Текст книги "After the End "

Автор книги: Amy Plum

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

43

JUNEAU

I AWAKE TO THE SMELL OF BACON AND THE SOUND of eggs popping and spitting on the stovetop. And even though I am completely disoriented, I can’t stop a smile from blooming on my lips. I sit up and am staring Poe straight in the beak. He squawks and flaps his wings.

“He hasn’t moved all night, watching over you like your own avian bodyguard,” comes a voice from across the room. And—snap—I remember where I am.

“Good morning, Tallie,” I say.

She adds a log from the woodpile to the stove. “Breakfast?” she asks.

“Yes, please,” I respond, and she sets a tray on the low table in front of the couch: eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice.

“Are you a coffee or tea person?” she asks. Her pajamas have disappeared, and she is dressed in jeans and a lumberjack shirt, with her fiery hair tamed and tied in a knot behind her head.

“Chicory, actually,” I answer.

She makes a face like she bit into a sour berry. “Ugh. Nasty stuff. My ex-mother-in-law used to drink chicory. Tea it is, then.” And in a minute she’s back.

She pulls the armchair up to the table and pours two mugs of tea.

I swallow a bite of toast and ask, “You don’t have animals, do you?”

“I don’t like pets,” she says, eyeing Poe. “I have enough work around here without having to worry about codependent furry things.”

“No, I mean where do you get the bacon and eggs?”

“Oh. There’s a general store ten miles away. I hike in twice a week and do handyman jobs for them in exchange for the supplies I can’t forage for myself. I’m self-contained, self-sustained, and I don’t have to pay taxes that go to nice people getting killed in senseless wars.”

“Now I understand why you make yourself invisible,” I say.

“Yeah, I’m a conscientious objector to just about everything,” she says with a grin. “No electricity, no phone or internet, no car. And, contrary to what you’re witnessing right now, I’m normally pretty antisocial.”

I wash down a piece of honey-smeared toast with a gulp of strong tea and ask, “How did you find me? You said you were expecting me.”

“Oh, that,” she says, and lifts her eyebrows mysteriously. “I threw the bones.”

I pause, a forkful of eggs lifted halfway to my mouth. “You threw the bones?”

She opens a drawer in the table between us and takes out a rust-red leather pouch, and then, loosening its drawstrings, spills a handful of dried, bleached animal bones onto the table. “My great-grandma Lula-Mae’s possum bones, passed to her daughter, who passed them to my mom, who passed them to me. Along with double-X chromosomes, all the women in my family possess the Sight. That’s them over there,” she says, nodding to a table in the corner that holds framed photographs. “I call them my goddesses.”

She begins arranging the bones in a circular pattern on the table. “I throw Lula-Mae’s bones every morning, to keep in practice. Outside on the ground, mind you. Not here on the table. They have to touch earth. Yesterday they looked sort of like this.” A few of the bones cross each other in places, and others are lined up parallel. “I won’t go into all the boring details, but it told me a visitor was coming around midnight, and that this wasn’t a hunter, as usual, but someone being hunted.”

She points to the two skeletal hands, which are sitting one next to the other, thumb bones touching. “This told me that my visitor would be like me. ‘Touched’ like my women. Are you psychic? Or into divination?”

“Kind of,” I admit.

She studies me carefully, like the bones in my face are just as readable as those of the long-dead possum spread before us. Seemingly satisfied, she looks back down and resumes her explanation.

“It also told me that we both have something to teach the other.” She picks up her mug and watches me over the raised rim as she takes a sip. I don’t know what to say, so I keep my mouth shut.

“But the way the tailbones fell”—she points at a few disjointed bones—“it suggests that you have an important mission. That people’s lives or destinies may lie in your hands.” Her face is all seriousness now, and she waits for my response.

I swallow hard and meet her eyes. “My father and clan have been kidnapped and are being held against their will somewhere. I am trying to find them. To rescue them.” She holds my gaze before leaning back, staring at a point behind me on the wall and rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

Something occurs to me. “Why did you ask me if I was from the future?”

She snaps back into the here and now. “Hmm? Oh. The end of the tail sticking out of the circle. It’s sticking out of time, or out of the world. So I figured that I should be on the lookout for either a UFO landing in my front yard, or some kind of time machine bringing you here from the future.” She laughs.

“Well, you could definitely say I’m from another world,” I allow.

“Yes, I figured you were the one when I saw you through my telescope.” She nods toward an expensive-looking model standing next to the window, pointed down the mountain. “And then I confirmed it when I shone the light in your eye and saw that gold sun-looking iris. Looked pretty alien to me. What is it? A genetic mutation?”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re the first person who hasn’t thought it was a contact lens.”

