Travelers

  Copyright © 2017 Alia Hess

  All rights reserved.

  ~ Acknowledgements ~

  This book would not be what it is without the illuminating suggestions, guidance, and support from the following people: Essa Hansen, Sunyi Dean, Amy Rivera, Melissa McNeice, Cassie Greutman, Richard Austin, and Lela Markham. Thank you for walking with Owl and Trav and helping them find their way.

  ~ Contents ~

  1 A Bad Route

  2 Trashdogs

  3 Pity Party

  4 Spectacles

  5 Scorpion Leaf

  6 Cadestown

  7 Detour

  8 Burr

  9 Drones and Doctors

  10 Virus

  11 Creek

  12 Beach

  13 Tradeship

  14 Nis

  15 Ceremony

  16 Nesting

  17 Sasha

  18 Tea and Cookies

  19 Aki

  20 Abandoned

  21 Home

  1 ~ A Bad Route ~

  Waves of pain crashed against the shore of her mind. Owl struggled to open her sticky eyelids, then squeezed them shut against the sudden light. Other senses rose to the surface as she blinked: the taste of copper and chalky dust in her mouth, a deep ache in her thigh, pulsing in time with her head, and a dark form at the edge of her vision.

  A man squatted before her in the desert dirt, rummaging through a bag. Owl stiffened, eyes wide. Where had he come from? She’d been lost, climbing for a better view, searching for the road. How did she end up on the ground?

  The man’s form took on definition as she blinked the blear from her eyes. Pale blond hair hung over his shoulder in a long, thick braid. The tie at the end dangled with tiny gray seashells. Blue veins, like rivers on a map, snaked across the backs of his porcelain hands. He reached into the bag and unsheathed a long, serrated knife.

  She dug her quivering fingers into the soil. What should she do?

  The man looked up. Dirt and grime covered his strong, angular face, and a generous smear of eyeblack rimmed his icy eyes. The greasy paste ran down his pale cheeks like black tears. A purplish scar wound over the bridge of his nose, another cutting through his upper lip.

  His gaze caught hers and he forced a smile, revealing a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth.

  Alligator. He has alligator teeth… and a knife. He’s a highwayman.

  She jerked upright, and her head screamed in protest. A hot breeze kicked dust into a swirling cloud around them. She had to run. Why weren’t her legs working?

  This is what you get for leaving town by yourself.

  Her legs buckled as she tried to stand, and she collapsed into the dirt.

  The man put his meaty hand on her shoulder, holding her down. Her heart punched against her chest, and she cowered against the rocky slope. Where was her machete? Balled up socks, a bottle of ink, and a smashed plastic water jug lay nearby—things from her pack.

  He jerked at the tattered fabric of her jeans and it ripped.

  A hoarse scream tore from Owl’s throat. She thrashed, kicking. “Stop it! Leave me alone. Don’t touch me—”

  “Shh. It’s okay.” The man rose to a kneeling position and fumbled with a pouch on his belt.

  “Get away from me, asshole!” She kicked out, her boot heel thudding against his broad chest. He wheezed, his big frame deflating as the air left him. She grasped a handful of dirt and flung it in his face.

  Where was his knife? She’d stab him just like she—

  His hand buffeted her chest, pressing her against the ground. She bucked under his weight; he wiped dirt from his eyes, smearing his eyeblack. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go.”

  How many times had he said that? “I can’t let you go. I love you too much. You can’t leave, Owl.”

  Arms limp, she dropped her head, tears burning in her eyes.

  So this is where it ends. I finally get away, only to end up some psycho’s dinner in the middle of The Bounds.

  The man was speaking, but she couldn’t hear him over her own sobs—her own patheticness. You’re pathetic.

  A small, amber bottle glimmered between his fingers. He ripped out the cork with his pointed teeth. Gripping her knee, he poured the turbid liquid onto her thigh; searing heat surged through her leg.

  She gasped, pushing weakly at the earth. “Please. Stop.”

