Blood Red Road

barksack an my weapons. I load the gear onto the horse an then I lift her on too.
    Gawdam you, Emmi, I says. You always ruin everythin.

    I ain’t spoke to Emmi fer two days. I ain’t got naught to say to her. I’m still mad.
    She tried to talk to me a bit at first but gave up when I didn’t so much as grunt back. It don’t seem to bother her too much. She talks to Nero an sings little songs to herself. Don’t know what she’s got to be so damn cheerful about.
    We had some grub but not much. I pranged a jackrabbit with the slingshot a couple of days ago. Not too bad-tastin once it got roasted, specially seein how stringy it was. We managed on that till last night, but now our bellies twist, cryin out fer food.
    I always save a little bit of whatever we got fer Nero, but mainly he’s gotta hunt. He don’t ever make a fuss, Nero, he jest gits on with it. An the sturdy little wild horse of Mercy’s—name of Nudd—we’re outta the sand dunes now into grass an dry scrub, an he seems to be findin enough to keep him goin. I might of known a creature of Mercy’s ’ud know how to take care of itself.
    Food might be scarce, but it ain’t that I’m worried about most. It’s water. Our supplies is low. We cain’t seem to find no wet stuff anywhere on this mean hard plain. Even Nudd ain’t bin able to sniff none out.
    I’ve got us on strict rations an I’m collectin dew overnight, but with two of us an Nero an Nudd it ain’t nearly enough.
    In the far distance, I can see mountains. They look to be a day or two’s walk from here, maybe a bit more. But it’s hard to tell how far anythin is in the desert with the heat shimmer an all. I hope we’ll be able to make it to there on what we got. We’ll jest hafta, that’s all. There’s bound to be water in the mountains.
    Meantime, the sun beats down. The wind blows steadily. It saps my strength. My mind.
    I know we should do like Mercy said an travel by night, but I cain’t stop.
    I cain’t rest. Not till I find Lugh.
    We walk on.

    Noon time.
    I’m jest thinkin it’s time to call a halt an take a break, when there’s a dull thud behind me. Emmi’s lyin on the ground. Nudd noses at her, whickers softly.
    I trudge back. Stare down at her. My head feels so dull. Fer a long moment, I cain’t think what I oughta do. Then … water. Emmi needs water.
    I kneel, drag her into my arms an uncap my waterskin. I trickle a little into her mouth. She moans an turns her head away.
    Emmi, I croak. You gotta drink. I tap her cheek. Emmi! C’mon!
    I press the spout to her lips agin. Water dribbles down her chin. Then, all of a sudden, it’s like she comes to life. She grabs the skin, tries to take a big swig but I pull it away. Water spills on the ground. The thirsty earth sucks it up.
    Dammit, Em! I says. Now look what you done! She jest looks at me, dazed. Take tiny sips, I says. Or you’ll git the cramp.
    When I think she’s had enough, when she starts to look a bit better, I give Nero a drink, then fill a tinny fer Nudd that he empties with two slurps of his big pink tongue.
    I squeeze the skin to see what we got left. Git a sick feelin. Half a skin. That’s it. I take the tiniest sip myself, then slip it back over my shoulder.
    Emmi’s sittin up. She looks at me, her blue eyes bright in her dusty face. An I wonder why I never noticed it before. Her eyes is jest like Lugh’s.
    Sorry, Saba, she says.
    Ferget it, I says. It was time fer a break anyway.

    I’m jest liftin Emmi back onto Nudd so’s we can git goin agin.
    The wind flings sand into my eyes. I pull my sheema down to pertect ’em. Wind’s pickin up agin, I says. We’ll hafta watch it. I go to yank Em’s sheema down too, but she stops my hand.
    What’s that? she says.
    What’s what? I says.
    That. She points straight ahead. Over there.
    I look. A plume of dust, bout a league away, is rollin towards us.
    What is it? says Emmi. Another dust storm?
    I shade my eyes an squint. I dunno, I says. It’s too far away to tell yet an there’s too much dust, I … hang on.
    What? says Emmi.
    Looks like a sail, I says, frownin.
    You mean … a sail on a boat? Like the one Lugh made fer the skiff?
    Yeah, I says. That kinda sail.
    But boats go on water, she says. Not on land.
    The dust clears fer a moment an I see what’s comin at us. This one does, I says.

    It’s a boat all right. Well, more like a raft from the look of it. A flat wooden platform ridin high offa the ground on big tires. A hut