Sifter: Part 3
Mitul Mistry
Copyright 2012 Mitul Mistry
Smashwords Edition
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Map
Chapter 37
What the hell was he getting himself into now? The men smelled, even worse than Dalton. He looked at Rowan with an evil gaze, as if sensing his thoughts, though it probably had more to do with the fact that Rowan was the one that had dragged them into that mess in the first place.
The cold was unpleasant, but not nearly as bad as the deeper months of winter had been. Yet the cheap, greasy clothing did nothing to keep out the cold. He had certainly done undercover work before, but this was pushing it a bit far, even for Rowan. He was out in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be a hired thug, with no one but an idiot county constable for support. He wrapped himself tighter in his cowl, and trudged along through the snowy night under the light of badly crafted torches.
“Where the hell are we going?” one of the men said. He was bald, with two long braided strands for a beard.
“To the mountains, I told you already, you flea brain,” the leader said.
“Hey, don’t call me a flea brain, you dirty little rat-toothed son of a-”
“Shut yore dirty little flea bitten mouth you fat swilling wart of a-”
The bald man roared, but was smashed in the face by a larger, serious looking man.
“Ain’t no one gonna argue with ol’ Minko from here on out, you lugs hear? Anyone not interested in our operation, get your pimply rears out of ‘ere now! But if I hear another word from any o’ you, I’ll lop off yore lil’ pricks and feed ‘em to my hounds, ya’ see?”
“But boss, you don’t have any-”
“Shut up!” Minko yelled, his small frame quivering under the furs as he brandished his evil looking knife. “Come on, you fat filthy bastard whoreson goatherder sons of… I can’t believe they have me working the goon shift. One little betrayal, one teensy little betrayal, and this is what I get. Is that fair? Hey, I said, is that fair?” Some of the men muttered in assent.
Dalton looked from under his absurd leather cowl at Rowan, his expression locked in fear. Rowan merely shook his head and followed the large crowd of greasy men. They moved like a herd of savage, misguided beasts, lured by the scent of money. They moved under the weak light of the few torches, tromping through the snow. The din was abrasive, the mutterings of men mingling with the sound of weapons sliding against clothing.
Rowan could feel the tension in the atmosphere. After all this time, searching for something to grasp onto in the snowy drifts of the northern wastes, Sergil had come through and Rowan had finally found his lead. Dalton was the worst. He was so impatient. Rowan knew the truth, though, that real patience could pay off, and it often did. However, with Dalton cursing at him under his breath night and day, it could get on the nerves of even the most hardened individual.
As they passed deeper into the wilderness, Rowan began to see a dark from stretching out, obscured by trees. And as his suspicions became confirmed, he felt a deep sickness begin to grow from within him. It was a large and formidable wall, built in the same tradition as the walls of the Dominion. How the Council had managed to construct something so elaborate without them knowing… well, so much for intelligence.
Out of the night and amidst some trees appeared a wooden guard tower, with men up top shining lights down upon them, rifles in hand. Artificial search lights? Where did they get their hands on those? There were shadowy figures moving towards them, inspecting individuals by face. As they got close, Rowan realized they were Dominion soldiers, but they wore unmarked uniforms. As someone shined an artificial light in his eyes, he felt himself tense. No one could know him by face, and certainly not through a cowl. But still, if he was caught here, there would be no escape. They funneled through a gateway in the wall, and Rowan tried not to lose track of Dalton. There were suddenly an awful lot of people around, milling around. In the dark, it was impossible to make out faces, only moving shadows against the night sky.
They proceeded down a pathway, and across the snowy plains he could see a massive cut in the mountain, warm light pouring forth from within. The closer they got, the more Rowan understood its scale. It was a huge opening, and it took a long time to even get close. There were other openings, passageways in the mountainside, also spilling light into the darkness of the quiet wilderness. There were all sorts of men passing to and from the site in question. Horses pulled carts and large wagons from temporary buildings and other construction sites. Rowan had never seen such an operation.
As they passed by the buildings, he could see more artificial lights illuminating the thick atmosphere. Finally, they made their way into the mountainside. Above, there was scaffolding, with men picking away on either side. The noise had been accumulating; it sounded like some sort of an industrial operation. Men wore hard hats as they passed by, sweaty, their faces darkened. There were cartloads of some strange, metallic substance. This was a mining operation. Then what the hell were they mining? He passed through and was corralled along with the others into some sort of makeshift administrative area.
“All right, you lugs!” Minko yelled, getting up onto a wooden stand. “You’ll be given yore work orders and yore IDs here! Don’t go wandering around without an ID, or you’ll prolly be shot!” Minko lowered himself and hurried out, mumbling to himself. The men formed lines in front of the tables, and Rowan got in behind Dalton.
“They’re gonna kill us, aren’t they?” Dalton whispered.
“Shut up. You remembered your gun, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s a piece of garbage, man. Not going to do me any good when someone’s pointing a knife up my ass.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to be interested in your ass. Just give them a fake name and anything else they ask for. Don’t be an idiot.”
“But I am an idiot!”
Rowan looked around. There was a hell of a lot of technology being used there. It had to be supported by the government. Unless there was something he didn’t know… Then again, there were many things he didn’t know. He was just a grunt, remember? God, what the hell did he get himself into this time… All he needed was that damn girl, and he could be done with it all.
The line shortened quickly, and Dalton was up.
“Name?” the surly officer asked.
“Uh, Walker. Logan T. Walker.”
“Referrer?”
“Uh, what?”
“Your referrer? Who referred you?”
“Oh, uh, Minko.”