“Well, you didn’t take it out last night. And it doesn’t really match the renouncing-your-femininity theme you’re rocking.”

“I was trying to disguise myself as a boy to avoid my pursuers,” I admit.

“Looks like that didn’t work out very well for you,” she says, amused. “You need to lose the Gap Boy look, by the way, if you want to maintain that disguise. It makes you lumpy, not boyish. Anyway that’s my story. I want to hear yours, but let’s see how that ankle’s doing first.”

I pull the blanket off my lap and prop my bare foot on the side of the table. Tallie whistles. “That’s not as bad as it looked last night. A little more rest, and you should be up and about in a day or so.”

“Couldn’t we just wrap it tightly? I really need to go. Like I said, I’m looking for my clan, and although I think that they’re safe for the moment, who knows what will happen?” My voice rises slightly as I explain, and I’m suddenly fighting tears. I pick up my mug and take a big swig of tea, swallow, exhale, and feel better.

“Do you know where they are?” Tallie asks.

“I know what the place looks like. And I know it’s southeast of here. And still pretty far.”

Tallie nods and thinks on it. “Well, you’re not going to be much use to anyone if you’re hobbling around on one foot. And whoever’s chasing you will probably be hanging around the area for a while before they give up, so it’s better you stay hidden for the day.”

She begins scooping up the possum bones and placing them carefully into the pouch. “And then there’s Beauregard here, who says we have something to teach each other.”

“Beauregard?” I ask, incredulous.

“Lula-Mae named the possum after her first husband. Don’t even ask.”

I mask a laugh as Tallie continues. “Have you learned anything from me that’s going to help you save your folks?”

I shake my head.

“Okay, well, it’s your turn. Tell all. Or at least all that you feel like telling.”

I hesitate, not because I don’t trust her but because I don’t know where to start. My story still feels so fresh and painful after spilling it to Miles—after seeing him brush it off as fantasy. My stomach twists when I think of him. It’s not like I ever really trusted him. But I entrusted him with my story. And he betrayed me. You betrayed him, too, I remind myself.

Tallie sees my indecision and leans over to pat my hand. “You know what? I find late morning the perfect time for fishing. I’m going to go catch us our lunch, and you can have some time to yourself.”

And when she returns a few hours later with a stringful of river trout, I’m ready to talk.

“So now your power is gone,” Tallie concludes when I’m finished. We’ve just eaten lunch, and our lips are both stained from blackberries. She scoops the last spoonful of purple cream out of the bowl into her mouth.

I nod. “I tried the most basic of Readings last night and it didn’t work.”

She places the empty bowl back down on the table. “Try something now. Try your firepowder. Does it work with a candle?”

I shake my head. “No, it needs to be a substantial blaze with open air around it.”

“It’s not really cold enough to merit a fire, but I’ll build us one anyway.” And she sets to work piling up kindling and logs, and soon a good fire is crackling in the hearth. While she works, I pull everything from my bag and set it out. It has been so long since I’ve seen it all arranged outside my pack that I discover a few things I had forgotten were there.

“Tell me what things are for,” Tallie says, placing a hand on my arm. I feel my skin tingle. A little quickening of warmth. Of kinship. Like I felt with Nome and Kenai. And whether or not that feeling is from the Yara, it’s a feeling that I trust.

“Telling you what one thing is for is like telling you that basil can only be used with tomato sauce. All of these can be mixed to facilitate different Readings, and a few for Conjurings.”

I feel like I am back with Whit, teaching the clan children the basics of Reading the Yara as he looks on and makes suggestions or additions.

Tallie’s watching me, so I begin. “The concept behind Reading is that everything in nature is alive in a certain fashion. So everything has its own version of what it sees or experiences: either past memories, what is happening in the present, or, since we think time is flexible, a ‘memory’ of what will have happened in the future. Every living thing is connected through the Yara. So Reading is just reaching out to the right element in nature that can give you the information you want to know. Some things, Whit has established as being consistently reliable for transmitting their knowledge, and those things can be accessed by using a certain object that he’s matched with it.”

“In a way it’s like Beauregard. He’s my tool for reading the future,” Tallie says.

“I have a feeling it might be all part of the same thing,” I confess. “You use the bones to connect with the Yara—or whatever your women called it—just like I can use an animal skull to Read where to hunt our next kill.”

Tallie smiles and nudges me. “Sisters in sign reading. I knew you’d be special. I’m shutting up now. You go ahead.” She runs her finger over an uncut amethyst.

“The precious stones act as a conduit for pretty much anything,” I explain. I pull my opal from under my shirt. “Most of our clanspeople wear one on them at all times to facilitate Reading, although the adults usually leave the Reading to the kids. We’re better at it than they are.”