  He gestured to the bottle, pointing at the label, but darkness crowded her vision. Her mind drifted, pulled away on tidal waves of pain, and she shut her eyes.

  Evening light painted the rough walls of a cave ceiling in gold and carmine, harsh shadows spidering through the crevices.

  Where am I?

  Owl blinked, her mind flailing. There’d been a man… with porcelain skin and alligator teeth—

  Her heart clenched and she shot up, her gaze scrambling over the dim cave, but no figures hunched in the shadows, ready to slice her open.

  Head throbbing, she pushed against the quilted bedroll beneath her. Where had it come from? If that man was a highwaymen, would he really have tortured her, then lain her onto a soft bedroll with tiny yellow flowers embroidered across the squares?

  Probably from his last victim.

  A bandage wrapped her exposed thigh, a stark and clean contrast to the crusty blood staining her pants. She peeked under the dressing. A long gash ran down her leg, sewn closed with blue thread. Her stomach twisted and she tugged the bandage back up. Would a highwayman have stitched her wound?

  Staring at the dark swath of scabs across her palms and elbows, a more likely story formed from her fragments of memory. She’d fallen from that hill. Rocks had given way under her feet, gravel digging into her skin as she scrambled for a grip. Then nothing until she woke at the base, battered and screaming at the good Samaritan trying to help her.

  She’d just needed a better vantage point. There was a highway to Cadestown somewhere around this blistering hellhole, but the high terrain obscured it. How had that man found her in the middle of nowhere?

  Owl struggled to stand but collapsed on the bedroll again, her leg throbbing and daggers stabbing her brain.

  The inside of her mouth was drier than the dirt outside. Water jugs, still tied to her pack, sat against the opposite wall along with her machete. It was an impossible distance.

  “Hello?” Her voice reverberated off the cave’s walls. “Are you still here?”

  Wind howled outside, kicking up a haze of white dust. She hung her head. “Shit.” Choosing between the pain in her throat and the pain in her leg was difficult.

  Gravel crunched outside the entrance, and a confusing cocktail of relief and fear coursed through her. The man at the cave’s mouth seemed like an otherworldly specter with his cowl up over his head, his pale face barely discernible. He pulled down the hood and stooped his huge frame to avoid hitting his head on low hanging rocks. His blond braid hung to the small of his back, and a tattered chestnut cloak clung to his thick biceps like tree moss.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. She should have dragged her battered body out alone and made her escape. This man could snap her neck like a brittle branch.

  But she was still lost in The Bounds. Even if she could don her pack and leave, how would she get out of this place with her injuries? How would she set up rabbit snares or hunt for mesquite pods and wild onions? What if the long gash down her thigh got infected?

  He stared at her expectantly, lips pursed.

  “M-my water. Please?” She gestured to the jugs.

  He walked to Owl’s pack and unhooked a dented, plastic container. He squatted, arm outstretched as though if he got any closer, she might bite him.

  “Thank you.” She took a long pull, warm water washing over her parched lips. Dragging in a deep breath, she rested aga
inst the rock wall. “So what now?”

  He sat down, deliberate distance between them. Rosy light glanced off his silver earrings. “What do you mean?”

  His voice—subdued and careful, with a lilting accent—didn’t at all match his strong, burly form. And those teeth. Had she imagined them?

  She pressed against the wall, gripping the jug handle so tightly her fingers ached. “You gonna rape me? Torture me?”

  Hurt flashed in his light blue eyes. “Should have known.”

  “Known what? Look, I wake up and this strange man is ripping open my pants and has a big knife. What am I supposed to think?”

  “No such thing as right place, right time?”

  “For torture?”

  “For helping you.”

  She wanted to ask him what nefarious reason he’d patched her up for, but his clenched jaw and downcast gaze made her think better of it. “Then you’re just a traveler, like me?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you as hopelessly lost as I am?”