“Rat bastard,” the officer muttered to himself. “Occupation?”
“Uh, what?” Dalton said.
“Occupation? Job! What did you do for money?”
“Oh, this and that.”
“Can you drive a horse?”
“Sure.”
The officer wrote ‘Walker, Logan T. – Driver’ on a hardened ID slip, stamped it, and pinned it to Dalton’s chest. “Get your work assignment from one of the supervisors. Next!” the man said.
Rowan approached the desk.
“Name?” the officer asked.
“James Conroy,” Rowan said.
“Referrer?”
“Minko.”
“Rat bastard,” the officer mumbled. “Occupation?”
“Owned a cafe.”
“Well, we don’t need anyone in stores or in rations. I can put you in janitorial services.”
But before the officer could proceed, Rowan said, “Well, I have considerable experience. Think you could give me more of a supervisory role?”
The officer paused, thinking. “Well, we are hurting for skilled managers. You can deal with people?”
“Oh, yes,” Rowan said, nodding.
“Good,” the officer said. He wrote ‘Conroy, James – Taskmaster,’ pinning it to Rowan’s chest. “Get your work assignment from a supervisor over there, by the mine shafts. Next!”
Rowan left and found Dalton standing around nervously, presumably trying to act inconspicuous.
“So… What do we do?” Dalton whispered. He looked so absurd in his thug getup – like he just stepped out of a costume shop.
“Lie low. Do whatever’s required of you. Attract no attention. If you screw up, I will not save you, understood?”
Dalton nodded his head, clearly afraid.
“I’ll see what I can find out. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears sharp. I’ll find you if I need anything,” Rowan said, departing. He moved down one of the corridors towards the mine shafts. The clamor of machinery and men yelling over it was at times deafening. He found his way through the winding tunnels to his destination, hailing one of the supervisors upon arriving.
“Hey there,” the supervisor said. “New arrival?”
“Yes,” Rowan said.
The supervisor looked at Rowan’s ID badge. “Taskmaster, huh? Have fun in the pits. Take the elevator down,” he said, gesturing down one of the corridors. An elevator? What the hell kind of an operation was this? Rowan made for the elevator, and someone flipped a switch, lowering the thing down into darkness. The rocky wall passed before his eyes in a blur. With a thud, the platform came to a halt, and Rowan moved into the tunnel before him. Upon reaching the end, he found himself in a large pit, with shafts branching out in all directions. Grimy, sweat stained men and women chiseled away at the walls in rags as bestial men roared away at them. One of them approached Rowan.
“Who the hell are you?” the man said.
“New arrival,” Rowan said.
“Taskmaster, eh?” the man said, bellowing, trying to make himself heard above the clang and the clatter of pickaxes. He handed him a coil. “Job’s real simple, see? If ya see anyone laggin’ or loafin’, whip ‘em. If ya see anyone actin’ up, whip ‘em. If ya see anyone pissin’ their rags, whip ‘em. They get a five minute break every two hours. They’ll ask for a piss break. Give ‘em one at yore discretion. Iffin they break a bone or somethin’, see a supervisor at yore discretion. When in doubt, whip ‘em. Any questions?”
Rowan looked at the coiled whip in his hand. “I was under the impression they’d be using machinery to excavate.”
The man laughed. “Stuff’s too delicate. Besides, where would be the fun in that!” he said, slapping Rowan’s back. “Take a break whenever you want. You can handle the shafts over there,” he said, pointing.
Rowan made his way along the edge of the pit. The laborers toiled, and he could hear the sound of their mechanical pounding, the rock falling, splitting into shards. The substance, buried within the flesh of the stone, was pried out, held gently by the beaten laborers, as if they were holding a child. One of the laborers looked up at him. He was bald, of tan skin, probably Mon-Dragorian. He was so thin, Rowan could see the man’s bones. His hollow cheeks, his gaunt, sallow face, the haunted expression in his eyes… But then the man was struck upon the back, and he flinched, returning to work after recovering from the blow.
The shafts opened wide to him. They were not especially large, but they were certainly long, and deep. He walked in and watched as the men and women struck the rock. They were of all manner of age and color. Mostly men, with a few women here and there. Perhaps even a few children. Where had all these people been trafficked from? They looked over their shoulders at him, in fear. He still wore his cowl under a hood, and he knew how frightening a masked man with a whip and the authority to wield it could really be. His blades hanging from his belt couldn’t have been reassuring either.
A boy sat panting, rubbing his arm. It was bleeding. Rowan approached him, but the boy recoiled in fear, scuttling to pick up his pickaxe, returning to work. Rowan merely walked past. He could smell the sweat and the other bodily odors emanating from their bodies. It could get quite warm in those pits, crowded together, toiling away for how many hours. They probably barely even got any sleep. They would work through the night, though that probably didn’t mean much so deep within the mountains. What the hell were they even mining? He peered into a bucket as a man carried his load out through the shaft. It was very peculiar substance – dull, metallic, almost yellowish, a bit orange, but seemingly colorless from a distance. Whatever it was, it must have been valuable.
A woman lay on the floor, broken from exhaustion, or so it would appear. She had collapsed, and her breathing was shallow. Rowan crouched beside and took hold of her chin. The woman opened her eyes, but didn’t seem willing to move.
“Hey, come on,” Rowan whispered to the woman. “Get up. Or I’ll have to beat you.”
The woman spat in Rowan’s face.
