Out Poster: Blood and Water

As the first tuft of hair fell to the blade, Kit gasped and leapt from the kayak, yanking the material around her middle free from a groove in the boat to do so. I stepped back, sawing at the next hunk, and nicked my scalp. My face twisted into a snarl, and a hiss escaped my lips before I sealed them tight. Kit, however, jerked back as if I'd cut her, and her pale skin took on a green cast.

'What?' I shook my head and grabbed another hank. 'Doesn't matter. Just get the cursed stuff off.'

"Please stop! You're hurting yourself!" Kit's voice was tight and her arms stretched toward me.

And I did stop, but not because she'd asked. I gawked at her, with her too-thick shirt, long legs that had her standing taller than me by almost a full hand, and an oval of material standing out around her waist like a bizarre sort of skirt. An odd, bubbling sensation rose from my belly, slipping up my throat and into my mouth before bursting from my lips.

"Bwahahahahah!" I sucked in a breath, biting my lower lip, but another surge took me. "Hahaha!"

Tears filled my eyes as they squinted against the force, and a blurry Kit pulled her arms back, tugged her hat off, and scratched her head. The sight of the girl's chin-length hair — squashed flat on top and poking in random directions below — caused another burst of laughter, and I doubled over.

The bloodied knife, forgotten, fell to the gravel with a clatter.

When the laughter released me, my gut was sore and my throat felt like I'd tried to hawk up a pellet in my flightless form. I wiped the water from my eyes and froze as a familiar schnick-schnick reached my ears.

My hands shook as they came away from my face, leaving a clear view of Kit, kneeling on the ground and sharpening the knife on a whetstone. A small bottle lay by her knee, and she paused to pick it up. Her slender fingers squished a lever on the bottle and a puff of mist escaped to coat the knife and stone. She tested the edge, then looked up.

"A thousand apologies. If I'd known you wanted to do that, I'd have sharpened it first." Kit's face was a mask of sorrow. "And, please, won't you let me cut your hair?"

My eyes widened, and I straightened, pulling away.

"If it were longer," Kit fingered her hair in demonstration, "it's not so hard to make it even when you're doing it yourself. But with it that short…"

I fingered the bit that I'd managed before Kit's interruption. It was perhaps as long as the last knuckle on my smallest finger. Then my fingers found the place where the knife slipped, and the blood-soaked hair was a scraggly bristle. The blood, crusting around the edges, trickled down around my ear and dripped toward my patchwork tunic, tickling as it went.

'I'll never get the stains out.' Tipping my head, I fumbled in my pack for the bundle of rags I'd brought. Though the fever had killed my cycle, drying up the cramps and mess, it wouldn't be the first time that it started again while I trekked to Town, and I'd learned the hard way to be prepared. I wiped the trailing blood and pressed the rags to my head.

Kit's lips thinned, and the green cast returned to her skin.

'Well, if she's that upset by a little blood, I doubt she'd stab me.' Still, despite opening my mouth, the words wouldn't come out.

"It's okay to ask for help sometimes."

"Let other people help, Sorcha." Tall, with a happy smile, the woman held out her hand. Blonde hair fell haphazardly around her shoulders, but the top was held back by a leather tie.

The memory felt like a punch to the gut, and I stuffed it down where it belonged, fighting the urge to throw a real punch at this stranger who dared remind me of before.

"No," I said and dropped the rag from my head. It pulled, a sharp tug against my abused scalp, and a fresh trickle of blood seeped out. I extended a hand, fingers smooched with half-dried blood, and waited until Kit placed the wire-wrapped hilt in my palm once more.

Then, with meticulous ruthlessness, I sliced through every strand on my head until nothing was longer than my finger joint. The river's chortle and random insects and birds filled the silence between Kit and I, but not well, and I was left to marvel at the way her knife held an edge. When I'd last cut my hair, I'd had to stop three times to re-sharpen my knife. This one's last stroke was clean and smooth — perhaps not as good as after Kit had sharpened it, but at least as good as when I'd started.

Deed done, I hefted the knife. Blood had seeped between the wire strands on the hilt, and I had no notion how to clean it off. The antler or wood handles of my knives wiped clean, or they stained. They didn't draw gore in and hold it tight.

'Who designs a blade like this?'

"Um, can I have it back?" Kit's voice was hesitant, and I realized she wasn't sure I would return it.

