The Drowned Cities

  “Mahlia?” A whisper from behind. Mouse.

  Mahlia tried to answer, but her voice was missing. She tried again. “I’m fine,” she croaked.

  “No,” the half-man growled. “You are nothing.”

  For a second Mahlia thought the monster was about to tear her apart, but then it straightened and turned away, as if it was dismissing her entirely.

  Mahlia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The monster was shambling toward the water, stiff at first, then faster, even if it was limping. Mahlia couldn’t help but feel a prickle of awe at the sight of the wounded monster, now almost fully healed. Nothing should have been able to survive so much abuse, and yet the half-man stood strong.

  It reached the water’s edge and crouched. Lowered its face to the brackish slime.

  “That’s salty,” Mahlia called out, but the monster drank anyway.

  Mahlia expected it to lap at the water like a dog, but it drank like a human being. When it finished, it glanced at her with a brief flash of a superior smile. “My kind tolerates impurities better than your sort,” it said. “We are better than you, in all ways.”

  The half-man started to straighten, but then it sank to its knees. Its eye widened with surprise as it caught itself. It growled, and then forced its legs under it. Staggered upright once more. It was big, but still, it was weak.

  Something about the moment of vulnerability pleased Mahlia. The half-man wasn’t unstoppable. It might be strong, but it had its weaknesses, too.

  The monster limped around the edge of the swamp pool.

  “What the—” Mouse started to ask, but Mahlia already guessed what it was doing. The corpse of the alligator still lay in the water, bloating and torn. The half-man waded slowly into the reeds and seized it. Dragged the body onto the bank, grunting and growling with the effort.

  With a low snarl, the half-man tore open the alligator’s belly. It dipped into the reptile’s entrails and began to feed, unbothered by the miasma of carrion.

  The half-man looked up at them and bared its teeth. “My kill,” it growled, and then it plunged an arm deep into the alligator. Came up with the heart. “Mine.” It bit into the red muscle. Gulping it down.

  “Damn, that’s nasty,” Mouse said.

  Mahlia’s stomach churned in agreement. Watching something that looked so nearly like a human being feed like a beast—it wasn’t natural, and it filled Mahlia with queasy dread.

  What was this thing that she had persuaded them to save?

  The half-man continued to feed, tearing and gulping. But there was something else there, too… the way the monster crouched over its kill, victorious, dining on the heart of its enemy…

  “Ritual,” the doctor murmured.

  The monster looked up, gore dripping from its muzzle. The yellow dog eye fixed on him. “We are nourished by victory, Doctor. Life’s blood, from the beating hearts of our foes. Our enemy fortifies us. The more enemies we have, the more we feed. And the stronger we become.”

  “And you never stop fighting,” Mahlia whispered.

  The monster smiled, all razor teeth and bloody humor. “Conquest feeds itself, girl.” It gulped down the last of the alligator’s heart. “We welcome our enemies, as we welcome life.”

  The half-man seemed about to say more, but instead it froze. Its ears pricked up. The monster sniffed the air, broad nostrils flaring. Its ears spread out wider, then snapped back, close to its huge pit-bull skull.

  “My name is Tool,” it said. “It seems that your enemies have found something to feed upon as well.”

  18

  “WHAT ENEMIES?” MAHLIA ASKED.

  “I smell a great deal of smoke. Wood. Plastics.” Tool’s nostrils flared. “Flesh. A town is dying.”

  “They’re burning Banyan?” the doctor demanded.

  Tool was quiet, his ears twitching, listening to things beyond Mahlia’s senses. “People are fleeing—”

  Gunfire echoed over the jungle, something even she could hear, despite the distance. Startled ravens and magpies filled the air. Flocks of sparrows rose and swirled overhead. More gunfire. Mahlia exchanged worried glances with Mouse and the doctor.

  The half-man was still listening and sniffing the wind. “Our mutual enemies seem to have tired of their failures.”

  “So they’re going after the town?”

  The doctor was starting to grab his medical tools, throwing them into his hospital bag. “We have to help. Quickly! They’ll need us.”