He wiped it out of his eyes and stepped back, but realized the other laborers were watching him over their backs. Rowan gripped the coil on his belt. He had to, didn’t he? If he didn’t, he could get in trouble and blow his cover. If the workers didn’t fear him, they might not cooperate, and that could blow his cover. It was not acceptable. He breathed hard and uncoiled his whip. He took a step back and swung down upon the woman. Her face twitched with the lash across her stomach, but she stared on into Rowan’s eyes, unfazed. Now he was in trouble. He reared back and lashed again, and again. She refused to move. He hit her again. Her stomach was bleeding. He hit her again. Rowan took out a blade and grabbed her by the throat, forcing her up.
“Get up, and work,” Rowan said.
The woman spit in his eyes once more.
Rowan struck her across the face. He picked her up from the floor, and struck her across the face once again. He slammed her body against the rock wall, and held her up by the throat.
“Don’t be stupid.”
The woman’s face was bruised, her lip cut and bleeding. She nodded, wild-eyed, and retrieved the pickaxe, returning to work.
There was clapping from behind. Rowan turned. There were a couple of taskmasters and a supervisor watching, and they smiled.
“Damn bitch been givin’ us trouble for days,” the supervisor said. “What’s your name, son… Conroy. Well, James, welcome aboard!” he said, clapping him on the shoulder before heading deeper into the tunnels.
The rest of his shift passed by in a haze. He would notify anyone before beating them, and most of the time they would return to work readily. A few refused, and he beat them till they bled. Eventually, the threat became all that was needed. His shift lasted eight hours. He peed in a bucket.
He had a four hour break, to eat and sleep, then it was back in the hole. He went back up the elevator and outside the mountain to the rations area to pick up some food, blinded by the light. It was dry bread and cheese, with some cheap wine. He finished his meal, then walked away from the camp into the forest. He found a large tree to hide behind, and crumpled, his body wracked by the sobs. He buried his face in his hands, the tears burning his flesh as they were released. He gripped himself feebly, and stifled the screeches. After he was finished, he wrapped his face up once again, peed in the forest, and made for the dormitories for some sleep.
Chapter 38
She had been traveling for days. Much of her time had been spent wandering around, trying to get her bearings, making sure she was going in the right direction. But, after all the trouble, Larissa finally managed to find her way there. Over the ridge and across the plains, she saw the ranch in the distance. As she approached it, she felt nervous. She supposed she ought to be used to the drill by now, but it was still so awkward, asking people she didn’t even know to take her in. Where would she even be without Celeste’s friends?
As she came up to the door, she took a deep breath and knocked. There was no reason to be ashamed. She was just a waif girl now, dependent on the kindness of others, and as much as she hated the thought, she just wasn’t quite to the point where she could handle things on her own completely. Who knew? After all, Oakwood hadn’t turned out to be so bad. Perhaps this guy wouldn’t be so-
The door opened, and a pale, thin, solid looking man appeared. His head was cleanly shaven, and his crisp blue eyes looked at her inquiringly.
Larissa gave him her best girlish smile. “Hi!”
The man stared in silence.
Larissa’s smile slowly faded. The man just looked at her. What was he looking at? She tried saying something, but was suddenly at a loss for words. Say something. Anything! “I, uh-”
“Nice cloak!” the man said, cutting her off. “Mind if I touch it?”
“Oh, uh, go ahead!” Larissa said, taken aback.
He reached out his hand, wearing a glove without any finger coverings. He felt the fur and smiled. “Nice! Don’t think I’ve ever seen a pretty young girl wearing any wolf fur like that before. So what can I do for you?”
Larissa laughed. Finally, an actually nice guy! “Are you the Old Bear?”
The man guffawed. “God no. I’m Jerry, pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. “Hey Garrick!” he yelled into the house.
“What?” someone growled from inside.
“Visitor!” Jerry said.
“Tell ‘em to burn in hell!”
“I’m not saying that to a lady!” Jerry said. “I’m civilized.”
There was some cursing and the sound of big, heavy footsteps coming steadily closer and closer. And when the shadowy form finally broke into the frame of the doorway, Larissa shrank under its scale. He was big like a boulder, not as tall as Oakwood, but still towering like a cliff. He was bulky with girth, stocky with the kind of muscle one might think to see on a horse. His beard was dark and savage, as was his hair, and the tattoos on his face and his bear arms gave the impression of a man one would never dare cross. He had rings pierced into the corner of his right eyebrow, and at the sight of him, Larissa wanted to flee.
“Uh…” Larissa said, standing terrified, trying not to break under the man’s furious gaze. “Hi… I take it you’re the… uh… Old Bear?”
“That would be me,” the man said. “Now explain to me how you found me before I decide to kill you. Tick tock.”
Larissa’s frame must have sunk two feet. She felt herself shrivel into dust, and it seemed as if she would disintegrate if the man were to so much as blow upon her.
“Oh come on, Garrick, be civil,” Jerry said. “She’s just a girl. With a damn fine cloak…”
“It is a good cloak,” Garrick said, turning to Jerry. “Regardless, I’ve been stabbed by women before. My policy? Stab them before they stab you. Also, stab first, ask questions later.”
“Yes, but remember,” Jerry said, pointing his finger, “stab not, lest ye be stabbed.”
“That’s a stupid saying,” Garrick said. “Speak quickly!”
Larissa paused, trying to get the lump out of her throat. “I, uh… well… Celeste said I could stay with you for a while!” Larissa blurted, flinching after, almost expecting a blow.
“Celeste?” the Old Bear said. “Are you kidding me? Are you insane? That woman… Oh my god that woman! You know she cost me my little toe!”
“Garrick, what are you talking about? You have both your little toes!” Jerry said.
