Vanguard

  Eventually Morrow brought his best winter cloak and a mug of hot grog, because Millie showed no signs of wanting to get indoors. The sky had ripened to black by the time they reached Crow Head. Her teeth were chattering. Exasperated, he swept her up and carted her below. While he agreed that the sights were spectacular, she just lacked all sense of moderation.

  “You do that a lot,” she said mildly.

  “What?”

  “Decide things for me. Haul me about like a bag of oats.”

  A hot flush banished the frosty burn in his cheeks. “Sorry. I don’t know why. I forget my words around you sometimes.” And it had been happening more of late.

  To his astonishment, she bobbed up from the infirmary bunk and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Then she banished him with a gentle shove and shut the door in his face. Morrow stared at the rough wood for a few seconds before giving himself a little shake and heading for the lower deck, where it would be plenty warm, thanks to the number of men crammed into hammocks in an enclosed space. It also reeked of eggs, farts, and feet, but it was impossible to have an adventure without tolerating a measure of discomfort.

  Just think of the next story.

  * * *

  In the morning, the crew made short work of unloading. This time, the townspeople were waiting with wagons, as the settlement was built on a rise with a rough track cut into the hillside leading away from the water. Rough-hewn cabins comprised the bulk of the village, no old-world relics to mar the scenery. It was easy to imagine that there had never been any monsters here, no bloodshed, either, just the harmonious union of land and sea.

  Morrow shook his head as Advika chatted with the townies. Amazing that she makes this run every year. Most of these folk seemed young, surprisingly so, as he’d seen a lot of lined faces as they sailed. But nobody here looked older than his father. How does that happen? Maybe there was a sickness.…

  Sung Ji seemed to understand his curiosity because he said, low, “There used to be a town with the same name farther inland, but a traveler brought the plague, and they all died. With so much land to settle, a few families migrated from Peckinpaugh, oh, ten years back? They mostly fish up this way, some whaling ships. Without goods from Antecost and Peckinpaugh, they wouldn’t be thriving.” The first mate gazed with obvious pride at Captain Advika, who had clasped the town leader’s shoulder in a friendly gesture.

  “She does important work,” Morrow said.

  Sung Ji nodded. “Not without its risks. There’s the weather and the ice, dangerous sea life, and don’t forget the outlaw colonies. Those who don’t fish or farm, just live by stealing from honest folks.”

  “Is that the main problem in the north? Not changed ones but human enemies?”

  Whatever the first mate would’ve said, the captain beckoned and he hurried to her side. Still wondering, Morrow walked along the cliff overlooking the rocks below. Not far from here, an entire town died of the plague. Nobody changed. So what was different…? When the signal came much later to return to the ship, he ran, not wanting to be stranded in Crow Head.

  He was among the last to board, with Advika aiming a dire look in his direction. “Are you trying to screw up my schedule?”

  Morrow shook his head quickly. “Sorry. I got distracted. The land around Crow Head is … haunting.”

  What an imprecise word. But maybe she had answers?

  “They said everyone died in the original Crow Head…,” he started, then didn’t know how to continue.

  “You’re wondering why? When there was so much trouble elsewhere.”

  Belatedly Morrow recalled that the captain hailed from the ruins, much farther south. “If you have answers, I’d welcome them.”

  “They didn’t get the vaccine,” she said quietly. “Supply lines were already breaking down when they did the drops. Only made things worse, from what I can see.”

  “Is there anywhere that the sickness didn’t touch? Where it’s like the old world and all the machines still run?” He had considered himself well educated, so to discover how relatively little he knew … it was humbling.

  Advika lifted one shoulder, gazing out to sea. “Not that I’ve seen. But I haven’t sailed around the whole world, either, my lad. Wouldn’t that be a feat?”

  “It would indeed.”

  “Did you know I have a sister?”

  The non sequitur of a question surprised him. “You’ve never mentioned it before.”

  “She came out of the ruins with me. We’ve each got our own ships now, but she doesn’t run supplies.”

