No no no. Step away, step away from him now. He cain’t be trusted, he’s dangerous, my enemy. But I don’t. I don’t move.
Why can’t you kill me, Saba? he says.
I could ask you the same, I says.
The first time I saw you at Hopetown, he says, I knew you. Who you really are. Who you can be.
You don’t know me, I says.
Oh, but I do, he says. You have a rare fire within you. The power to change things. The courage to act in the service of something greater than yourself. And you lower yourself to this shabby misadventure. What are you doing?
I’m silent.
I’m doing good, he says. I’m guiding people, freeing them from want and hardship and suffering, showing them the way to a better future. You were there at that dawn, in that bunker. You witnessed my visions of the world as it was. The lushness of the land, the richness of the seas. Those magnificent creatures. Unimaginable wonders. You do remember?
I couldn’t ever fergit what I seen at that dawn.
At this moment, he says, in this place, we have a real chance, maybe our only chance, to start again. To do right by the earth this time. We can make a better world. We can know some of that wonder. Don’t tell me you don’t want that. I was watching you. I saw your face. Your tears. You care just as deeply as I do.
His words slide softly around me. They grip. Tighten. Pull me towards him.
You kill people to git what you want, I says.
So do you. You’ve just done it again, he says. But this isn’t about what I want. I’m doing what’s right. I’m making difficult, real decisions every day. Allocating what scarce resources there are to those who can make best use of them. I’m behaving morally. Responsibly.
Morally, I says.
Most people just survive day to day, he says. I have a higher calling. To serve the greater good. Any violence is regrettable, but it’s a means to an end. You might even say, a virtuous necessity. You remember what I told you. We’re cleaning the infected wounds of Mother Earth. Did you weep when you destroyed that cesspit Hopetown? Did you lose sleep over any scum that might have burned in its flames?
I cain’t make no answer to that.
No, he says. We are so alike, Saba.
A virtuous necessity, I says. Is that what yer Stewards call it when you murder their newborns?
There’s no killing of infants, as you well know, he says. The weak are left in the open overnight. If they’re still alive in the morning, they get another chance. It’s the way of the world and everyone here understands that. Does a bird feed all its young equally? Of course not. The healthiest and largest grow and thrive. The weak fall back and perish. If we have any chance of healing Mother Earth, we need the strongest and the best. The greater good must always be served.
His eyes persuade. His voice woos. His words caress. We have a destiny, he says. Together, Saba. We’re born to command, not obey.
At last, at last I look in his eyes. Eyes so dark they’re almost black. Heavy lids that hide who he is. In the night-time mountain lake deep of his eyes, I see a tiny reflection. It’s me.
I ain’t yer creature, I says.
I don’t want you to be. I have plenty of those.
He bends his head. His mouth so close. His warm breath kisses my lips. Oh, my traitor soul. What is it in me that cleaves to him? To blur me melt me lose me.
I lose myself in the touch of him. The taste of him. The smell of him. Till I feel the moment when the edges of me start to blur. I lead him to his bed. We lie down together. An I melt to the dark, blank heat.
My skin trembles. Jest barely do I whisper. But I do. I whisper,
You will not … have me.
He goes still. Perfectly still. In the silence between us, the day holds its breath. Then,
I step back. From him. Away. From him. Air floods my lungs with such a rush that I’m dizzy. To heal the earth. That’s right. But how he’s doin it is wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. The greater good. Moral. Virtuous. He can twist lies into truth an truth into lies till I don’t know one from the other. An he can twist me. Till I don’t know who I am. Till I don’t know what I believe.
We did wrong today at the bridge. An he’s wrong. He is wrong. What’s right must lie somewhere else. Between us maybe. Or beyond us.
If you keep on with this course, he says, more people will die. Maybe even people you care about. Your sister. Your brother. How many are you? Ten? Twelve? You’re out of your depth. If I were you, I’d weigh my chances carefully.
I says, This earth belongs to everythin that lives here. Not jest yer Chosen ones, them that you deem worthy. Clean water an decent land is everybody’s birthright. You cain’t take it. You cain’t own it. The Free Hawks ain’t goin nowhere.
Well rehearsed, Saba, he says. Who put those words in your mouth? He’s silent fer a moment. As always, I cain’t read nuthin in his face. Not a hint of what’s goin on inside of him. Then he says, I’m going to make you an offer. It’s a generous one, in the circumstances. You’ll formally surrender to me, all your weapons and your fighters. I’ll guarantee everyone safe passage over the Waste, your family and friends. I’ll provide them an escort as far as the Low China Pass. From there, it’s a decent trail west through the mountains. This is all, of course, with the strict understanding that if they ever return to New Eden, they’re dead.
An in return? I says.
You, he says.
A prisoner.
No. My wife.
Same thing, I says. I’ll see you in hell first.
You and I are on the side of the angels, he says.
He wades to the edge, grabs a branch an pulls hisself outta the pool. Water showers offa his britches an boots. As he picks up his cloak, the ghosthounds rise. I’ll rebuild the bridge in a week, he says. If you hit me again, I’ll hit you back tenfold. When you’ve had enough, if you’re still standing, come and find me. My offer’s good until the blood moon. Like I said, I’m feeling generous. After that, I’ll have your whole misstarred mob hunted down and killed. Wherever you run to. And that includes you, Saba. Believe me, I’m not sentimental.
So you say, I says. You had yer chances, jest like I have. I’m still here.
This is the endgame, he says. We play by new rules from now on. He starts to go. Oh! He turns back, like he’s jest remembered somethin. I don’t suppose you’re pregnant, he says.
A swift move, my bow’s up an I fire. My arrow close-shaves him. Spears the tree next to his head. The dogs move. Ready to go fer me. A lift of his hand halts ’em. DeMalo didn’t dodge. Didn’t flinch. His ear drips red on his white white shirt.
New rules, I says.
The blood moon, says he.
With a bow of his head, he disappears among the trees, the great white dogs at his heels.
I don’t move. Not a twitch. My tight twisted heart tracks DeMalo. Not by sound. He moves silent, him an his dogs. No, I track him by the heat of the heartstone. It fades. It cools. Then it’s cold. He’s gone.
I let down my bow. A long breath shudders out. My bravado whimpers an dies. His will drags at me, strong as a fast river current. It takes all that I got to resist.
I wade my shaky legs to the bank an slump among the mossy roots. Gawdamnn heartstone. Not DeMalo, my heart’s desire. Never, never DeMalo. I rip the thing off. Pull my arm back to fling it, drown it, rid myself of its hot lies. But I hesitate. I cain’t. It was my mother’s. The only thing I ever had that belonged to her. I shove it deep in my pocket.