The next day they topped a high ridge and found themselves on a wide plateau, a natural border that signaled the end of the foothills and the start of the mountains in earnest. Their eyes boggled at the sight that greeted them: green grass undulating in a slight breeze.

What they knew as grass in San Muyammo was brown and bristly and grew in scattered tufts. Here, shin-high green blades carpeted the plateau in unbroken waves. Derek reached down and plucked a blade. He stuck the shoot in his mouth and found it bitter but succulent.

“Beautiful,” said Leggy. He was saddle sore and grumpy, but the sight before him lifted his spirits. “Let’s sit for a minute, boys.”

Teddy lifted him off Afha, and they sat in a circle, plucking at the grass and letting it caress them. The mules bent their nuzzles to the ground and began to eat, snorting with pleasure. The grass was a welcome change from the thistles and sour underbrush that had been their diet thus far.

John couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the landscape; his heart was still troubled. Life had been idyllic the past few days--plenty of clean water to drink, sweet cool air to breathe, fresh game turning up more and more often in Derek’s traps. But still he felt that their treatment of the angels--or moths, or whatever--would come back to them. He gnawed nervously on shoot, then spit it out.

“Let’s get going,” he said.

He stood up and began to walk. The others followed. They hadn’t gone more than ten yards when Afha, who was being led by Teddy, pulled to a stop. The donkey brayed and shied. Teddy tugged at the guide rope. “C’mon, horsey, c’mon!” But the donkey would not be budged.

“Take it easy,” admonished Leggy, as Teddy continued to tug at the recalcitrant beast. Minna stopped near Afha.

Derek, who’d been bringing up the rear, came forward.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Horsey won’t go,” said Teddy with a shrug.

“The hell it won’t,” said Derek. He bent to the grass and picked up a stout stick.

“Now wait a goddamn second!” said Leggy, his eyes wide. “You hit this donkey and it’s my neck that gets broke.”

“Take him down,” said Derek, motioning to Teddy to lift Leggy off the donkey.

“Please,” said John, who couldn’t stomach any more of Derek’s violence. “Please don’t hit him. I’ll get him to come.” He began to walk away from the group, trying to coax Afha with coos and whistles. Afha screeched and shook his head in agitation. The milky cataract of his third eye swirled.

“Come, Afha, come,” said John, walking forward in the high grass and snapping his fingers.

Suddenly John screamed and fell to the ground. Derek rushed forward and saw a flash of brown slithering through the grass.

“Snake!” he shouted. He bent to John, who was clutching his calf. Blood was soaking his roughspun pants.

Teddy stamped in a wide semicircle around his brother and John, hoping to kill--or at least scare off--any other snakes that might be in the grass. Leggy urged Afha forward. The donkey now cooperated.

“Lift me down,” he commanded to Teddy. Teddy placed him next to John, whose face was pale and twisted with pain. Derek had already begun to cut away at John’s pantleg. Leggy unslung his water flask and poured water to clear away the blood. Two puncture wounds were clearly visible in the meat of John’s calf.

Leggy was prepared to give instructions, but there was no need. Snake bites were just one of the many unpleasant facts of life in San Muyammo, and Derek knew what needed doing. He put his mouth over the puncture marks, then sucked and spat, hoping to remove any venom. He repeated the process several times, then tied a bandanna tightly around John’s leg, just above the wound.

“Anybody get a look at the varmint?” asked Leggy.

John shook his head. “Didn’t see it,” he said weakly.

“Brown,” said Derek, after rinsing his mouth  with water from Leggy’s waterskin. “That’s all I saw. Didn’t look like any snakes back home, so I don’t know if it’s poisonous.”

Leggy removed his whiskey flask. He passed it John, but John wouldn’t take it.

“Might help with the pain,” said Leggy. John shook his head no.

Leggy shrugged, then poured a dose over the puncture marks. “I’ve got clean cloth in my pack,” he said. “Tear it into strips and let’s bandage this.”

Derek did so, and then eased John into a sitting position.

“How  you doin’?” he asked.

“I…my leg. Feels like it’s burnin’,” said John. “The ground…spinning.”

Derek looked at Leggy. Leggy  stroked his chin. “He’ll  hafta ride.”

“What about you?”