“And you’re the most talented of all?” Tallie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Um, yeah, actually,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed. “My father says that my mother and I were prodigies, like any math or musical prodigy, but our gift was in using the Yara. My mother would have been the next clan Sage if she hadn’t died.”

“I’m sorry,” says Tallie softly.

I nod. “It’s been a long time. Anyway, because of my ‘talent,’ I was chosen to be the next clan Sage.”

“Figures,” she says with a wry smile.

“Why?”

“Because my goddesses wouldn’t bring just anyone to teach me the ways of Yara. They’d only bring me the best.”

I laugh, and continue taking her through the stones, herbs, ground-up minerals, and bones, skin, and fur, including the rabbit feet, and explain their different purposes.

“And Whit’s the one who came up with all of this?” she asks when I finish.

“He says he ‘culled the world’s wisdom’ for it. This is Whit’s firepowder,” I say, pointing to the rapidly dwindling supply in my bag. “It’s a mix of ground mica, gypsum, and a couple of other minerals local to Alaska. Besides skipping stones, fire is the earliest thing children Read because it’s one of the easiest.”

I hand the pouch to Tallie and then shuffle over next to where she’s plopped down in front of the fire, being careful not to flex my ankle. “You do it first,” Tallie says, looking as excited as a kid at a magic show.

“Like I said, nothing is working for me right now. But this is how I would do it.” I take a pinch and throw it into the flames, where it pops and sparkles silver for a second. “You need to get really relaxed. Slow your heartbeat. Slow your breathing. And then focus on the person you want to see. You can even say their name if it helps. And then you open yourself up and let the Yara make that connection for you.”

“Where am I supposed to be looking?” Tallie asks. She’s arranged herself in a lotus position and has rested her wrists on her knees, palms facing up like Whit does when leading the elders in their daily yoga session. This makes me smile.

“Look just above the fire and a tiny bit to one side. And then try to see patterns in the top of the flames and the shimmering of the heat above them.”

“Does the person have to be alive?” she asks, not daring to tear her eyes away from the fire.

“Yes—you use fire-Reading for seeing things in the present.”

“Says who?” she asks petulantly.

“Whit,” I respond.

She pauses. “Okay,” she says, “Yara, show me that lying cheat Nick Chowder, may his pecker shrivel to the size of a cheese puff and rot in hell.” She stares hard at the fire, squinting at it like she’s daring it to comply. I can’t help but giggle, but try to hide it so as not to distract her.

“What?” she says, finally turning from the fire with an irked expression. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I wouldn’t try to start with someone whose guts you hate,” I say. “Your emotions are supposed to be calm. Like meditation.”

“Then you do it,” she challenges.

“I told you, I’m not—”

“No, just pretend like you’re doing it, so I can copy you.”

I straighten my back and exhale deeply, closing my eyes. “Dad,” I whisper, and then let my eyelids slowly open as I stare above the fire. I watch the flames lick the air. Watch the negative space above them, pointing downward in flickering Vs, and wait, without hoping, for the tingle of the Yara connection. After a while, I break my gaze and look at her.

“Did it work?” she asks. I shake my head.

She sighs, and then gets up and grabs me a couch pillow to put under my foot. Digging through a cupboard, she takes out a plastic-lined box and scoops something out. “Clay from the riverbed,” she says, and comes back to sprawl beside me in front of the fire. “I think better when my hands are working,” she says, and starts rolling it around between her palms.

“So when you were telling me your life story there, you ended up with your theory that you’ve lost your powers because you’ve lost faith in the Yara. But since you’ve been explaining to me how it all functions, I’ve noticed just how much you do seem to believe in it. Your face kind of lights up when you talk about it.

“However, with all that postapocalyptic crap that your elders were feeding you and the other kids, I don’t blame you for doubting everything you ever learned. But you can’t throw out the baby with the bathwater, as they say. This is an important time for you, Juneau. You have other people to think about. You have a whole clan that’s depending on you. So you owe them to think a little bit harder about this.”

The clay is now squished into an oblong shape, and her thumbs are kneading it like she’s giving it a massage. “What I’ve just heard is that this one man came up with the whole idea of the Yara—”

“Whit based it on the whole Gaia philosophy,” I interject.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she says, and pats the top of the clay with the ball of her hand with little slapping noises until it’s flat. “He gathered the info. He made sense out of it. He mined other belief systems for what would go with it. And sounds like he did a pretty good job synthesizing it all to make it something that is a powerful tool for you and your people. But that doesn’t mean he knows everything.”

