The Finisher

SEX: The Delphias

NEXT LIGHT, JOHN and I went downstairs and used the pipe behind the Loons to wash off our faces and hands and under our arms. I was careful with the water on myself so as not to wash off the map marks I had carefully inked on my body while sitting atop my tree. I had been faithful in reproducing them because I knew Quentin to be a methodical Wug. He would have included only necessary details and I desperately wanted to study them more thoroughly, even if I was never going to venture into the Quag. Though I’d always known the Quag was there, seeing details such as were in the map was like learning of a whole new world when I’d thought there was only ours.

Then we ate. Well, John ate. I had already placed my first light meal in my metal tin, which I kept under my cot. I knew most of the clerks in the shops and bartered with them for food and anything else I needed, using nice things that I made out of scraps from Stacks.

A few slivers later, two other Wugmorts joined us at table.

Selene Jones was thirty sessions old but looked younger. She had long blond hair and an unlined face that was wide and mostly vacant at first light. Yet she carried peace in her eyes and seemed wholly satisfied with her life. She ran a shop on the High Street that sold items related to Noc-gazing and predictions of the future.

The other Wugmort at table was twenty-four-session-old Ted Racksport. An industrious and entrepreneurial Wug from his earliest lights, he owned the only shop in Wormwood that sold mortas, along with other weapons. Racksport was a bit taller than me, with broad shoulders, thick legs, a barrel chest, a flattened face, cracked lips, a few whiskers on his weak chin, long, thinning hair tied back with a cord of leather and four fingers on his right hand. It was said that a baby garm had nipped the other one off when Racksport had been hunting it.

He was a hard worker but not a pleasant Wug, and I was glad he slept in a different cot room. He smelled perpetually of sweat, metal and the black powder that gave morta their killing force. I had seen one fired before. It tore right through thick wood and nearly scared me to the Hallowed Ground, where we lay our dead. The way Racksport looked at you, you began to realize that he knew the power he had and he was quite happy that you didn’t have it.

I was relieved when John was finished and we left. We parted company at the door to Learning.

“I’ll be back to get you after Stacks,” I said.

I said this every light so that John would have no worries. And he always replied, “I know you will.”

But this light he didn’t say that. Instead he said, “Are you sure you’ll be back for me?”

I gaped. “Why do you ask that?”

“Where did you go last night?”

“To my tree.”

“Why?”

“Just to think. And I left something there I needed.”

“What?”

“Just go to Learning, John. I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

As he walked into the building, his gaze was on me. And I felt painful levels of guilt for lying to my brother. There was nothing else for it, though. To keep him safe, I had to keep him in the dark.

I turned and hurried away. I had something important to do this first light.

I needed to go and see Delph.

The Delphias’ cottage was due south of Wormwood and the route ran straight and true until you reached two large trees with permanent red leaves. Here, you turned left down a dirt path that wound in among the forest. As I raced along, I looked down at myself, made sure that every inch of my legs, arms and belly where the map was inked was covered, then doubled my speed, running until my breaths became gasps.

As I drew near to the Delphias’, I slowed to a fast walk. Duf was Delph’s father and his only living relation. Unlike Delph, Duf was small, barely more than four feet high. Considering Delph’s great height, I always assumed that his mother must have been very tall. She died when Delph was born, so neither of us had ever seen her.

Duf’s unusual cottage was not made of wood or stone or anything like that. It was made of things that other Wugs had thrown away. It was the shape of a huge ball, with a square door made of rough metal set on fat brass hinges. Next to the cottage was an opening that Duf and Delph had dug into a small hillside. Duf kept the things he used for his work in there.

Duf was a Beast Trainer, one of the best in all of Wormwood. Well, actually, he was the only one in all of Wormwood, but he was still very good. Wugs brought him their beasts and he would teach them to do what you wanted done. He had a large wooden corral with smaller spaces fenced off inside it where the beasts were kept separate from one another.

As I cleared the path and reached the cottage, I paused and studied the beasts Duf had currently. There was a young slep, which made me think Thansius would soon be replacing one that pulled his carriage. There was also an adar, taller than I was, with wings twice my height. They were used to carry things and perform tasks by air for Wugs who owned them. Adars could understand what Wugmorts said, but they had to be trained to obey. And they could also talk back once they’d been trained, which can be both helpful and a great bother. The adar had one leg chained to a peg buried deeply in the ground so it couldn’t fly away.

There was a small whist pup, barely ten pounds in weight, with gray fur and a small, scared face. This hound at full size would be larger than me, but it would take at least a half session for that to happen. Whists naturally liked to roam. They could outrun pretty much anything, including garms and their even more vicious cousins, the amarocs.

Then I turned to the largest creature Duf had now. The creta already weighed about half a ton, though it wasn’t full-grown. It had horns that crossed over its face, huge hooves the size of meal plates and a face that no Wug would like to see coming at him. It was kept in an inner corral where the wood was much thicker. The space was small too, so the creta couldn’t get a running start and crash through this barrier. It would be trained to pull the plow of the Tillers and to carry sacks of flour on its back at the Mill. It seemed to know this would be its plight in life, because it did not look very happy as it pawed the dirt in its small space.