“I do?” the Old Bear said. “Oh, right, I do. I mean… Wait, what did she cost me?” he said, turning to Jerry.
“I don’t know…” Jerry said. “She probably cost you something-”
“She probably cost me something!” the Old Bear said.
“-something inconsequential…” Jerry finished.
“Regardless! The answer is no!” The Old Bear stomped off into the ranch.
Larissa stared, perplexed. “So… I can’t stay?”
“Sorry, miss, but if the Old Bear says no, not much I can do,” Jerry said. “He’s a hard man to convince.”
Hmm, Larissa thought. What do men like? “You wouldn’t happen to have an atlatl, would you?”
Jerry crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “You know, I always imagined someday someone would come all the way out here to ask for a cup of sugar. But it just so happens…” He disappeared into the house, and reappeared a moment later. “…I do.” He handed her an atlatl and some darts.
“Thank you,” Larissa said, glowing. “Be back in a bit.”
About six hours later, it had grown dark, and Larissa knocked on the door once more.
“Well hello again,” Jerry said. “Thought you ran away with my atlatl. Prized possession, that… Holy shit. You bagged an elk? Whoa… Garrick!”
“What?”
“Come take a look at this.”
“Yeah? Why don’t you come take a look at this! I’m referring to my club. That I will beat you with if you yell at me to get up again!”
“Seriously!” Jerry yelled.
There was a stomping, and the Old Bear appeared in the doorway, club in hand. “All right, Jerry, if this isn’t good… Whoa, girly. That is… a whole elk. How did you…”
Larissa smiled, untying the carcass. “Just patience. Strung it up, dragged it back. It’s a girl, and pretty young, so it’s not so heavy. Any place I can gut it and cut it up?”
“Yeah, bring it out back. I can help you,” Jerry said.
“You plan on bringing back more of those?” the Old Bear said.
“Yeah, sure. As much as you like,” Larissa said, as sweetly as she could.
“Then you can stay,” the Old Bear said.
“Celeste said you could teach me some things, too,” Larissa said, dragging back the carcass with Jerry.
The Old Bear glowered soberly. “Normally I’d say god damn bloody damn well no. But since you brought back meat, okay. Haven’t had elk in ages…”
As she hauled back the carcass, she looked into the creature’s wet and bulging eyes and for the first time held hope that maybe things were getting better.
Chapter 39
“Honey, can you pass the jam?”
He passed the jam.
She laughed. “That’s the butter. I said the jam.”
He passed the jam for real.
“Honey, are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Rowan said, looking deeply into his morning tea.
“Where were you last night?”
He stirred the tea lethargically, hypnotized by the turbulent swirls of the liquid. “Working.”
April took his hand. “Barty, what’s wrong? You’ve been so… dazed, lately. Is something the matter?”
“It’s just… the work. It’s getting to me.”
“So why don’t you quit? You can get another job, so we can be together more… can’t you?”
Rowan shook his head. “It’s not that simple. It’s not like I can just quit.”
“But why not?”
“I can only leave if they let me. And they won’t let me for a while.”
April looked down at her toast. “I just don’t understand what kind of a job you have where you can’t even quit… Probably a dangerous one, right?” she said, looking up. Her eyes were so liquid, he could feel himself melt. “Isn’t your real job to be with me?” she said, looking away as she gripped herself.
“On your feet!” The roar cracked her eardrums like a bullwhip.
Larissa shot up off the floor, nearly slipping on her blankets. Her vision was bleary, and she could barely understand what was going on.
“Get dressed and meet me by the field! You have one minute!” the Old Bear lurched out.
Panicking, Larissa looked around for something to wear. There was a shirt and some slacks laid out. She dressed more quickly than she ever had in her life, slipped into her boots, and ran outside into the fields towards the looming shadow against the dark, early morning sky. The snow was beginning to melt, but it was still freezing.
As soon as she arrived, the Old Bear got to roaring. “Twelve seconds late! You’ll pay for that! On the ground!”
Larissa dropped to the floor, confused. She didn’t know what was going on, but she was not about to argue with a bear. “What now?” she asked meekly.
“Pushups, you ninny! Go! Go! Go!”
Never having done a pushup before, she was confused and afraid. She did them as best as she could, but the pressure burned into her arms and her chest after only a few.
“You’re slowing down, girly! Stop soon and I’ll make you pay!”
Larissa squirmed herself up, then clenched her face as she lowered herself down once more. She felt she was going to collapse, but continued regardless. The Old Bear was scaring her out of her mind with his guttural roars.
“On your back!”
She rolled onto her back, grateful, at least at first.
“Sit ups, you weak-livered excuse for a human being! Now! Now! Now!”
Crunching her muscles, she lifted herself upward, then down onto the snowy, muddy ground. Up, then down. Up, then down, the burning getting worse with every set.
“Don’t you slow down, you girly mongrel! You’ve got the face of a kitten, and the constitution of one to boot!”
She tried desperately to keep going, but eventually was forced to collapse
“Get up!” he barked. Larissa did as she was told. He brought her back to the ranch house, and pointed to a horizontal bar up against the portico frame. “Grab it!”
Larissa looked up and jumped for it, missing it by a mile.
“But some blood into it, girly! Jump like there’s a little pink dress up there, waiting for you!”
She coiled up and shot herself upward, but her fingers were nowhere near close enough to grab it.
“Oh for god’s sake.”
Larissa yelped as the Old Bear grabbed her by the legs and lifted her up. She latched onto the bar in fright.
“Now pull!”
Larissa pulled her arms up, but was shocked at the weight of her own body.