  As Mahlia gathered the last of the much-reduced supplies and handed them to the doctor, she noticed her hand trembling. She remembered other villages where soldiers had swept through, recruiting and burning. Remembered picking her way through blackened homes, with nothing but skinny dogs and coywolv flickering in the shadows.

  “Doc?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we be running instead?”

  Tool laughed, a low rumbling sound. “The girl shows wisdom. Better to run and live than walk into a tornado.”

  The doctor glared at Mahlia and she shrank from his gaze. “You caused this,” he said. “Violence feeding violence. I’ve told you again and again and again, but still you never listen. You loose coywolv on soldiers and now the soldiers burn Banyan Town. Tit for tat until the whole world dies.”

  Smoke was starting to blow over them. Acrid scents of the world on fire that even Mahlia could smell.

  “Why are you mad at me? I’m not the one burning the town!”

  Doctor Mahfouz snapped his bag closed and looked up at Mahlia. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Back to town?” Mahlia stared at the doctor. “Are you sliding? We got no guns. They’ll kill us.”

  “We’re not going back to fight. We’re going to help as many people as we can.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You understand how hard I fought for you, Mahlia? How many times I convinced our neighbors not to run you off? I stood for you. I guaranteed you.”

  Beside them, the half-man growled. “People are coming. You should flee, or else go to your death. Choose now, before the choice overtakes you.”

  Mahlia turned to the half-man. “Would you come with us?” she asked. “Would you help us help them?”

  Tool laughed. “This is not my war.”

  Mahfouz glared up at the creature. “You brought the soldiers here, and you accept no responsibility?”

  Tool’s teeth showed in a cold smile. “I neither started this war where your kind tears one another apart, nor did I choose it. I carry no burden of guilt.” He sniffed the air, then waved toward the swamps. “If you wish help in escape from your enemies, I offer you aid, willingly, in thanks for medicines.” Tool straightened to his full height, looming over them. “But I will not seek out a fight that cannot be won. And I will not suicide on any human being’s behalf.”

  Their conversation was cut short by running feet.

  Everyone tensed except for Tool. Mahlia expected soldier boys to come bursting into the swamps, rifles blazing, but it wasn’t soldiers at all, it was a woman…

  Amaya.

  She stopped short, staring. Her eyes widened in shock. “You,” she gasped as she saw Mahlia. And then she caught sight of the half-man.

  “Amaya,” Doctor Mahfouz said. “What’s happening? What’s going on? Where are your children? Where is Salvatore’s grandchild?”

  “You!” she said again. “They want you!” Her eyes narrowed. “This is your fault, castoff. They’re looking for you! We took you in and you brought the soldiers down on us!”

  “Amaya—” the doctor tried again.

  But Amaya had already turned. She was running back the way she had come.

  “She’s going to tell them!” Mahlia said. “She’s going to give us up to the soldiers.”

  She leaped after the woman. If she could take Amaya down before she made it back to town, before she could spread word to the other villagers, she might—

  A hand grabbed Mahlia’s shirt and yanked he
r around. She spun with the force of it and landed in the mud. Doctor Mahfouz stood over her.

  “Mahlia, don’t.”

  Mahlia scrambled to her feet. “She’s going back to the soldiers! If she rats us, we’re all dead. Once they got our scent and our direction, there’s no way we shake free.” She made another run for the trails, but the doctor grabbed her.

  “That still doesn’t justify whatever you were planning for Amaya,” he grunted.

  Mahlia struggled to break free, but the doctor was surprisingly strong.

  “She’s going to get us killed!” Mahlia’s hand went to her knife. Where was it?

  The doctor must have felt her motion, because he caught her hand. “Always that’s your solution! Is that what you are?” he demanded. “Just like those soldiers out there? Always killing?”

  Mahlia looked around frantically, still trying to fight free. Caught sight of Mouse. “Get her!” she said. “Don’t let Amaya get back to town!”

  Mouse looked from the doctor to Mahlia, uncertain.