  “Oh?” That piqued his interest.

  “Passengers,” she said with evident relish. “It’s a marrying-ferry, more like. Often in these remote settlements, people can’t find anybody to partner up with, so Devi suggests matches, delivers mail, and brings couples together. She makes a good living carrying folk back and forth with weddings on her ship. She only sails the warm months, though, so you’ll meet her when we arrive in Baybridge, along with her wife, Evette.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  * * *

  The next two days were clear as they sailed north. But the third morning, as the Catalina drew closer to Baybridge, the wind kicked up. With a shudder, Morrow remembered how Millie had used her mother’s method to predict a bad storm. By noon, freezing rain sleeted across the deck, making it a misery to breathe, let alone work. All the sailors bundled up, and Morrow toiled until his hands cracked and bled.

  “I was afraid of this,” Sung Ji shouted over the roar of the wind.

  The ice on deck made it near impossible to keep his footing, so Morrow went after it with a scraper. We survived before. And … the captain knows the way well. He imagined her sister, Devi, waiting year after year, and it was some comfort to note she’d never yet been disappointed. The Catalina always pulled through.

  In time they sailed through the storm, and lights glimmered along the coast. But when alarmed shouts went up from the rest of the crew, he realized he wasn’t seeing the lamps of town. No, these bright flickers were moving toward them and at a cracking pace.

  “Raiders!” Sung Ji sounded the alarm.

  “Weapons ready.” Advika strode along the still slippery deck, overseeing the sailors who took up positions with their rifles.

  Morrow had read of historical ships rigged with weapons, but the Catalina ran for speed. If the enemy vessel had big guns … He shook his head against the thought. The other ship was small, but it seemed to have a lot of men. He ran toward the captain.

  “I’m better with a blade, but I can shoot. Do you have any extra rifles below?”

  “My cabin,” answered Advika.

  He raced for the weapon and checked it. Good firing condition. How much ammo? A box nearby addressed that question, so he grabbed it and dashed back to the bow, where he took up a position near Sung Ji. From the stern, Captain Advika was shouting strategy. When the enemy ship got within range, the Catalina crew opened fire, but bullets came back hot, spattering the deck and dropping the sailor beside him. Wood shrapnel peppered Morrow’s arms, but he didn’t flinch.

  “They’ve come heavy!” Advika called.

  No idea what that means.

  Until the first orange sphere exploded on deck, sending flames everywhere. The damp wood smoldered, slow to burn, but another fireball slammed into the ship nearby. Sailors dove overboard to avoid the fire, preferring the wicked sea to fiery doom. Millie. Where’s Millie? Eyes watering, Morrow staggered in search of the water buckets, but as he went, the other vessel rammed and dropped boarding gear.

  The Catalina may be lost.

  three

  a crowd of stars

  And bending down beside the glowing bars,

  Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

  And paced upon the mountains overhead

  And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

  —William Butler Yeats, “When You Are Old”
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  Our Song Is Complete

  Pain exploded in Tegan’s shoulder. She hit the deck, rolling with Szarok beneath her. Two more bullets bit into the wood nearby. She knew it wasn’t life-threatening. No vital organs there. But that awareness did nothing to mitigate the discomfort. Szarok snarled and shifted her aside. His speed astonished her. By the time Piebald had fired once and prepared for a second shot, he went down under a furious tackle.

  “You dare,” Szarok growled, angrier than she’d ever seen him.

  “I was aiming for you,” Piebald said.

  “That changes nothing. I saved you.”

  “And I got your rotten arses back to port, as promised. The deal’s done now, and I get to take revenge for what you did to my crew. They might’ve been worthless, but they were mine.”

  “Try.” Even from across the deck, Tegan could see how hard Szarok shook the little man.

  One sound squeaked out. “Huh?”

  “You tried. And failed.”