“Do it! Do it! What are you waiting for, girly? Does this look a princess party to you? Do I look like your fairy godmother? Move it! Put some blood into it for god’s sake! One pull-up, you soft sack of lard! Do it! Do it! Now!”
A dangerous tremor went through her arms and she plummeted to the ground in pain.
“You gutless little princess! I bet your gutless mother would be proud! And what about your gutless, piss swilling excuse for a father? Get on your feet!”
Larissa got up, her body already in agony.
“Now come on!” the Old Bear started running. Larissa rushed to follow. “In step, you rat wagon! In step! Do you even know what in step means?”
Larissa ran in step with the Old Bear. They circled along the fields.
“Good! Now run this path, without breaking step, or so help me I will break your legs in half! Do you understand? Are there maggots crawling in your dirty little ears? I said, do you understand?”
“Yes,” Larissa said.
“I can’t hear you, princess! Do you understand?”
“Yes!” Larissa shouted as she ran in circles around the Old Bear.
“Yes sir, girly!”
“Yes sir!” Under normal circumstances, she would have thought this all absurd and stupid. With the Old Bear watching her, with his ravaging eyes and his blood curdling voice, she could only think about how serious he looked when threatening to break her legs. And judging by the size of those tattooed arms, she didn’t doubt that he could. So she ran. The breath coursed raggedly through her lungs, eroding her throat raw. She had trouble breathing, but every time she felt herself slow, she looked to the Old Bear staring down death at her, and she picked up the pace. It was a long time before he finally yelled “Stop!”
Larissa came to a halt and sank her chest down, grabbing her knees.
“On the floor! Don’t look at me like that! Do I look like your weak willed mother? Would you like me to bake some cookies for you? Kiss the dirt like you kiss your rutting little dolls!”
She readied herself for some more pushups.
“You really must have maggots in your ear! Do you think I’m joking? Do I look like the type of man to exaggerate? You get your pretty little lips and kiss the dirt like you kiss your mother’s toes!”
Once upon a time, she had dignity. But that time was long gone. She placed her lips on the dirt as she did a push up.
“What the hell is that? That’s a cordial peck! Make out with the dirt! Slobber on it like it’s the love of your life!”
Larissa lowered herself, but her neck strained as she felt a giant paw press her whole face into the wet, snowy mud. She couldn’t even breathe, but he held her there for a long moment. When she was finally released, she pushed herself up, her whole chest drenched and brown.
“Again!”
She went again.
“Again! Put some love into it!” He pressed her whole body into the mud. “Roll over!”
She did as she was told, and began doing sit ups. The mud was everywhere; her whole body was slick with it now.
“Did I say leisurely? Pick up the pace, princess! Now! Now! Now!”
She raised her torso, and lowered it, raised it, lowered it, and felt her body burn in agony.
“Get up! Run around the fields, in step! One two three four! One two three four! What are you waiting for? In step! Now! Now! Now!”
The sun grew high in the sky, and beat upon Larissa’s mud soaked body. She ran, she did pushups, and whatever else the Old Bear wanted from her. Then she repeated it. The mud dried, and caked upon her clothes, her skin, bits crumbling here and there as she ran. But then he made her kiss the ground again, and was soaked once more. Eventually, the sun began to lower, and he led her to a small stream in the woods nearby.
“Get in,” he said.
“Where?” Larissa said, wheezing.
“Look at my hand. See how it’s pointing over there? So when I say get in, I mean get in there, princess! There!” He grabbed her and threw her into the stream. “Look at you! You’re filthy! Wash yourself! One minute, back on the ground!”
The freezing cold of the water left her breathless. Larissa kicked away in the stream, trying to rub off the dirt and the mud, and clambered back to the ground as quickly as she could, shivering.
“Get up! At attention!”
She stood up, erect.
“Stop that shivering, princess!”
Larissa clenched her muscles and tried to stop.
“I said stop that shivering, princess! Are you hard of hearing? Are you deaf? Do you have problems understanding the words that are entering your brain? Do you even have a brain? Or is it filled with sparkles and sunshine instead, huh princess? Stop that shivering!”
She did the best she could, but she was freezing. “Sorry sir, just cold.”
“Just cold sir! Well, if the little princess is cold, then the little princess can warm up with a nice long run through the woods! And she can keep running till she stops shivering like an idiot little girl! What are you waiting around for? Go! Go! Go!”
So she ran through the woods, with the Old Bear beside her, yelling, “In step! In step!” into her face, her body bobbing erratically, still stained with clumps of mud.
Eventually, she stopped shivering, and they went out to one of the fields by the ranch. It was a sandy dirt surface, cleared of grass and weed for the most part. She wanted to sit down so badly, but she knew she couldn’t, so she stood at attention as the Old Bear stared at her in front.
“Hit me,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“Sir! What? Sir!” he thundered.
“Sir! What? Sir!” she echoed.
“I said, hit me! Go! Now! Now! Now!”
Larissa ran up to him and stretched her fist out towards him, only to have her arm grabbed, upturned, and her body thrust to the ground. Her face hit the dirt and she could feel the bits of stone and sand embed themselves into her cheek and forehead.
“I said hit me, princess! Not make love to the dirt, you weak boned little coward! On your feet!”
She fought through the pain and stood up.
“Now hit me!”
She coiled back her fist and thrust it towards his chest, but again, she found herself on the dirt, her hip and her shoulder radiating pain.
“On your feet!”
She got up, steadying herself. She could see that she was bleeding from large scrapes, and bruises were beginning to form.
“Hit me!”
Larissa paused, holding onto her shoulder.