“I think that donkey can bear us both,” said Leggy.

“OK, but where we goin’?” asked Derek. “He’s not fit for much travel.”

“I agree,” said Leggy, “but I want to get out of here. There might be more snakes around. And I want a better place to camp. We  have to build a fire, so we’ll need a clearing or some place without so much grass.”

So they got John on Afha’s back. The young man was muttering to himself, and alternatively sweating and then shivering. When Teddy lifted Leggy up behind John, Leggy could feel the heat coming off the boy. Fever already.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Keep your eyes peeled for a good campsite.”

 

 

                                                            19.

 

They had been traveling for less than hour across the plateua when Leggy spotted a rocky outcropping near a stand of pine trees.

“That might be a good spot,” he said, directing the party toward the outcropping.

As they drew nearer a dog came at them through the tall grass. It was large and fast, and it growled menancingly. It stopped twenty yards from them, barking and baring its teeth. The party halted. Minna brayed nervously. Afha nuzzled her and whickered soothingly.

“Step aside,” said Derek, unholstering the sawed-off shotgun that he’d gotten from the Paladins. “I’ll blow its goddam teeth out.”

The shotgun was an American Eagle smoothbore. Silas had wanted to give it to Leggy, but Leggy had seen the gleam of desire in Derek’s eyes, and he knew he’d save himself some trouble if he just gave it to the boy outright. Corrin had reluctantly helped Derek clean off the rust which was threatening to set into the hammer, had showed him how to break down, clean, and oil the weapon. He had even helped him saw ten inches off of the barrel, making the gun easier to manage, more maneuverable, and deadlier at close range. Now Derek carried it in a holster on his back, a belt of shells around his waist.

“Wait,” said Leggy. “I believe that dog belongs to someone.”

Everyone looked more closely. A harness was strapped across the dog’s chest and back. It looked as if it were made of leather, and designed either to hook the dog to something, or for holding the dog as you walked.

“I don’t care,” said Derek. “We gotta press on. Ain’t got time to return stray dogs to their owners.”

“He’s not stray,” said a high, clear voice. Derek looked up and saw a woman standing on a high boulder near the copse of trees. She had long white hair, and wore homespun shirt and breeches. She also cradled a long-barreled rifle in her arms.

Derek looked at the woman. There was something odd about her face; she didn’t look like a mutie, but something wasn’t right. He put that thought aside and considered the shotgun in his hands. She was a good thirty or forty yards away, well out of his range. He might get the dog, but she’d have a clear shot at him--if she were any good with a rifle. But he wasn’t quite ready to find out yet.

“Well call him off then,” said Derek roughly. “We’re in a hurry.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“What’s it to you?” asked Derek.

“Because this land belongs to my mother, and strangers aren’t allowed to pass without my say so.”

Derek opened his mouth to tell her where she could stick her say so, but Leggy cut him off.

“Our friend’s snake bit,” he said. “We’re trying to find a place to camp, so we can treat him.”

The woman frowned. “How long ago was he bitten?”

“Not long. An hour maybe. But fever’s set in, and he’s getting delirious.”

“Do you have medicine?” she asked.

“We have asprin, for the fever,” said Leggy. “But nothing for the bite. I figured we’d just make a fire, keep him warm, let him rest. Give his body a chance to fight the venom.”

“He’d be dead before morning,” said the woman. “You’d better come with me.”

“Where?” asked Derek.

“To see my mother. She’s a wise woman, and good with medicines.”

Leggy looked at Derek, who was scowling at the woman and her dog. Derek was suspicious, and Leggy shared that feeling. But what choice did they have? He could feel John behind him, the fever-heat coming off him like a clay oven. Leggy saw that Derek was thinking the same thing.

“Der-der,” whispered Teddy. “Don’t let Johnny die. We should get medicines.”

Derek spat into the grass. “How far is your place?”

“Not far,” said the woman. “Just over the next rise.”

“Your dog,” said Derek, nodding toward the animal.

The woman whistled, high and piercing. The dog, which hadn’t taken its eyes off the strangers for an instant, turned and ran toward her. He bounded onto the rock outcropping and then stood by her. The woman reached down and took the handle of the harness. Derek watched as the dog led her down to the grass, picking the easiest route off the outcropping.Suddenly Derek realized what had bothered him. When she was standing on the stone, the sun had been shining directly into her face, but she had made no move to shade her eyes. Why should she? She was blind.

