Cold Shore, Alaska Territory
35
Stella
The dining room of the Foxglove served venison meatloaf and wild spinach in the evening, and after days of eating stale road rations, it honestly smelled so much better than it should have.I got myself a plate, and then another for Fergus as well as a cup of broth for Dougal.I truly meant to wait, so we could eat it all together.But I just couldn’t help myself, and I wolfed down my plate of meatloaf and greens before I even left the dining room.
I went by myself because the plan was for Edie to trade off, and she would join Fergus and Dougal when I went back inside.It seemed the only fair way to handle things, since Dougal wasn’t allowed inside the village walls.The warden agreed to let him pass through when it came time to leave, but only as long as he hurried straight down the main road and out the back gate.
Before we’d arrived at Xwechtáal, we’d been hoping to stay for several days, so we could rest up and find out more about Remy.But we’d already found out what we could, and our whole party wasn’t even allowed to rest properly at the inn.
The sun set early in the village, thanks to the surrounding mountains soaring high and casting shadows on the low-lying pass.The sky far above was still tinged pink and orange, but the kerosene streetlamps lit my pathway as I headed out.
A few meters away from the prickly walls of the village, a little campsite had been set up for Dougal.Leandro had pitched in, helping to make both Fergus and Dougal as comfortable as they could.
A broad canvas tarp was stretched taut between two weathered spruce branches and the side of a mossy boulder, creating a lean-to that would block the worst of the wind and weather, should any roll through.Bedrolls were layered on top of each other over a bed of pine boughs to insulate against the chill that seeped up from the earth.
A small, carefully contained fire ring sat outside the makeshift tent, with a tin cup and an old kettle ready for tea or broth.Fergus was sitting across from it, with his back resting against the boulder while his brother slumbered in the tent.
“Don’t you know a watched pot never boils?”I teased as I approached, but he didn’t really look like he was watching anything.His eyes were far away, gazing vacantly in the distance.
When he looked up at me, he had to blink before a smile spread slowly across his face.“Hello, girl.Didn’t think it was your turn to see the lot of us.Got the short straw, did you?”
I handed him the plate, and I set the tin of broth in the fire ring to reheat it for Dougal.The hotter the broth, the more it helped fight off the perpetual chill he had most days.
“Would you believe I volunteered?”I asked.
“I would, but you’re far too good for the likes of me and Dougal,” he said.“Still, we’re grateful.
I sat down next to him, peering into the tent where I could hear Dougal.That was the one good thing about his raspy, labored breaths – you would definitely be able to hear the moment he stopped.Ifhe stopped.
“How’s he been?”I asked quietly, as if much of anything woke Dougal.
The other day, Fergus and Leandro had tripped and stumbled while carrying him, and the stretcher had fallen heavily to the ground.Dougal wasn’t hurt, at least not that any of us could tell, and he didn’t even stir.
“As he ever was,” Fergus said noncommittally and took a half-hearted bite of his meatloaf.“Or as he has been, at least.”
“How are you?”I asked him.
He exhaled roughly, and then shook his head.“I’d leave off talking about me, in truth.What’s the story with Xwechtáal?How is the inn?Any word on Remy?”
“There isn’t too much to see of the village,” I said.“But the people seem nice, and they don’t leer at us like the Revvers did in Fort Lately.”
“Sure it’s always a good sign that you’ve not landed into another cult when the people aren’t gawking at you or holding you against your will,” Fergus said.
“Or feeding you to zombies,” I added.
“Aye, that is the main thing,” he agreed with a laugh.“But not a peep about the inn, I noticed.Are the beds as lush as I imagined?”
“I won’t lie and say it’s not a huge step up from the cold, hard ground,” I admitted.“But they aren’t anything compared to back on the Barbarabelle.”
“You’d swear those beds were stitched by angels,” he reminisced dreamily.“Folks say you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone, but I did.I knew I’d never lie in better.”
“Do you regret leaving it behind?”I asked carefully.
“Dougal’s not the staying kind,” Fergus brushed it off.“Still half the world left to see.Never made it south of the line, even.”
“But you’ve been to Asia?”I asked.