“I said hit me, you gutless, scrawny little twig of a girl! A brain-damaged three year old could follow orders better than you! Now hit me!”
She bared her teeth and struck him in the stomach.
“Are you kidding me, princess! A retarded duck could hit harder than you! A castrated squirrel could hit harder than you! Your dumb excuse for a mother-”
Larissa roared and charged, striking him in the chest.
“Now that’s better, princess! Again!”
She charged again, but tasted the sand on her lips.
“On your feet!”
She got up.
“Again!”
“Again!”
“Again!”
She hit the dirt for the last time. It was dark. She couldn’t get up.
“That’s it for today, princess. Tomorrow we pick up the pace.” The Old Bear started walking away.
Larissa moaned, closing her eyes. “I thought you were going to teach me Sifting…” she spoke into the dirt.
The Old Bear laughed. “Good bloody god no! I’m gonna teach you how to beat the hell out of someone. More to it than you might think, girly. Oh, and I’d like some squirrel stew tomorrow.”
“What?” Larissa said, getting up. “Are you kidding me?”
“Sir! Are you kidding me? Sir!” he roared, turning.
She stood at attention and shouted, “Sir! Are you kidding me? Sir!”
The Old Bear stared aimlessly. “Of course not. You still have to pay rent to my belly.” He returned to the house, leaving Larissa staring off into the darkness.
As she looked off into the dark trees in the distance, letting the muted night wash over her, she tried to think about how beautiful the world was. Wasn’t life supposed to get better, not worse? She didn’t have much time to think about it, though. She needed to rig some snares and squirrel poles. She was starving and in more physical pain than she had ever experienced in her life. But wrath was a powerful motivator.
Chapter 40
How had she spent her life? In between the pain of her present and the anxiety of facing the threat of her future, it was a pressing question that had come to grow on her, haunting her at every step and turn. She thought back over the years and the days she had spent, wasting away the hours in books and indolence. Playing games, playing pretend, watching the seasons change, watching the years laid to rest one after the other.
She thought about how much of a waste her existence had so far been, how selfish she had become over the course of a life of luxury and isolation, and just how much she had taken simple things, like food and shelter, for granted. Yet now, she was not sure if she had actually grown the way a mature person was supposed to grow. She went through the motions of her everyday life, unquestioning, unthinking, uninvolved. She accepted the pain as punishment and fought not at all against anything decreed. She had become a machine, and a poorly functioning one at that, one that lurched and muddled its way through with broken parts. All of this she thought as the Old Bear smashed her face into the mud for the hundredth time that day, punishment for a subpar pushup.
Larissa wandered through the days in a perpetual haze and delirium. She followed instructions, doing what she could, and, inevitably, it was never enough, and she received punishment. It was as if she were being punished, not for her missteps or her faults, but simply for being Larissa Wagner. And she supposed even then, the punishment wasn’t enough.
The Old Bear was a peculiar man. A brutal, gargantuan barbarian that believed in the most basic powers of man: namely, his ability to crush, maim, and destroy. And it seemed his whole world view subsisted on an economy whose currency was raw pain. So when he left her lying in the mud one day like the body of a broken enemy, and trudged away cursing, disgusted with the impotence of his shameful pupil, her thoughts naturally drifted to pain and suffering.
It was true that she had lived a lax and pampered life, but she thought, surely by now, she had more than made up for her deficit of pain. She felt it radiating throughout her body, her mind, and her heart, in a perpetual cycle that flowed like her blood, unceasing. Even on the ground, lying still and resting, she could feel the anguish throughout every aspect of her existence. And she could only think, what for?
But then the Old Bear came back, hauled her up, and yelled, “Time for a run, princess! In step!” And, machine that she was, she could do nothing but obey.
She ran, her inflamed throat struggling to gulp down the cold and bitter air. She could feel her throat and her torso begin to constrict in a cough, but she forced her muscles to stop, straining against the reflexive urge, lest she fall out of step. With every stride, the earth would pound her foot, sending the force like a tremor through the bones of her leg into her heart. Her feet pulsed with a dull and ceaseless pain, and her breathing was hoarse and shallow. Yet somehow, tearing her muscles, breaking her bones, or suffocating was not nearly as offensive as breaking step.
The monstrous man, big as he was, ran without so much as breaking a sweat. He was a bull of a man, charging forward like a titan, breathing down her neck, screaming and yelling. The terror and the anxiety were overwhelming, and perhaps even worse than the physical strain. Before, she had always viewed pain as a singular thing, but in truth it had so many flavors. She remembered thinking that life was about curiosity, joy, and friendship. Now she understood that life was pain, and growing up was simply enduring an increasing quota of it.
But then her throat seized up and she collapsed in a fit of coughing. She hacked violently, the air and the convulsions rubbing her throat raw. She could barely breathe and keeled over, lying on the ground and coughing like she was diseased.
The Old Bear prodded her with his boot. “All right, enough running, princess! Meet me at the dirt.”
She heard him walking away, grumbling and cursing about how he used to train entire regiments of killing machines. And now all he had was Larissa. No wonder the man was so upset. How humiliating, a great warrior, reduced to training a little girl.
After as many moments as she could risk of resting, she got up with a groan and made her way to the dreaded dirt. She saw him waiting from a distance and he was not happy, though when was he ever? Not when she was around, that was for sure.
“All right,” he said, “perhaps we should start with some philosophy.”
At that, Larissa frowned, skeptical. Certainly more up her alley, but…
“Fightin’s easy,” the Old Bear said. “Kill the other guy before he kills you. End of philosophy.”
Larissa sighed. She should’ve known better.