  As Tegan struggled to her feet, Szarok ripped their enemy’s throat out with his claws. As the body gushed blood, he hurled it into the sea and then ran toward her. “You shouldn’t be moving. What’s wrong with you? He could’ve killed you.”

  She couldn’t muster a light tone and certainly couldn’t shrug. “I was worried about what would happen to you. But we have more pressing problems.”

  The ship was heading top speed toward the dock, and she couldn’t help with the ropes. Szarok seemed to realize this at the same moment, and he leapt to drop the sails and then the anchor. It was enough, eventually, to prevent a collision. Blood trickled down Tegan’s back, and she was starting to feel light-headed.

  “Come. I’ll bring us to shore in the rowing boat.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  At first he didn’t answer, lowering the dinghy from where it was attached to the larger craft. “I am. I always am with this much water. But if my choice is between facing my fear and letting you suffer, there is no dilemma.”

  “I can climb down,” she said.

  In truth, she nearly fell twice, between her bad leg and the hurt blazing in her shoulder. But he caught her and held on, so they went tandem, and once they settled in the boat, he took up the oars, maneuvering with a speed and strength that probably would’ve impressed her under different conditions. There were a few fishermen on the dock as they clambered onto the boards, so Tegan straightened, fearing how they’d treat Szarok. To her surprise, they seemed surprised but not frightened. He received second and third looks but compared to how he had been greeted elsewhere, the interest registered as benign.

  “Is there a healer in town?” Tegan asked.

  A boy of around twelve answered, “Khamish. She knows about herbs and such.”

  “Show us the way, please,” Szarok said.

  The vanguard swept Tegan into his arms as if her legs were injured, but she didn’t protest. She couldn’t hang on to him because it hurt to move too much, pulling at the wound. The size of the settlement registered on her vaguely as she raced through town in his arms. Outside a whitewashed, well-kept cottage, the boy paused.

  “Here. I have to get back to work now, or I’ll have no supper.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, but he was already gone.

  Szarok thumped on the door, his impatience growing with every moment that they received no answer. Tegan didn’t know how long she could keep her head together, between the pain and the bright sparks dotting her vision. Her head listed to the side, and of course he noticed, because he saw, heard, and smelled everything, even when she didn’t want him to. No use pretending to be strong.

  “She’s not home,” he said.

  “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

  “What?”

  “Just something Dr. Wilson used to say. Let’s go in if the door’s open, and make use of her supplies. I can walk you through the treatment.”

  I hope.

  It would be hard to picture a more horrified expression than the one currently facing her. “I’m no healer.”

  “You could be. Anyone can learn. And do you really want me to bleed to death while you argue over qualifications?” Though it probably wasn’t that serious, the implicit threat galvanized Szarok into action.

  Still cradling her close, he got the door open and stepped inside the cottage, larger than most houses she’d seen. This is old-world construction. The cook room was separate, and there were two rooms at the back for sleeping, both warmly decorated and inviting. They discovered this as Szarok carried her around in search of supplies.

  Finally she said, “Let’s check the cabinets. Back that way.”

  Her insight was rewarded with a fine cache of herbs and various healer’s tools. Tegan pointed out what he would need, though she noticed his hands were shaking. With her good arm, she pulled him close and kissed his cheek. He stared at her for a moment, and then some of the tension left him.

  “You can do this. I believe in you. First, wash your hands. We don’t want Piebald’s blood mixing with mine.”

  There was a deep basin with an attached pump. Quite handy. In many settlements, they shared a well and someone had to go in the morning with buckets to bring back the day’s water. Szarok figured it out quickly and scrubbed up with more soap than he needed. Despite the pain, she smiled at how carefully he cleaned his claws.

  “What now?”

  She pointed out what he needed. Soon he had a small basin, yarrow powder, and goldenrod ointment set aside. “Help me get my shirt off.”

  Other than a little click in the back of his throat, he gave no sign that the request bothered him. That removal hurt so bad, she nearly passed out. Ears ringing, Tegan sat at the table, hunched forward, so he could inspect the wound.