“Wo-wo-wotcha, Vega Jane?”

I turned to see Delph stooping to come out of the hole in the hill. I walked over to join Delph as his father came out of the cottage.

Duf wore boots caked with dirt, and his clothes were not any cleaner. A grimy bowler hat was on his head. Strings attached to it were tied under his chin. I assumed he did this in case of windy lights or temperamental beasts in training. His hands, face and exposed arms were scarred and scabbed from innumerable beast encounters.

“Good light, Vega,” said Duf. He pulled a stick bowl from his shirt pocket, stuffed it with smoke weed and lighted it with a wooden match he had stuck behind his ear. He puffed to get the flame set and strong. His face, in addition to the wounds there, was heat- and wind-burned. He was not really that old, but his beard was thick and dotted with gray. It was not easy, his life.

“Hello, Duf.”

“What brings you round this early?” he asked curiously.

“Wanted to talk to Delph. Is that slep for Thansius?”

Duf nodded. He pointed his stick bowl at the creta. “Now, that there scallywag is giving me trouble. Aye, he’s a stubborn one that. But then cretas always are. Give me an adar any light, though once they learn to talk proper, they carry on like a bunch of females round the washing. But I have a soft spot for ’em. They’re good beasts. Loyal they are, if chatty.”

Delph said, “I’d be st-stubborn t-t-too if I knew I’d be c-c-carrying stuff me whole life on me ba-back.”

“You best be jawing with Delph, then,” said Duf. He picked up a leather bridle and marched off to the corral.

I watched for a sliver and then turned to Delph. “I need to talk to you about something important. And you can’t tell anybody. Promise?”

He didn’t seem to be listening to me. He stared up at the Noc, which was still there in the brightening sky. “How f-far you re-reckon i’tis?”

I looked at the Noc in frustration. “What does it matter? We’ll never get there.”

“But th-that sh-shows it, right?”

“Shows what?”

And now Delph was about to gobsmack me.

“N-not just us, don’t it?”

“Why?” I asked, in what can only be described as a whisper, a fierce whisper, for I was feeling things I had never really felt before.

Delph apparently did not notice the struggle going on inside me. He said, “It c-can’t be just us. I mean why, y’know? Ju-just Wor-Wormwood?” He shrugged and smiled. “No p-point, really. Just this? No ble-bleeding p-point far as I c-can see.”

Since he seemed to be in an introspective mood, I decided instead of talking about Quentin, I would ask a question.

“What happened to you, Delph?” I asked. “When you were six sessions old?”

His shoulders immediately bunched and his face scrunched and he did not look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s none of my business, really.” But I was hoping beyond all hope that he would talk about it.

“I li-liked Vi-Virgil,” he mumbled.

“He liked you back,” I said, surprised that my grandfather’s name had come up.

“His … E-Event.”

His head suddenly looked far too small to hold all that was going on in there.

“What about it?” I said, quickly thrown by his statement.

“I … I s-s-saw it.”

That’s when it occurred to me that whatever happened to Delph coincided with my grandfather’s Event.

“What do you mean you saw it?” I asked, my voice growing louder with fear and surprise.

“S-saw it,” he repeated.

“The Event!” I said, more loudly than I should have. “His Event!”

I glanced quickly over at Duf, who was still attending the slep. He had looked my way but then turned back to his task.

Delph nodded mutely.

In a low voice I asked, “What happened?”

“The Event. The Event ha-ha-happened.”

“No one has ever seen an Event, Delph.” I was desperately trying to keep the panic I felt from my voice. The last thing I needed was to scare Delph off.

“I ha-have,” he said in a hollow voice tinged with dread.

“Do you remember what happened?” I said as calmly as I could, though I still felt my heart thudding against my chest. It hurt. It actually hurt.

Delph shook his head. “I … I don’t re-re-remember, Vega Jane.”

“How can you not remember?” I demanded.

“It’s not good to witness an Event, Vega Jane,” he said clear as light. There was an underlying sorrow to his answer that made my heart hurt even more. Though his words were simple, I felt like I had never heard Delph speak so eloquently. He touched his head. “Does no good to you here.” He next touched his chest. “Nor here.”

My heart went out to him, but my next blunt words came from my head, not my heart. “How can you say that if you don’t remember what you saw?”

I had raised my voice again and I caught Duf looking over at us with concern on his small face. I looked back at Delph and lowered my voice. “Don’t you see why I have to know? All I’ve ever been told was that he suffered an Event and there was nothing left.”

Delph picked up a spade and struck the ground with it. I could see his huge hands gripping the wooden handle so hard they were turning red.

“Ca-ca-can’t say nothin’,” he finally replied. He lifted up a spade of dirt and dumped it next to the hole.

“Why not?”

That’s when I heard it — the turn of wheels. Thansius’s carriage came into view around the curve. The same vile Wugmort was driving it. Thomas Bogle had been Thansius’s driver for as long as I could remember. His cloak was black, his hands were huge lumps of bone and his face looked like he had died many sessions ago. The pale flesh hung from his cheeks like shredded parchment as he stared at the shiny flanks of the sleps.

The carriage stopped next to the corral, and the door opened.

I gasped when I saw her.