“Or disable him,” he said. “But killin’s better. That way you know he’s not gonna get up, or pull a pistol when you’re not watching. All right, hit me!”
With a heave, she swung her arm like a flail. The man didn’t even bother to move. He just stood there offended, her hand slapping against the rock of his arm, as if a bird had pooped on him. “What the hell was that?” he roared. “If you were in a heavy infantry battalion, you’d have to charge hundreds of yards, weighed down with armor, and into a wall of enemy steel, and you can’t muster any strength after nothing more than a brisk jog? Hit me!”
She screeched and thrust out her arm, but he grabbed her fist, enveloping it with his own gargantuan hand, and pulled her to the ground as if she were nothing more than a big, flimsy doll.
“Urghh…” he groaned, rubbing his eyes as she struggled up, coughing. “All right, dodging. Dodge my slow and simple attacks. Think you can manage that? On your feet!”
He came at her, his fist connecting with her face. She crumpled, collapsing to the ground, the taste of blood on her tongue from her newly cut lip.
“That was a love tap!” the Old Bear fumed. “How could you not dodge that? Just step to the side instead of standing there like a brain-dead bitch! On your feet! Kick me!”
Once again, she forced herself up, staunching the blood of her lip with the back of her filthy sleeve. She stared at him, wide-eyed, suddenly having trouble remembering.
“Kick me!” the Old Bear screamed. “Kick me! Kick me! Kick me!”
Larissa brought up her leg, or attempted to, but lost her balance. She wobbled around, shocked at the weight of her own leg and the strain of the inside of her leg muscles.
“Are you kidding me?” the Old Bear said. “You can’t even raise your prissy little leg? Come on, raise it up. Don’t kick, just raise it, as high as you can!”
With grit and determination, Larissa fought through the haze and the pain, and, with muscles burning up, brought her leg slowly as high as she could.
The Old Bear smiled, for the first time ever. “Good job, girly. Good job!”
Larissa smiled. It was the first time the Old Bear had said anything posi-
She screamed as the monstrous man violently twisted her foot, grabbed her by the ankle, and held her dangling upside down like a rat. She flailed out her arms, frightened to death, screaming for her life.
“Congratulations, princess,” the Old Bear said. “You can lift up your leg like a pissing dog.”
The world crashed upon her and the pain splashed through her like a wave. She lay on the dirt like a sack of meat, beaten and battered and bruised, the bones broken to pieces.
The Old Bear spat and trudged away. “Don’t forget the squirrels.”
As she lay on the ground, defeated, for what seemed the tenth time that day, she found herself incapable of coherent thought. Her world became one of darkness and ire, a murky brew of misery and ill fortune. But then she thought about the consequences of showing up without squirrel, and with the last remaining strength in her body, she gripped the earth and pushed herself up.
Her shoulders and her back pulsed with pain from the impact, but it was only when she put weight on her right foot that the pain overwhelmed her. She gasped, falling on her rear. Slowly, she pulled off her right boot, being ever so careful not to pull too hard. When she rolled down her sock, she found her ankle to be swollen and bruised. She tried moving her foot and flinched. She coughed and flinched again, inadvertently jarring her ankle. She knew she had to rest, but she also knew that she had to get some squirrel. So she shimmied on the boot and once again, pushed herself up, gritting her teeth and forcing all her weight onto her other leg.
Slowly and steadily, she put weight on her twisted ankle, but tried to rotate the ankle as little as possible. Using the twisted ankle as a pivot, she quickly brought out her left leg in a limp. It was painful, but one step at a time, and hobbling like a decrepit old man, she moved forward.
She left the field and headed north to the forest. She had laid several traps and hoped that some of them would bear fruit. If they didn’t… well, she didn’t want to think of the consequences. After what seemed an eternity, she made her way to one of the snares only to find it untriggered. She cursed, trying to remember where she put the rest.
She got sick of the hobbling and decided to try hopping on one leg. She was sure she looked like an idiot, but it was surprisingly effective, though, she imagined it would be incredibly easy to ruin her other ankle using this methodology. One wrong hop and she would be done. But she would be done without any squirrels too. Which end did she prefer?
The countryside was beautiful, but she no longer had any patience for beauty. She was perpetually on mission, and any time spent on anything without practical application was a waste. She hopped through the trees and saw one of her squirrel poles, rejoicing. On it was a scrawny squirrel, hanged like a war criminal. Hanged like perhaps she would be. She tried not to think about that as she snatched the limp body. The future? Didn’t matter. All that mattered was tonight’s dinner. Though judging by the meat on the squirrel’s body, they’d be going hungry lest she found some more.
She wandered through the woods, checking the traps one by one. As they kept turning up empty, she began to worry. She knew she should’ve set more, but it was a time consuming process. The snares needed appropriately small and flexible trees or plants to provide the necessary energy. She wasn’t able to find any animal runs or paths for nooses as she was a rather poor tracker. And since arriving at the Old Bear’s ranch, she had been utterly depleted of energy. She was constantly tired, sleepless, sore, injured, sick, demoralized, and hungry. If she had been the Old Bear’s enemy, he would have conclusively won. Then again, most days it sure seemed like war.
When she reached her final snare, her heart lifted. A big, fat squirrel, hanging from the tree, its foot caught in the thin, unforgiving rope. But as she approached, limping once again, her steps grew heavier, and her spirits sunk. Of course the creature was still alive. She would have to kill it.
