

“Help? You’re only causing more problems. Station doesn’t have a priest or anyone who understands the machines!”

“Give them some credit. You act like they’ll hang themselves with bedsheets if we’re not there.”

Reed stared with a shocked expression, as if Wilson had turned into a talking squirrel.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Ensign, but you’re going to head back to Station immediately. I’ll send a hunter to watch you.”

“No. That won’t happen.”

Reed’s voice pitched higher and he craned his head forward like a near-sighted hen. “Not ... going ... to happen?”

“No. Get a different plan.”

“You’re a quitter just like your father,” spat Reed. He immediately looked like he regretted it.

Wilson turned red. “Don’t you speak about my father.”

He walked back into the room with Reed at his heels. The man in the brown tunic spread his hands wide.

“Father, who is this?” he asked in the dialect.

“Leader Yishai, this is Wilson,” said Reed. “A boy with little discipline and too much independence. Wilson, meet Yishai, Mina’s father and leader of the village council.”

“Greetings, Leader Yishai.”

Father Reed waved dismissively to the man in white. “And the Teacher.”

Wilson and the tall man bowed to each other.

“He’s from the West?” Teacher asked in perfect English. “But why didn’t I meet him before?

The tone of his voice made Wilson uncomfortable.

“I only arrived today,” he said.

“Mina de savisto,” said a servant girl.

The faces of both Yishai and Teacher immediately brightened. They stepped forward to shake Wilson’s hand and slap him on the back.

“Many thanks, savisto!” Yishai said. “We searched for my daughter many days but had no luck. I am in your debt, more than you can realize.”

He rubbed Wilson on the shoulders and hugged him.

Covered dishes were brought out. Everyone followed Yishai’s example and surrounded the table to pray. Despite protests from Father Reed, Yishai had Wilson sit beside him at the head. Fermented drinks and a fish soup were served. After the momentary chaos of the arriving dishes, the threads of conversation unspooled once more.

“Wilson savisto, excuse my English,” said Yishai. “Tell us in your words how you rescued my daughter.”

“My friend Airman Chen deserves your praise, not me. I was only there by chance. A few tribals wandered onto our land with a young girl and we freed her. We brought her to our village for treatment and discovered her story.”

“You’re not only brave, but modest,” said Teacher. “Mina gave us details on how you fought her captors. But I have a question––why did you come here alone?”

“I ... wasn’t allowed to travel with the rest. For certain reasons, I should have stayed in our village, but I decided to follow the expedition.”

“What were those ‘certain reasons’?”

“It’s not important,” said Reed.

Teacher smiled. “I’ll tell you why. He was the only priest left in the village.”

“How did you know that?” asked Wilson.

Teacher pointed to the crosses around their necks. “The symbol of priests.”

“That’s right,” said Wilson. “But why do your people wear it too?”

“Sign of God,” said Yishai.

Teacher folded his hands. “The white cross over the heart is the mark of our spirit-home and our beliefs. It separates us from the savages who worship idols and false gods. They bow to the moon, the sun, animals, and all types of things that creep and crawl upon the earth. The sign marks us as children of God.”

Wilson watched the blonde man carefully. “You’re not from around here are you?”

Teacher smiled. “Like you, I’m from the West. My people were powerful and could do amazing feats. They lived high in the mountains in a village probably like your own. However, their own selfish squabbles destroyed the village in a massive fire. And so I left. My journey took me through many trials and dangers. In the grasslands I found a peaceful tribe and told them stories of the old gods, how the jar opened and the madness escaped.”

“Talk about madness,” murmured Father Reed.

Wilson ignored him. “The story of Adith and Lute?”

“Yes, Wilson––I see Kaya has told you. But these stories, these empty words are like a saddle on a goat if there are no deeds behind them. I helped to cure sickness among the grassland tribe with knowledge and not superstition. We built a strong home in these hills with a smithy, grain storage, and millinery. As you can see, our labors have given fruit. That’s the proof of our beliefs.”

“Why teach them English?”

“It’s the language of the old gods,” said Teacher. “How else could they understand the ways of the past?”

“I heard you have a book collection. May I see it?”

“They don’t contain what you’re looking for,” said Father Reed.

Teacher raised his hand from the table. “Useful or not, you may see the books.”

“Thank you. This village in the west––is anyone still there?”

Teacher shook his head. “It’s a blasted land with nothing left alive.”

“Even so, we could travel there and search the ruins for books and machines.”

“No. It’s a scarred, deadly place full of the ‘ghost sickness.’ Survivors of the fire are scattered like seeds in the wind. The few scraps of knowledge about my people live only in my head, unfortunately.”

Large dishes of venison, cornbread, lamb, green beans mixed with yellow corn, and a few strange vegetables were brought to the table. Wilson gave everyone a description of his travel and the wildlife and tribals he’d encountered.

“A remarkable story,” said Teacher. “I’m sorry you were caught in the conflict between Flora and the Creeks.”

“I’ve got a talent for jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.”

Teacher smiled. “Sometimes that’s the right choice.”

“And sometimes it’s just a fire,” said Reed.