  Mahlia glared at him. “She’s going to do us, unless you catch her.”

  “Stay there, Mouse,” the doctor grunted. “Make the right choice.”

  Mouse looked down the path after Amaya, then back to Mahlia. Finally shook his head. “She’s bigger than me. I don’t think I can catch her before she’s back in town.”

  Mahlia twisted and fought, finally threw herself sideways, taking both of them to the ground. The doctor’s grip popped free and she tore loose. She scrambled back to her feet, glaring at Mouse. “You chickenshit farmer.”

  Mouse hung his head, but he didn’t go running after Amaya. The doctor slowly got to his feet, panting. Tool was watching them all, curious, almost amused.

  Mahlia looked toward the town. The smoke was thickening. The soldiers had to be burning everything. Not just the town. Probably the crops as well. Scorched earth. More smoke billowed over her. Mahlia swore. She’d hoped to have more time to prepare for a journey north, but with Amaya ratting them out, it was time to run. Ready or not, it was time to run.

  Mahlia turned to Tool. “Can you travel?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doctor Mahfouz shift in disappointment that she wasn’t interested in suicide. That was Mahfouz’s problem, though.

  Tool’s yellow dog eye regarded her. “There is no choice. We travel or we fight. And if we fight, we die.”

  That pretty much summed it up. So why was she even delaying?

  They didn’t have enough food. Didn’t have tools. No machetes, no nothing.

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” She wanted to scream in frustration at how quickly her bare plan had fallen apart. Her father had always said that battle plans fell apart. It was to be expected. A general had to adapt—that was what distinguished good soldiers from poor ones. So, she needed to adapt.

  “We got to lose the trail,” she said. “We’re going into the swamp. Water travel.” She pointed. “Mouse can show us a way. He knows these swamps. We can still lose them.”

  The half-man inclined his head in agreement. He limped over to a tree and took a branch in his fist. With a crackling explosion, he tore it free, making a staff to support himself.

  “Damn,” Mouse muttered. “That’s what you do when you’re weak?”

  The half-man showed his teeth and leaned on the makeshift crutch. “Come, boy. Show us this secret way.”

  They all started into the water, but a moment later Mahlia realized the doctor wasn’t with them.

  Mahlia turned. “Doc?”

  The doctor was looking at her sadly.

  “You can’t be serious,” Mahlia said. “You think you’re going to stay here? Let Amaya bring soldiers down on you?” She motioned for him to follow. “They hate you as much as they hate me, now.”

  The doctor just looked at her. It made her uncomfortable.

  “I thought for a little while that it was possible to save you,” he said. “To do some good. To stop…” He shook his head. “To change the sickness of this place.” He looked at Mahlia. “I taught you to heal, not to fight.”

  “You think I was wrong to drop coywolv on them?” Mahlia said. “You wish you were back there with the soldier boys? They were going to kill you, too, you know. They deserved it. They started it.”

  “And you did nothing to end it.”

  Mahlia glared. “If I had some guns I would have.”

  The half-man laughed, a low rumbling. He clapped Mahlia on the back approvingly. “War feeds itself well, don’t you think, Doctor?”

  Mahfouz looked at the half-man with disgust. “I should never have allowed her to heal you.”

  “A good thing, then, that I do not rely on a pacifist’s goodwill.” The half-man’s fangs were showing, sharp knives all gleaming.

  The doctor started to retort, but the half-man interrupted him. “Save your shaming for the girl, Doctor. If I cared for human approval, I would have been dead long ago.” He turned and started wading into the swamp. “Time is passing. I, for one, have no intention of remaining here for your betrayer to bring back the soldiers and their guns.”

  “Doctor?” Mouse asked.

  Mahfouz shook his head. “I’m not leaving these people to the soldiers. Come with me, or go with the half-man. But these people need our help.”

  Smoke was blowing more strongly, gray mist thick with the scents of burn.

  Mahlia’s eyes began to tear. She looked at the doctor, wishing that he wasn’t as crazy as he was, and realizing there was nothing she could do to move him.