"I made a mess," I said, handing it over. 'Though at least my scalp stopped oozing.' "How do you clean this thing?"

"Oh, well…" Kit held the knife away, as if she expected it to bite. "Perhaps a bath is in order?"

We both looked at the river, knee-deep and fast-running and filled with jagged rocks. I could smell it; a cold that bit my nostrils like acid and an underlying tang that spoke of fish. There were never many here, but the calmer waters far upstream and my creek held schools of fingerlings.

'Fish? She's suggesting getting in the water — deliberately — and you're worried about fish?' I snorted at my absurdity and glanced at Kit.

"I suppose not, then," she said, reading my expression. "Well, let me scrub this and we can get started. Only… do you mind if I use some of my cleaner on your pack? It would cut down on the smell a bit."

"Look," I said, guilt nibbling despite my attempts to quash it. "The river's impassible before long. Your trail — it'll have to veer off. It's better if we split up here."

"No one travels here. And what Flightless leaves a trail that can be read from the middle of a river a fortnight later?"

I pulled back, fury lighting my veins. The words, the tone, the inflections — all were mine. If I hadn't seen Kit's mouth move, I would have sworn it was me speaking.

"That's a Flit trick — echoing someone's words back at them. But you're no Flit. Who are you?" My hands clenched, and I fought the urge to hit first and question later.

"Hmm. Different tricks, similar results." Kit wasn't even watching me as she hopped onto a large, flat stone that rose above the water and knelt to wash her blade. Around her waist, the stiff skirt wiggled and flexed as she jumped and contorted. "The map shows the river carves deeper into the cliff face, then breaks off into a series of rapids and cascades. The kayak's designed to handle that. As for Flightless—"

"You have a map? Bones and feathers, why are you wasting my time if you have a map?" I grabbed my pack, stuffing the rags into the top, and stomped across the gravel, heading downstream. "I could have been halfway to the falls by now!"

"It's an old map!" Kit's voice rang behind me. "And if you'll come with me, I can more than make up for the time lost. The cliffs — you climb down them. Dressed like that, with that pack? You don't fly. I can get you there faster."

I halted, breath ragged. 'If she's right, it might make the difference between missing the fair and catching Mitry before he leaves.

'But it's her fault I'm delayed! Can I chance that she knows what she's talking about and won't get us both killed?'

I ground my teeth until they joined the chorus of aches from my feet, calves, thighs, and shoulders. My conscious — a long-neglected phantom clinging to un-life — prodded me; 'Kit didn't delay me that much. The fever kept me from leaving on time, and my weakness keeps me from traveling as fast as I need.'

I turned and walked back. Kit stood next to her kayak, misting her blade before polishing it with the bottom of her shirt and tucking it back into its sheath.

"How sure are you?"

"Really sure! And if, for whatever reason, I can't get the kayak down the rapids, I can at least get you to the cliffs faster."

'There was a cutout right before the river became deadly. We can pull in there, she'll see it's impassible, and go our separate ways.'

"Your trail is going to leave the river before then." I swung my pack off my shoulders and held it toward Kit. "And I'm going to hold you to your word anyway."

Kit cringed away from the pack and nodded at the same time.

"Can I…?" She held up the bottle that she'd used on her knife.

"What is it?" I pulled the pack back. "Will it damage the fur or the meat?"

"No — it just kills scents. Your bag really reeks."

"Fine. But make it fast."

With a cheerful hum, Kit misted the pack, even nudging the flap open and spritzing inside. I sniffed and couldn't detect any hint of the raw meat and rough-tanned hide. Instead, the scents of sun-warmed gravel and the straggling willows flirted with the river's cool tang. Then Kit made an abortive gesture toward me before turning to the kayak.

My eyes narrowed.

"You want to put that junk on me, don't you?"

Kit's pale green eyes were wide as she nodded.

'Figures. Still, I'm as ripe as the deer at this point. May as well get it over with.'

"Fine. Do it." I held my arms out, taking a deep breath and not releasing it until the mist settled on my tunic and pants. A final puff caressed my head, and I snorted to clear it from my nostrils. Except it didn't burn as I half-expected it to. It tasted and felt like nothing.

Kit tucked the bottle away, then stuffed my pack into the kayak, too. My fingers twitched, needing to snatch the pack — my lifeline — back, but I forced them to my sides. I focused inward, reaching for my quartz crystal, and gasped at the aching emptiness.