“In any case,” said Teacher. “I hope the rest of your journey will be more pleasant.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry we’ve come here at an unfortunate time,” said Wilson.

Teacher spread his hands. “The Westcreeks failed. The raid was no worse than swatting away a few bees. But whether you know it or not, the local situation has changed in the last few months. A group has arrived from the east and offers weapons for slaves, so the tribes claw at each other. Marcus was a fervent believer in the ideals of these men and a ‘federation’ of villages. Even though he’s dead, there are many in the tribes who think like he did and support the slave trade.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that the Lagos dressed like your villagers to raid Westcreek?”

Teacher shook his head. “An interesting trick but I doubt it worked, since you say none of the Westcreeks survived. None of the warlike tribes have been able to fight us face-to-face or breach our defenses. It’s common for them to use other tactics.”

“But someday–”

“Someday is a word for hand-wringing old women. It’s not for us, young Wilson, on a day like today. We have two reasons to celebrate: we drove off the attack and two wandering children have returned home.”

Late in the night Wilson walked with Badger back to his room. They were inside only a moment when a heavy knock vibrated the door. Wilson pulled it open and Father Reed stepped inside.

“Yes, Father?”

“Ensign, listen to me. You need to stay away from this Teacher character.”

“He doesn’t seem that bad.”

The priest sighed. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. At last he held out an empty palm.

“Your cross, please.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Wilson pulled the silver necklace from his neck and put it in the priest’s hand.

“You don’t realize what you’ve done,” said Reed.

“What choice did I have? The people at Station can handle things until we get back.”

Reed snorted. “I wish I had your confidence. I’ve made a decision––the expedition stops here.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I’m nothing but serious. Without a priest to monitor the systems any number of things could happen. I have a duty to perform and I won’t abandon it like you.”

“But we’re halfway there!”

“Halfway to Springs is halfway home and I’m going back. You’re at the same midpoint in your life, Wilson. Make the choice to come back and I’ll do my best to help Airman Chen at Station. Perhaps we can find a medicine to reduce the seizures.”

“She doesn’t have that much time. Everything points to Schriever and you know it.”

“What I know is irrelevant compared to what I must do. Since you’ve obviously forgotten what it means to be a priest, I’ll remind you. Our duty is to the greatest good for the greatest number of our people.”

“But there’s so little we know about ourselves and Station. You can’t predict the future. We might find something that helps everyone and not just her.”

“You’re right––I can’t predict the future. We could find something valuable in the east. But these old eyes of mine have seen lives wrecked by too many bad choices.” He walked to the door. “We’re leaving the day after tomorrow and I hope you think seriously about this. Anyone who stays behind, stays for good.”

Wilson watched the door close. Badger came out of the bedroom and hugged him.

“I didn’t come this far just to go back,” he said to her. “Will you stay with me?”

“Are you serious? They’d have to pull me off you.”



VILLAGERS IN WHITE AND yellow outfits packed the central plaza the next morning and left little room to move. Wilson wondered where they’d found all the flowers hanging from the balconies around the plaza. He wore a yellow hemp jacket and Badger a dress of the same color.

Confused at where to go, they stood at the back of the crowd until a pair of women in purple led them to the meeting hall. At the top of the steps stood Teacher, with Yishai on his left. The chief of the village wore the same brown tunic as before. Teacher was dressed in a purple robe and a silver band circled his head. The women led Wilson and Badger up the stairs to Teacher and bowed away.

“Friends,” said Teacher. “It is only through your efforts that Mina and Kaya are safe. Please take the honored place on my right.”

Musicians in yellow tunics began to pluck a series of stringed instruments, while a flock of girls moved through the crowd and set baskets of gifts at Teacher’s feet. Mina and Mast followed arm-in-arm and stopped below the offerings. The silver patterns on the bride’s white dress glittered in the sunlight. In a simply-cut robe the shade of fresh mud, Mast suffered in comparison.

Teacher spread his arms and smiled with broad, white teeth.

“Friends of David. Hard work and the favor of the gods has returned to us two lovely children. Now our daughter Salalimakitotosimew comes to us and wishes to take Sergeant Masterson as a partner. Do her friends approve of this partnership?”

The crowd roared.

“Do you approve, Minamakitotosimew of David and Sergeant Masterson of Station?”

The pair bowed heads in agreement.

Teacher looked to Yishai. “Does the father accept?”

Yishai nodded and the crowd roared again.

Teacher used a white piece of fabric to tie the wrists of Mina and Mast. He stepped back and clapped his palms in prayer:



Now you will feel no rain, for you will shelter each other.

Now you will feel no cold, for you will warm each other.

Now there will be no loneliness, for you will be a friend to each other.

Now you are two persons, but there is only one life between you.

May beauty surround you in the journey ahead and through all the years.

May happiness follow you and your days be good and long upon the earth.



As Teacher prayed, the sleeves of his robe fell to his elbows. Wilson saw something that twisted his stomach and made his ears burn.

Teacher whipped his arms apart and lifted his chin. “The knot has been tied!”

The village cheered and the feast began.