  “Come on, Mouse. Let’s get gone.” She turned and started walking. Behind her, she heard Mouse say something and then he was catching up, splashing into the water after her.

  “You sure about this, Mahlia?”

  “There’s nothing we can do back there.”

  “They took us in.”

  Mahlia looked at Mouse. “We got to look out for ourselves, first. If we don’t, we’re dead.”

  “Yeah. Except I saved you.”

  “And now I’m saving you, right? We ain’t going back there.”

  Mouse subsided. Soon they caught up with the half-man.

  “The doctor chose not to accompany you?” Tool asked.

  Mahlia shook her head. “He’s stupid.”

  “He has a cause,” the half-man said. “It makes him dangerous.”

  “I got a cause,” Mahlia said. “It’s keeping my head from getting shot off.”

  “A worthy one, I’m sure.”

  Mahlia couldn’t tell if the half-man was mocking her or not. They kept walking through the swamp.

  Abruptly the half-man said, “It seems your brother Mouse has found his own cause.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look and see.”

  Mahlia turned to look behind her. Mouse was gone, disappeared into the thickening smoke.

  19

  MAHLIA AND MOUSE, Mouse and Mahlia.

  She’d been the one who’d always been good at keeping them from getting killed; he’d been the one who’d always been good at keeping them alive. She’d kept them out of the bullets, using everything she’d ever gleaned from her old man about Sun Tzu and warlords.

  Mouse had been the one who knew how to dig for ant eggs under a rock, or knew how to go hunting for crawdads. How to catch a frog. They didn’t have anything in common, not really, but they’d been a unit. A tight little unit. And because they’d been tight, they’d survived.

  While people were running across the fields ahead of Freedom Militia, she’d grabbed Mouse and held him low while the bullets flew overhead and mothers and fathers and kids and grandmas all flopped in the weeds.

  You didn’t rabbit when they had all the guns; you played dumb and you played dead, and you lay with your face beside some bleeding dead woman and wiped her blood all over you and Mouse, and then you lay like the dead until they’d walked right over you.

  You lay like stone, with your blood pounding in your ear
s and your eyes open and staring straight into the sun like the true dead while soldier boys stepped over you and macheted the ones they’d only wounded.

  She’d done that. She’d saved his licebiter ass when he didn’t know enough to lie low.

  And then, when the Army of God bagged her and she hadn’t seen it coming, when they’d chopped one of her hands off already, and were going to do the other, while they were all laughing, Mouse had been the one who’d eeled up to their camp and started throwing rocks—rocks against bullets, of all the crazy things—and while the soldiers all ran and grabbed for their weapons, she’d run the other way, blood pouring from her stump, but still, alive and running, alive when she would have been chopped down to nothing but stumps and hung off a tree the way the Army of God liked to do with all the nonbelievers.

  And then they’d found the doctor and he’d fixed up her stump, and it had all settled. Except that Mouse was an idealist.

  Mahlia peered back into the thickening smoke. “Mouse!”

  She couldn’t make out a thing beyond a dozen meters. Where was he?

  “Grind it.” She started back through the bog.

  “You’ll die if you follow him,” the half-man said.

  Mahlia realized that the monster had been watching her closely. “You knew he was running?” she demanded.

  “I assumed that he had some purpose.” Tool’s ears twitched. “He only now has turned his path definitively away.”

  “So can you tell where he is?” Mahlia asked. “You can track him?”

  Tool listened for a moment. “A few hundred meters, perhaps. He moves quite quickly.”

  Mahlia turned and shouted again. “Mouse!”

  No response. Mahlia grimaced. “He’s good in the swamps. We gotta go catch him before he does something stupid.”

  “He already has,” Tool said. “And he will die because of it. And you will die, too, if you follow him. There are patrols moving toward us now. Many ants marching.”

  “But you’re fast,” Mahlia said. “Just go after him.”

  “You remind me of General Caroa, in miniature. Always demanding more of your troops. You think it is easy for me to walk? Let alone run?” He hefted his makeshift staff. “You think I carry this for pleasure?”