She didn’t know why it bothered her. She had killed her share of animals by now. Hell, she had even bagged an elk. But nevertheless, something about the squirrel, hanging there, helpless, left her feeling ill. The creature, with its soft fur, bushy tail, and glossy wet eyes staring in supplication, hung by its foot, defeated, not so unlike Larissa had been not so long ago. The creature had stopped fighting, had given up after perhaps hours of fruitless struggle. But of course she had to kill it. She needed a place to sleep, and the Old Bear needed to eat.
She picked up the creature. It looked so tired – it didn’t even struggle. With the pain palpable in her throat, she picked up a rock and readied herself to smash its bloody little brains. She put the creature’s head against a rock, and raised her blunt instrument above her head like an executioner. The tears spilled from her eyes. She dropped the rock. Her heart breaking, feeling so ashamed of premeditating murder, she cupped the warm, furry little creature and cradled him in her arms, crying openly, hugging him, kissing him, and asking silently for forgiveness.
But just as she was about to find him something to eat, the squirrel perked up, reanimated, somehow sensing it had been saved from death… and bit her. She squealed as it drew blood from her finger and darted out into the wilderness, running up into a tree and disappearing.
She sucked her finger, the pain having snapped her out of her own daze, and suddenly bearing a new kind of shame and regret. She had faltered. She had been stupid. For a moment, she had become her old self. The girl that always had a safety net. The girl with the luxury of sympathy. The girl that hadn’t been abandoned by all those she loved. The girl that wasn’t herself hunted. No, that girl had died long ago. This girl… wouldn’t falter again.
She looked to the ground, where she had dropped the other, bone-thin squirrel. And then she was faced with the reality that she would have to show up at a Bear’s doorstep with only one scrawny little squirrel. Indeed, the other squirrel might live, but in exchange, she might die.
Chapter 41
“Okay, so I’m the farm girl who’s being attacked by wolves, and you’re the evil wolf witch who’s in control of the wolves.”
“Why do I have to be the evil wolf witch? I’m always the evil person!”
“Well, I don’t want to be the witch.”
“And I don’t either!” Amelia stood in her dress, walking through the hallway.
“Fine!” Larissa said. “Then I guess we won’t play anything!”
The girls walked around in a huff, their arms crossed. But they yelped as the door slammed open.
“Grr! I’m the evil wolf wizard!” Kaiden said, crooking his eyes and hunching over. “What pretty farm girls I see! After them my wolves! Awoo!”
She woke early and did her pushups in the field. She did sit-ups, crunches, jumping jacks, squats, pull ups, and anything else she could remember. Then she spent an hour running. Then she dove into the stream and swam away all the sweat and the mud. Drying herself off, she returned to the house and sat at the kitchen.
Jerry wore an apron, and brought her some toasted bread and cheese, some jam, and a glass of water, all with a smile.
Larissa smiled back, saying, “Thank you, Jerry.” She kissed him on the cheek, and began eating.
“So,” Jerry said, sitting at the table in the seat across. “I see you’re not letting Garrick get the better of you these days.”
Larissa chewed on the bread, swallowing. “Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do? Cry? That’s what he wants, and I’m not going to give it to him.”
Jerry laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s a good attitude to take. Better watch out, though. He’s gearing up to really give it to you this afternoon.”
“Wonderful,” Larissa said. She finished her meal and sat contemplating. When it was time to go, she left and found the Old Bear waiting for her in the sand strewn field. “Sir,” she said, readying herself.
He readied his gloved and padded arms. “Hit me.”
She took a breath and cleaned out her mind, letting it all wash away. She struck his padded arm, letting her fist deliver as much force as quickly as possible, drawing her arm back and delivering another blow with her opposite hand, launching her arm straight out. The force reverberated through her muscles and her bones, and her joints felt the pain, but she continued delivering blows regardless.
“Elbows,” he said.
She struck out her elbow, and brought it back down upon his arm. He swung at her and she ducked, kicking him in the gut with his knee. It didn’t seem she could produce any amount of force to make him so much as twitch, but she fought in earnest regardless. He lunged for her and she rolled away, grabbing his arm and pulling it behind his back. She kicked the back of his knee and forced him to the floor, getting him in a choke hold. He rammed him his elbow into her side and she lost her breath, losing her grip.
“Good,” he said, standing up. “Now for real.”
Larissa rubbed her side.
“You ready?” he said.
“Well, I-”
He charged at her and she rolled to the side, trying to keep him in her sights. He leapt at her like an animal, pinning her to the ground with his shoulder.
“Gotta be quicker than that, girly,” he said, getting up.
Larissa scowled, readying herself for him once more.
Standing there, he really did look like something out of the woods, a feral, hulking creature of a man that could easily snap her bones just with his gaze. She knew he was still going easy on her, and it left her feeling rather scared. What if he went too far? She could really injure herself, she was so frail…
But she didn’t have time to think as he moved to the side and charged again with a roar. She moved aside as dexterously as she could, but he was so fast, striking like a stormfront, and he delivered a hammer blow to her side with his shoulder. She felt herself lifted up into the air and dropped upon the floor. She rolled in the harsh sand and rock, and tried to right herself as he came after her once again. What was she supposed to do against that kind of a battering ram of a man?
“You’re being weak,” the Old Bear said.
She spat out sand, and laughed half-heartedly. “Isn’t that the story of my life?” She rolled over onto her back.
“Listen, girly,” Garrick said, standing over her. “If you expect to do anything, you’ve got to put in everything you’ve got, and then some. You’re holding back, and so you kiss the dirt. Pretend something’s at stake. Get angry. Cause if you ever have to fight someone for real, you’re always going to be fighting for your life. So on your feet, and show me what you’ve got, princess!”