  A ghost of a smile flashed on his face. “‘Fraid so. Haven’t had a chance to look for a good path out of this place. Too afraid of leaving you for long. There are lizards out here.” His exotic voice glided over her skin like a feather, an accent altogether different from lazy northwestern drawls or rapidfire merchant speech. This wasn’t a highwayman.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “All day.”

  “And you stayed here with me the whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you do that? Just out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Given the kind of people I’ve been around for the past couple years, yes. And I thought there were nothing but highwaymen out here.” She glanced at the machete against the other wall, then closed her eyes, her head throbbing.

  “Rumor has it there are good people left somewhere in the world too, but if so, I haven’t found them. What’s your name?”

  “Owl. Owl Melonvine.” There was something pleasurable about using her maiden name again, the way the ‘o’s rolled around in her mouth. She opened her eyes. “What about you?”

  His big shoulders sagged. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Then what do people call you?”

  He exhaled a cheerless laugh, filed teeth glinting. “Asshole. Creep. Freak. Coconut.”

  “Er, well, I can’t call you that.” What could she call him? This dejected man with his ragged clothes and haggard face. He was a wanderer. A nomad. A vagabond. A traveler.

  Traveler. It would do for now. Maybe “Trav” for short.

  The silence in the cave had soured to an uncomfortable level. Worse still was depression’s dull ache, clinging like a dampness in her soul.

  Trav leaned back on one arm. “Where are you headed?”

  Who knows. “I’m just walking. I thought I’d go to Cadestown next. This is a bad route, though.”

  He nodded. “A bad route we both took. Where’d you come from?”

  “Waterton. Higher north.”

  “Been there once. Seemed like a nice town. I mean, for Mainlanders. Why would you leave it to wander through the desert?”

  He’s not from the Mainland? The Pearlollans then. It would explain the teeth. She picked at the frayed tear of denim at her knee. “First of all, I wasn’t planning to wander the desert. The Bounds is in the wrong place on my map. Thought I was heading directly for Cadestown. As for why I left…” An image of her trembling, bloody hands stuffing food and flint into her pack flashed in her mind. “I don’t want to talk about it. What about you? You going to Cadestown too?”

  “I don’t know—haven’t thought that far ahead. But there has to be a better path out of here. I’ll go look once I’m certain you won’t be eaten by lizards.”

  Being stuck in the desert, immobile, and relying on a strange man’s assistance wasn’t a nice thought, even if torture wasn’t on his agenda. What if he wanted sexual favors in exchange for his help? “I’m grateful you patched me up, but I don’t have a right to ask you for any more than you’ve already done. You don’t need to hang around here with me any longer.”

  Trav’s gaze wandered down her battered body, pausing at her thigh. “I think I do. I don’t mind.”

  “You don’t have anything better to do?”

  “I really don’t. Sad, isn’t it?”

  She shifted uncomfortably. Torture might have been preferable to the awkward silence. “Are you from the Pearlollans?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want this to sound rude, but I thought Islanders had dark skin and black hair.”

  “They do. I don’t.” He frowned. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you some food?”

  “No, thank you. I think I just want to go back to sleep.”

  He nodded and stood. “Feel better.”

  She eyed his broad back until he disappeared around the corner, then pressed her face to the bedroll and closed her eyes.

  A hand shook Owl’s shoulder gently. Bright blue eyes in pools of smeared eyeblack stared down at her. She shrieked, recoiling. Her heartbeat crashed in her ears. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I forgot where I was.” Her body protested as she struggled to sit upright.

  Trav’s barely-there brows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I brought you some food.” He held out a wooden bowl of stew, meat and vegetables bobbing in a watery slurry.

  “Oh. I guess I should eat something, huh? Thanks.”

  Trav stood, his slumped form heading for the entrance.

  How long has this guy been wandering around alone out here? He’s so far from home. “Are you going to eat too? You could sit in here with me. If you want.”

  He paused for a moment, then walked out of the cave.

