Blood Red Road

the stars.
    They’re jest lights in the sky. To show you the way in the dark.

    But.
    But.
    Pa knew about the men. Knew they’d come fer Lugh. Before I told him.
    Are they here? Have they come?
    They cain’t be stopped, Saba. It’s begun .
    An he knew he was gonna die. Knew his story was about to end.
    My time’s nearly up. I dunno what happens after this .
    If Pa couldn’t read the stars, if the stars ain’t got nuthin to say, how did he know all that?
    How did he know?

CROSSCREEK

S IXTH DAY . L ATE AFTERNOON .
    A breeze whispers by an, somewhere above my head, there’s a flurry of dry clicks. I stop. I look up. Three deer-bones hung together, high in a tree.
    I hear Pa’s voice in my head.
    After three days, the trackway’ll take you through a deep pine forest. Keep yer eyes peeled. When you see the windchimes in the tree you know you reached Crosscreek .
    Without the breeze, I would of missed ’em. I lick my parched lips. Emmi, I says. The windchimes. We’re here.
    I ain’t never bin so glad to be anywhere in my life. Since yesterday noon, every waterhole an every streamlet along the way’s eether bin dry or a deathwater covered in slimy yellow bloom. An we had our last meal yesterday mornin. We couldn’t of gone on much longer.
    Is this Crosscreek? says Emmi.
    I set down the dragger fer the last time.
    I close my eyes, stand there fer a moment. My body’s so sore an stiff an bone-tired I wish I never had to move it agin.
    I try to flex my fingers but they stay bent. They bin curled round the damn shafts so long they’ll probly stay like this till the day I die. I never thought I’d be haulin Emmi an the packs fer three days. An Em’s covered in bruises from head to toe, so she ain’t ezzackly got off light.
    I unstrap her from the dragger an help her to stand. I go to pick her up but she says, No. I’m gonna walk.
    You sure? I says. She nods. I shoulder our barksacks. Shove the dragger deep into the bushes where it cain’t be seen.
    Leave the track. Follow the trail down the hill into the dell .
    It ain’t hardly what I call a trail. If you didn’t know it was here, you’d never know it was. We weave our way through the trees. Pine needles soften our way, give off their warm scent as we crush ’em unnerfoot. Nero flits from branch to branch over our heads. He caws, all excited, tellin us to hurry.
    The ground starts to slope down. It gits steeper. Then steeper still. The goin gits harder with the pine needles makin it all slippy. I take hold of Emmi’s hand so she don’t fall. We gotta slide on our bums some times an other times go down sidewise. We go on an on.
    Then. Cookin smells tickle my nose. Meat. My mouth waters.
    Is that stew? says Emmi.
    I sure hope so, I says.
    At last we’re at the bottom of the hill. We step outta the forest into the open an we’re in another world.
    A shaggy haired pony grazes nearby in a patch of sweet green grass. He lifts his head to look at us fer a moment, then goes back to his meal.
    We’re in the dell that Pa told us about, at the bottom of a small river valley. Straight ahead of us, the land rises in a gentle slope. Two streams trickle down from the top. Near the bottom, they join to make one narrow little stream. Crosscreek. It winds an sparkles its way along the valley floor.
    There’s a flat bridge spans the creek an there, on the far bank, shaded by pine trees, sits a small wooden shack. Mercy’s cabin. A red bench stands next to the open door. A cookin pot hangs over a fire.
    There ain’t no sound but the soft murmur of shallow water over stones. It’s like the whole place is sleepin, quiet as a cat in the afternoon sun.
    I ain’t never seen such a place. Never even imagined there could be somewhere like it on this earth. Tears spring to my eyes. Pa never said it was like this. He never told us.
    But he knew this place was here. He knew an he kept us by a dyin lake all these years, with food gittin scarcer an life gittin harder an all this only a few days’ walk. I don’t unnerstand. Why didn’t he bring us here? I guess Lugh was right. Pa didn’t care about us, didn’t care about what happened to none of us.
    I move like I’m in a dream, walkin slowly.
    If Mercy ain’t there, sit on the red bench by the door an listen to the creek while you wait. She won’t be long. She ain’t never far away .
    I cross the bridge, drop the barksacks. I unlace my boots an kick ’em off. I walk into the creek. It’s ankle deep. I kneel an