'All this, and I forgot the most important thing. The fever burned through my reserves, and I used what little remained to preserve the deer.' The flush of anger I'd felt earlier had given me a false boost; if I'd pushed in that moment, I'd have been able — perhaps — to shift, but that would have sent my body into a deficit. Once I came down, I'd crash hard, potentially fatally. I shivered, dragged my crystal free of my denims and tunic, and ran my fingers over the facets. 'No fissures.' I held it to the lowering sun. 'No cracks.'

Relief made me dizzy, and I locked my knees to stay upright.

Kit, ridiculous skirt still around her waist, reached out a hand before pulling back.

"You… I can… Could I…?" She stopped, lips pursed, and left me with no idea what she wanted.

"Look, this isn't going to work. Just give me the pack and forget about it." I tucked my quartz away and stepped around the girl.

"No, wait!"

I glanced over my shoulder, and Kit's hand was outstretched again. Instead of trying to touch me, however, she cupped her palm around a pale, pulsing orb. Eyes blinking, I frowned at it. It was translucent red, barely brighter than the daylight around us, and floating just above Kit's open hand.

"What is that?"

"It's, well, energy." Kit looked away, dropping her hand. The orb remained floating between us. "It's yours, if you want it. You could use it to shift."

I gaped at her, questions flying through my mind. One deep breath, then a second steadied me. The third sent frustration lancing through me again, and I ran my fingers through my newly shorn hair, unable to grab a handful as I'd grown accustomed to.

"You're no Guardian," I said, once I found my voice. "You shouldn't be able to help me — help any Flit — shift. Who are you?" 'I've asked before, and she didn't answer. If she doesn't answer now…'

With a mental shake, I halted that thought and focused on Kit.

"I'm not a Guardian, that's true." Kit glanced away. "It's a different trick with the same result."

"That's not an answer." My voice was low, hoarse, and the air was thick in my throat.

Kit edged away, tucking a strand of her chin-length hair behind an ear with a shaking hand, and knelt to scoop her hat off the gravel. She crammed it onto her head — hidden once more beneath the floppy brim — and tightened the chinstrap before she spoke in a soft, hesitant tone.

"I've seen a Guardian help a … a Flit. The energy patterns are easy enough to mimic. Th-that's all I do — just mimic."

"Mimic?" I snorted. "That may be what you are. Not who you are. And there's no one here for you to copy!"

"You don't think so?" Kit tilted her head, one pale green eye peeking up at me from beneath the hat. "But, it doesn't matter so much, because I can still paddle the kayak like Quise — it's hers, you know, just lent to me — and I can be in charge like Sharris — she always knows what to do. I think it's because of her schooling."

My head throbbed as Kit's words flowed like a river, listing name after name. 'She acts like I should know these people.' A growl started in the back of my throat.

"Stop it!" I grabbed the orb, still floating, and it sank into my hand as soon as I touched it. Tingling, like I'd fallen asleep on my hand, danced up my wrist and faded as it reached my elbow. I shook it out. "Fine, I'll take the energy. Just… stop."

Kit snapped her mouth shut, cutting off the deluge. She opened her mouth again, then closed it with a frown.

"What now?" I glared at the sun, far closer to the horizon than I needed it to be.

"If you have any side effects, like irritability or blood lust, maybe don't have more?" Kit tugged her hat down further when I glared at her.

"I'm already irritated, and I've wanted a rabbit since breakfast." I shook my head. "It is what it is. Get in the boat. There's a cutoff before the falls. If we can make it there before dark, we'll make camp." 'Even I'm not crazy enough to take the cliffs or falls at night. Not in Flightless-form.'

I turned inward and focused on my crystal. Kit's energy hovered around it, separate but accessible. Pulling the barest thread into my quartz, I focused on the first pattern I'd learned: flat, black wings sprinkled with yellow dots and a thin, hard body supported by six spindly legs. I fluttered my wings, dancing on the river's shifting air currents.

"Papilio Cresphontes, I think." Kit's giant smile floated beneath the hat's brim, and she climbed into the kayak, shifting her weight and shoving with the paddle to push off the bank.

'I hate how much bigger everything is in this form.' Despite this, the frustration that had built all day fell to a simmer, then died out, smothered by the comfort of my oldest, easiest form. I landed sideways on the prow, splitting my attention between the river ahead and the stranger behind.