  She sighed. “Alright then. Suit yourself.”

  Tasting the stew made her stomach rumble for more. Owl barely chewed the solid parts as she drained the bowl. Trav walked inside, holding another wooden dish. He sat cross-legged next to her with his back against the wall.

  He took a sip, then grimaced. “Ugh. This tastes like shit. Sorry. Too much lavender.”

  “I don’t care. I was starving.” She gestured to the empty bowl, tiny purple bits clinging to the wooden sides.

  He raised his brows, then offered her his stew.

  “What about you?”

  “There’s more, unfortunately. How’s your leg?”

  After slurping the stew, Owl replied. “The pain didn’t wake me up today. It still hurts, but I’m going to try to walk around a bit.”

  Trav nodded, staring at the cave’s opposite wall as if it were interesting. Did this encounter feel as uncomfortable to him as it did to her?

  Owl pushed herself up on her good leg, her fingers digging into the crevices of the rock wall. Her injured thigh spasmed when she tested her weight on it. Labored breaths wracked her body as she clung to the rock.

  “Are you okay?” Trav asked.

  “This is going to be harder than I thought. I gotta pee. I hate to ask, but can you help me outside?”

  Trav rose and clamped a muscular arm around her, and she stiffened at his touch—bracing. He took a step back. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Your back?”

  “No. It’s just—It’s okay. Please.”

  He hesitantly slid his arm around her again. The urge to push him away was overwhelming, but she gripped his ragged cloak sleeve and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. With his help, she limped to a squat mesquite tree bristling with olive-colored leaves.

  “Thanks.”

  Trav released his hold. “I’ll just be over here.” He rounded the corner out of sight.

  Owl eyed the space he’d occupied, then the sawtooth hills beyond, dotted in silver sagebrush. What was the luck she’d found a helpful stranger in a place like this?

  Maybe he’s been stalking me. Would he have followed me all the way from Waterton?

  Her stomach clenched
. Would the sheriff have paid someone to go after her? It wasn’t unlikely, given what she’d done, but there had been plenty of times before this for someone to arrest or kill her. She didn’t act like someone on the run, racing off to some remote place of safety. She was just… wandering.

  She carefully pulled down her ripped and bloody jeans and relieved herself. Her leg objected to every action, and donning her pants again hurt more than pulling them down. Dry brush snatched at her pant legs as she tried to pick her way back to the cave entrance. Trav leaned against the rock face with his arms folded, squinting into the cloudless sky. When he saw her, he rushed over and scooped an arm around her.

  “I’m sick of that cave. Take me somewhere else?” she asked.

  He nodded, helping her to a campfire nearby. A pot hung over it on a metal stand, Trav’s attempt at stew inside. Tiny lavender blossoms floated on the greasy surface. She eased onto a flat rock near the dying fire.

  “Thanks. Would you bring me my pack?”

  “Sure.” He turned, swerving around rocks and heading for the cave. It’s mouth hung open like the jaw of predator, and Trav disappeared into the darkness.

  Owl shut her eyes, inhaling hot, sage-tinged air. Who knew it could be such a monumental effort just to take a leak? Her body ached, but the lingering sensation of Trav’s arm around her hurt more than anything else. She opened her eyes as he walked back over with her pack and the dirty stew bowls.

  “Thanks again.” The bag appeared to have survived the fall better than her body. Owl rummaged through it, checking that everything was still there. She pulled out a large chunk of broken mirror and held it up, her reflection shifting from exhaustion to surprise. Her eyeblack was gone, face bruised and scabbed, but clean.

  “Did you clean me up?”

  He nodded. “You were covered in blood and dirt. I didn’t want to just leave you that way.”

  “You’re really unbelievable.”

  Darkness settled over Trav’s face. “I don’t understand why you people hate us so much.”

  Owl put up her hands. “Hey, now, wait a minute. Hate who? Good Samaritans?”

  “You know that isn’t what I’m talking about.”