I consider what she’s said. “You know what I’ve been thinking about, Tallie? How all the totems Whit uses for Reading and Conjuring, even though he claims they’re all necessary, they seem to detract from the pure connection between me and the Yara. Why do I have to go through something—whether a stone or the rabbits’ feet? I should be able to go directly to the Yara to ask what I want. All the bells and whistles might be extraneous.”

“Doubt everything, Juneau. Doubt everything at least once. What you decide to keep, you’ll be able to be confident of. And what you decide to ditch, you will replace with what your instincts tell you is true. You’ve been living in a crystal tower that just had the foundations knocked out from under it. Which sucks. But now it’s up to you to decide whether you’re going to wallow around in the wreckage or rebuild something sturdier. Nothing better than making something with your own hands,” she says, gesturing around at the house she built. “Or, in your case, with your own mind.”

She smiled at me. “Now that I’m done with my lecture, here is your reward for listening.” She hands me the ball of clay, and suddenly I’m looking at a miniature version of myself. High cheekbones, full-moon eyes, and spiky hair made by pinching the clay dozens of times. She’s even made the starburst in my right eye.

“Hey, you’re really good,” I say.

She shrugs but looks pleased. “When I’m not building log cabins, I’m an amateur sculptor.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“No, thank you,” she responds. “I think we just now fulfilled Beauregard’s prophecy. You taught me something, or attempted to. . . . I’m going to keep working on the fire-Reading thing until I make it work. And in exchange, I gave you something to mull over, drawn from my own hard-earned life experience. I’d say we’re pretty even.”

44

MILES

I AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF THE CLEANING LADY unlocking my door. “Checkout was a half hour ago,” she says, and stands there with her fist on her hip like she’s kicking me out.

“Uh, could I have five minutes to get up and get dressed?” I ask. She makes a puffing noise and backs out, but leaves the door cracked open. I glance over at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Eleven thirty a.m. My first night in what feels like forever in a real bed instead of on the hard ground, and I want to sleep all day.

And then I remember why I’m here and leap out of bed, pulling yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt on and running out to the car. I was so tired last night I didn’t even bother to bring my suitcase in with me.

Okay, Miles, think. Redding and Portman will already be in Salt Lake City by now. Whit and his men . . . who knows where they are? And Juneau? She could be anywhere between that service station and Salt Lake City. It’s useless to try to search for her in between, when I know that the city is her goal. She’ll turn up there sooner or later.

I pop the trunk, fish out the cereal and a bottle of cranberry juice. Juneau had never seen it before, so of course she had to buy a six-pack, and I remember her excitement with a smile. For the next three hours I eat dry Cap’n Crunch out of the box and take swigs of Ocean Spray (which do not mix well) as I drive to Salt Lake City.

But once I’m in the city, I have no clue of where to even start looking for her. I try to think like she does. She had talked about that prophecy of the serpent and the city by the undrinkable water and seemed to think that she would find the next piece of the puzzle once she arrived. But what would she look for? Where would she go to look for a sign?

I drive around the downtown area, looking for anything that catches my eye. Temple Square. Capitol Hill. The shopping district. All I can think is that modernity freaks her out, so she would probably head to a park or the lakefront. My stomach’s growling, so I park the car and go into a sandwich shop and order some food. I’ll eat next to the waterfront. When I give the cashier my credit card, it comes back as declined.

“Try it again,” I say, and end up having to pay with cash. I’ve got twenty bucks left in my wallet, so I head to an ATM. It eats my card. When I go into the bank, the teller tells me that my card has been reported as stolen. And then I know.

“What the hell, Dad!” I yell into the pay phone.

“Watch your language, young man,” he growls. “I told you to come directly home. What are you doing in Salt Lake City?”

“How do you even know where I am?” I yell.

“My assistant, Sam, is tracking your card use.”

“He reported it as stolen!”

“I’ll have him rectify that as soon as you reassure me that you are on your way to L.A. and I will see you here tomorrow.”

“I’m not coming home. I’m staying here until I find the girl.”

“If you do, Miles Blackwell, you can forget about Yale. I have my men on this, and I don’t want you messing it up.”

“But Dad,” I begin. The phone line clicks as my dad hangs up.

I head back to the car, flipping through my wallet as I walk. Twenty bucks to my name and my dad’s Shell card, which can only buy me gas. I’m not leaving. I’m not going home, but where am I going to stay? I’m not Juneau—I can’t survive off the land. What am I going to do until I find her—snare pigeons with my phone charger and cook them over a campfire in the public park?

I press the button to unlock my car, accidentally popping the trunk open. Walking around to slam it shut, I see something I had completely forgotten was back there: the tent and camping supplies.

I glance around at the stunning mountain scenery surrounding the city and smile. I can’t afford a hotel room, but I can sure as hell camp.