She came forward, guided by the dog. Leggy watched, astonished, as she walked right to Ahfa’s side. She reached up a hand and stroked John’s cheek. He leaned his face into the cool well of her palm, and murmured incoherently. She probed him with her hands, running her palms and fingers across the contours of John’s face, then coming to rest with one hand on his forehead, the other on the back of his neck.

“His fever’s bad,” she said, finally taking her hands away. “Follow me.” She moved off into the grass, lightly holding the dog’s harness.

They followed behind, and soon found themselves amidst a small herd of goats. The woman clucked and cooed to them, and the goats pooled in around her, matching her stride. Another dog, just as large as the first, bounded into view. It ignored the strangers, instead patrolling the herd. It nipped at lagging goats and dashed back and forth, defining a perimeter for the herd to remain in.

They crested a low rise and saw that the grass had been cleared for a homestead--a simple, solidly built cabin with a stone chimney, a large pen for the goats, and a shed. Leggy noted firewood stacked in neat cords, a small kitchen garden, and several fowl patrolling the front yard. The homestead itself was nestled against a rocky hillside that ascended at a nearly vertical angle for hundreds of feet. He watched as the shepherd dog guided the goats into the pen. The guide dog led the woman to the gate, and she closed it and fastened it, then turned to the travelers.

“One of you bring your friend inside,” she said, gesturing to the cabin. “You can hitch your mules around the back of the house. There’s a post and a trough there.”

Derek took John from Ahfa’s back and carried him to the dooryard. “You two take care of the mules and then come inside,” he said to Teddy and Leggy. “And make it quick.”

Teddy and Leggy did as they were told. Then Teddy lifted Leggy and carried him around to the front--and only--door. Teddy had to stoop as he went inside. He and Leggy found themselves in a dim, one-room cabin. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, they saw the stone fireplace at one end of the room, a fire buring in the hearth. A tin kettle bubbled over the fire. Dried herbs hung in bunches from the roof, giving the cabin a pleasant odor.

John was stretched across a rough wooden table that dominated the middle of the cabin, and a wrinkled crone was unwinding the bandage from his calf. She probed the wound with her fingers, then laid a gnarled hand on John’s brow. She nodded to herself.

“You’re not too late,” she said. “It was a brown snake, wasn’t it?”

“Think so,” said Derek. “Didn’t get much of a good look at it.”

“Yes. The venom from a brownie’s bite moves slow. It wants to get at the heart, to squeeze it--but it takes its time. He’s lucky, your friend. If it was a greenie, or a diamond back…” she fixed them with a sharp eye, “well then, check his pockets and start digging.” She mimed working a shovel, then cackled.

“So you can help him?” asked Leggy, feeling foolish being held in Teddy’s arms.

“I can. But can you?” asked the crone.

“Can we?” asked Derek, confused by the question.

The old woman rubbed the tips of her fingers together. “What has it gots in its pocketesses, we wonder?”

“Mother,” said the blind woman.

“Hush daughter,” said the crone. “What’s the coin of your realm, eh?” she asked Derek. “Skins? Produce? Metalwork? Weaving?”

Derek reached into his pouch and tossed a coin at the crone. She snatched it from the air like a bird of prey, then examined it closely--even more closely than she’d examined John, thought Leggy.

“Silver,” said Derek. “Will that do?”

“Bring me my pestle,” said the crone to the young woman. “And the kettle, and clean strips of cloth. These must be young princelings in disguise.”

Soon the cabin was a bustle of activity. The crone worked with practiced ease, creating a concoction from the various plantlife hanging above their heads, fermenting in bottles, or dug up from old pots in one corner of the room. She was assisted by the girl, who moved with quiet efficiency about the room, never once stumbling or tripping over anything, even the travellers’ bags that they’d dropped uncermonouosly on the floor. She fetched up a chair for Leggy, so that he could sit without being cradled by Teddy.

“Did you treat the bite at all?” asked the old woman. Derek explained about sucking out the posion and applying a tourniquet.