  “It’s clotted,” he said.

  “That’s good. It will probably bleed a little more as you work—nothing to worry about. You need to get the bullet out next.”

  “How?”

  “Use that.” She indicated the scalpel, but he couldn’t hold it at the right angle to work.

  “I can’t do this. Maybe I should go look for this healer.” Szarok took a step back, but she wrapped her fingers around his arm.

  “Use your claws. You cleaned them properly, and it won’t hurt any worse than metal.”

  “Tegan…”

  “Trust me.”

  With a little shudder, he stepped behind her and sank one talon into her wound. She clenched her teeth so hard against the pain that she feared they might crack. But thankfully she didn’t need to give him further instructions, while it was all she could do to stay conscious. He probed until he tapped metal and then he dug it out with as much delicacy as Dr. Wilson could have managed on his best day. Szarok flicked the bullet into the basin with a quiet sigh.

  “How do I proceed from here?”

  “That mixture there, with the herbs floating in it? Use it to thoroughly clean the wound. Irrigate it fully before moving on.”

  “Irrigate?”

  “Pour some of the liquid inside. Let it run out. Blot away.”

  Seeming more confident, he followed her instructions. “Now?”

  “We’re almost done. Apply some ointment to the bandage. Sprinkle the powder over it. Then wrap my shoulder. Make sure the medicine ends up on top of the wound.”

  Five minutes later she still hurt like hell, but the medical care was complete. Now she’d just have to watch for drainage and infection. At the first signs of inflammation, she’d pack the wound with raw honey, provided she could find some here. Wherever here is. As she struggled back into her torn, bloody shirt, she heard the front door open.

  Tegan stood and went to greet their hostess. A tall, brown-skinned woman stared at her, caught in the midst of taking off her boots. “What’re ya at?” she demanded.

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion. A boy at the docks guided us here, but you weren’t in and…” Tegan summarized their misadventures, hoping for a sympathetic ear.
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  “That’s some rough,” Khamish said. “Ne’er let it be said that Peckinpaugh’s an unkind quay. Did yer man care for ya?”

  “Well enough. He’s tidying up. Thanks for the supplies.”

  “Did ya have someplace to bide?”

  “Not yet.” She hated asking for charity, but everything she possessed was either in the Winterville cottage or in the infirmary on the Catalina.

  “Then stay with me. If you crewed for Advika, yer the next thing to a friend for me. I just ask ya see anybody that’s ailin’ in return.”

  Brightening, she readily made that deal. “Done. It’s a little tiring sometimes, but I don’t turn people away who need help.”

  “Heard ya there. Peckinpaugh is full o’ good folk.”

  Szarok emerged from the kitchen then, standing half in shadow. “Sorry we entered without asking. The situation was—”

  “No worries. Come and meet me proper.”

  Tegan sensed his reticence, but he stepped into the fading light. Instead of a handshake, he made the little bow she noticed that he preferred with strangers. “Again, thank you.”

  “You’re some odd-looking,” Khamish said cheerfully.

  Tegan restrained her urge to step in and start explaining. He was the vanguard of the Uroch, after all, and he had no need of her interference. Still, she chewed the inside of her lip, wishing this wouldn’t end badly, hoping he didn’t have to swallow yet another hurt.

  “So are you,” Szarok replied.

  Khamish laughed. “I just dies at you. The years do for us all, and yet I’m some glad to have this face and those years.”

  Her good nature appeared to thaw him a bit. “Me too. I hail from a rare mainland tribe. We’ve never been this far north. So…”

  “Welcome, b’y.” Khamish clapped him on the shoulder.

  “My thanks.”

  “Ya two smell wicked. Get pumping, and ya can have a bath. I still have some work in town, so I’ll be back once I take care of yon boat.”

  Right, the abandoned schooner.

  “Anyone who can fix it is welcome to it,” Tegan said. “It’s full of salvage, so that alone should make it worth the time.”