“A good start, but your friend will need more attention than that. We need to drain this wound.” With that, she produced a small knife from her bosom, held the blade in the flame of a candle for a count of thirty, and then made a deft incisions just above each puncutre mark. Blood began to seep from the incisions. John moaned.

The crone applied a sticky paste to several strips of clean cloth, then bound up John’s wound with the strips. “This will draw the poison out,” said the old woman. “Now, take him off the table and put him near the fire.”

The blind woman spread a blanket near the hearth, and they laid John on the floor. Then the crone pressed a cup into his hands. “Drink this. It will help your insides.”

John did as he was told. When he drained the cup, he lay back on the blanket, his eyes fluttering. He caught sight of the blind woman and tried to lift himself up, but then settled back to the floor, muttering under his breath. In a moment he was asleep.

The crone rubbed her hands. “Sleep, boy. Sleep and my poltice will be your best cure.” Then she turned to the travellers. “And now that my table is free again, we’ll set out some supper.”

In fact, it was the younger woman who set out the supper. The crone sat in a high-backed chair. She smoked a pipe and listed as Leggy explained their journey, occasionally casting a critical remark at the girl’s preparations.

Soon enough supper was ready--goat’s milk cheese, wild rabbit stew, and green beans from the kitchen garden. Leggy watched as the boys set to. He was hungry, and the food looked so good it almost hurt, but something wasn’t setting right with him.The old woman noticed.

“No appetite, eh? This good-for-nothing girl’s a terrible cook. I’ve tried to teach her, but she doesn’t take to learning, do you daughter?”

The young woman said nothing.

“No,” said Leggy. “You set a fine table.” He bent and began to eat in earnest, hoping to spare the girl from the old woman’s tongue.

When they finished, the blind woman cleared the table with a brisk efficiency, then stood near the crone, hands clasped in front of her.

“Go on,” said the old woman, gesturing to a corner of the cabin. “Up to the loft with you. I expect our guests want to talk a spell, and then get some rest.”

“Goodnight,” said the woman, nodding her head toward the guests. Leggy couldn’t help but return the gesture, even though he knew she wouldn’t see. She went to the far corner of the cabin and scurried up a small ladder. They heard her shuffling around above them for a minute, and then it was quiet.

The crone lit her pipe, and then held the travellers in her gaze. “So you plan to cross these mountains, eh? Into the Wasteland?”

“That’s right,” said Derek.

“You know the way?” she asked.

“He says he does,” said Derek, nodding toward Leggy.

The crone raised an eyebrow.

“I been over these mountains a few times when I was a young man,” said Leggy.

“Before you lost your gams,” said the crone with a malicious cackle. Leggy merely nodded.

“Well,” said the crone, “I’ve roamed these mountains for more than thirty years, ever since my husband settled us here. I might be able to point out a shortcut or two, if you’re interested.”

“Hell yeah!” said Derek.

The woman showed her yellowed teeth. “You’re an eager one. Are you that anxious to get to the Wasteland?”

“Sooner begun, sooner done,” said Derek. “That’s what Pop always said, right Teddy.”

Teddy nodded, though he wasn’t following the conversation closely. He’d gorged himself on the fresh food, and now, in the warm, dim closeness of the cabin, his great head lolled down toward his chest.

The woman noticed. “I see I’m keeping my guests from their slumber. Let’s blow out the candles and say goodnight.”

“What about the shortcut?” asked Derek.

“Patience, boy. We’ll discuss that tomorrow.” Then she drew closer to the table. “In the meantime,” she said, her eyes alight with avrice, “might you princelings be interested in a poke before sleep? Another silver piece will do for the three of you.”

Leggy’s eyes went wide. “You mean…go and lay with the girl upstairs?”

“Of course,” said the crone. “Unless you happen to fancy me?” With a laugh she pulled open her bodice to reveal a pair of withered dugs. Teddy awoke with a start. Seeing the old woman with her dress pulled open he launched into a fit of laughter. He pounded the table with one meaty fist and cried “Looky Derek! She got wrinkly boobies! Wrinkly boobies!”  The crone closed her dress, her eyes bright with a wild light.

“But,” said Leggy, his mouth dry, “but she’s your daughter, ain’t she?”

“So she is, and a good for nothing girl. Well, at least she’s good for one thing.”

Leggy shook his head.

“What’s the matter?” asked the crone. “Did the bug that took your legs get your pecker too?” She made a snipping motion with two fingers. Leggy said nothing, so the crone turned to Teddy and Derek.

“How about you young bucks? Fancy a poke?”

“Not Teddy,” said Derek. “He wouldn’t know what to do with a girl, would you?” Red blush crept up Teddy’s cheeks, and he turned away from the table.

“But you what to do with a girl, don’ you,” said the crone. “A silver piece and you can spend the night in her bed.”

Derek fingered the coins in his bag. A skinny, blind goatherd wasn’t worth a silver piece. But what was he saving them for? There was nothing in the Wasteland but danger and death, and that came free. He looked at Leggy, who was still shaking his head. That decided it. He slid a coin across the table and stood up. “Guess I’ll see you fellas at breakfast,” he said, then turned and went toward the ladder that led to the loft.

“Glad to see one of you got something in his pants,” said the crone. As Derek ascended the ladder she snuffed the candles, casting the room into darkness.

 

The loft was tucked among the rough beams of the ceiling, and Derek had to crouch as he came through a trap door in the floor. The room was dark, save for a single candle. He could make out the shape of the young woman, sitting up in bed. She pushed a blanket aside, and Derek could see that she wore a light shift. He suddenly found himself breathing heavily, his head and groin throbbing.

The girl began to lift her shift, exposing milky thighs.

“Is your friend resting all right?” she asked.

Derek stumbled forward, kicking off his boots snd shrugging out of his trousers. He lay on the mattress, which was lumpy and smelled of hay. Up close he could see the girl’s eyes. Pink pupils stared up emptily at him. Then he got on top of her. He felt her body beneath him, taut as a wire. A sudden urgency consumed him, and he took her quickly. Then a lassitude overcame him, profound and irrisistible, and he rolled off her, already plunging into deep sleep.

As he fell, he heard the girl ask “Will the others be coming up?”

“Nah. Now blow out the light.”

 

Leggy awoke the next morning to see John sitting up by the hearth. The blind woman was unwrapping his bandages. The wrappings were yellowed with pus, but John’s calf looked pink and healthy. The woman gave John a bowl of goat’s milk to drink.

“You’re through the worst of it,” she said. She put a small jar in his hand. “Be sure to apply this poltice every morning, and then wrap your leg in clean bandages. Now you just need to get your strength back.”

John prodded his calf gently, then looked up at the blind girl.

“I dreamed of you,” he said.

She smiled.

“You put your hands on me,” said John. “There was healing in your hands.”

She turned her head away. “Not in me. In the medicine.”

“What’s your name?”

“Magdalene,” she said softly.

John looked at her a moment longer, then let his eyes range around the cabin. Leggy was awake, but Teddy was still asleep, snoring beneath the great table where they’d eaten dinner.

“Where’s Derek?” John asked.

“Right here,” said Derek, coming down the ladder from the loft. Magdalene stood up quickly and went outside.

Derek strode over to Teddy’s inert form and kicked one of his brother’s great feet. “Wake up, lazy bones. Wake up!”

Teddy sat up sharply and cracked his head on the underside of the table. Derek laughed. Teddy crawled out, rubbing his head, his face still wrinkled with sleep.

“Let’s go take a piss before you wet yourself,” said Derek. He put a hand under one of Teddy’s arms and helped him to his feet.

Leggy sucked his teeth. He needed to pee too, but wasn’t quite sure what to do. Should he ask Teddy to lug him outside and prop him up behind the shed? He didn’t want to have to be carted everywhere like an infant, but his other option--walking on his hands and his stumps--was just as distasteful. He felt there was something undignified in getting around on his hands, as if he were an ape. And Derek was sure to have some smart remark. Leggy clenched his teeth against the rising urgency of his bladder. He regreted leaving his chair behind.

But he deliberated too long--Derek and Teddy were out the door. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to endure any comments. Leggy propelled himself forward by pressing his palms against the floor and swinging his hips out in front of him. As his stumps touched the ground he brought his arms forward again. In this manner he moved steadily and with good speed. He knew John was watching, wide eyed, but he ignored the boy. The door was just a few strides away. Suddenly it flew open. The crone stood in the doorway, bearing eggs in her apron. She looked down at Leggy and smirked.

“Well, don’t you scoot along nice and proper. Calls to mind a three-legged dog I once had. My husband wanted to shoot the thing, but I told him that dog would get along just fine. And so do you.”

Leggy brushed past her and out into the daylight.

“Don’t piss in the well,” called the crone. “That’s all I ask.”

Leggy didn’t piss in the well. He pissed on her tomatos instead.

 

After a breakfast of eggs and biscuits, Magdalene said she had to go and tend her goats.

“Perhaps,” she said to John, “you’d like to come with me into the field. To see if your leg has mended. It’s not a long walk, and we can rest along the way.”

“Yes,” said John, getting unsteadily to his feet. “I’d like that.”

“Take Afha and Minna with you,” said Leggy. “Let ‘em graze a bit before we head out.”

“And don’t wander too far,” said Derek. “I want to be back on the trail before mid morning.”

When they had gone, Derek turned to the old woman.

“Now what about this short cut.”

“Well boy, there’s lots of ways to get over the mountain. Some are safe, but they take longer. Some are faster, but a bit more dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?” asked Leggy.

The crone winked. “Sometimes the path is bad--dangerous slopes, sudden precipices, unsure footing, rock slides. And sometimes it’s the folks who live up here that are bad.”

“Can’t be that bad,” said Derek. “They leave you alone.”

“They don’t bother me because I birth their babies and mend their bones. I tell them when to plant, and when the storms will come. But you? You’re a stranger. They’d fall on you and strip out your teeth, if that was all you had.”

“I’d like to see ‘em try,” said Derek, matching the gleam in the old lady’s eyes with his own.

She cackled again. “You are a firebrand, ain’t you?” Derek said nothing. He’d survived a childhood at the edge of a blasted desert--he was difficult to intimidate.

The old woman looked at them closely. “I know just the one,” said. “A few days march from her, through barren country. No homesteaders out that way--at least, not many.” She nodded. “Yes, I belive that will do nicely.”

She described to them a rough trail that had its start a few miles north of here. Three or four days of travel would take them up through a long series of switchbacks and high ridges. If they followed the path true they would find themselves at the edge of a seemingly impassable cliff. They were to look for a notch in the cliff edge, where they would find a slope--a steep slope--but one that adventurers themselves would consider braving.

“Follow that slope down into a stony valley,” said the old woman. “From there, your Wasteland is due east, straight into the rising sun.”

 

Derek, Teddy, and Leggy (walking on his hands) came upon John and Magdalene sitting the grass several hundred yards from the cabin. They sat cross-legged, facing each other, lost in a rapture of quiet conversation. Goats grazed nearby, the tiny bells fixed round their necks tinkling. Minna and Ahfa strode over to Teddy and nuzzled his hands.

“Let’s get going,” said Derek, nudging John with his boot. Teddy, who’d carried all their gear from the cabin, busied himself cinching Ahfa’s saddle around the mule’s belly.

John looked up at Derek as if he didn’t recognize him. Then a shadow crossed his face. He stood up, his eyes passing uneasily between Derek and Magdalene

“I don’t…” started John. “Fellas, I’m thinkin’ maybe … .”

Derek let him stammer, his face impassive. He knew that John was wrestling with a decision--stay with this girl, or carry on. Derek waited. John was loyal to a fault, and Derek would play on that loyalty, use it like a lever to move John in the direction he wanted.

“I can understand you wanting to stay,” Derek could hear himself saying. “It’s the most beautiful place we’ve ever seen. I can understand you wanting to abandon us just before we reach the Wasteland. I can understand if you don’t want to travel with your friends no more. If you don’t want to prove yourself no more. If you don’t want to see angels no more. If that’s the case, you stay right here and raise goats and wait for that old woman to die so you and this girl can have some peace. Go right ahead. Leave us, John.”

Derek was right. John came with them, but he asked them to start without him. He wanted a few minutes alone with her.

And so they left the pair in the waving grass and headed north, eyes scanning for the path the old woman told them of. They hadn’t gone a mile when John caught up to them, his head down. Leggy saw the boy’s cheeks, wet with tears, but he didn’t say anything.