Bad Seed

Finn loved his sister, but he couldn’t deny she was more white-hot rage than cool, calm logic. Whenever Ysolde gave in to the angriest parts of herself Finn saw their father, Cohen, glaring from her grey eyes. He was afraid in these times. Not of Ysolde—she would never attack him—but of the obvious thrill she got from hurting others. He worried she’d go too far, and he wouldn’t be strong enough to stop her. Finn wouldn’t be able to distract her with a silly story or a joke and he’d lose her forever.

Like today.

Ysolde’s outburst had taken him by surprise, even though he’d been watching carefully for the signs. She’d gone from calm to enraged in an instant and had attacked the old man before Finn even had time to cross the bridge.

Ysolde’s entire body vibrated with power. It came off her in waves that grew stronger each time she opened herself up to the Leashworm within and drew on the Source. She tightened her hold on the old man’s neck. The mud decorating her lean figure made her seem like a vengeful warrior from one of his before-time comic books, not his overprotective sister.

The others in the pack stood frozen in their loose circle about the wagon. This wasn’t part of the plan, so they didn’t know how to react. Finn inched towards Ysolde, close enough to see the old man’s face was turning an ugly shade of red. His green eyes bulged from his skull, glassy and bloodshot. They locked suddenly on Finn and the man gave a desperate gargle for help. A weathered hand reached for him, the fingers stretching to their limits.

Finn looked away.

He knew he should do something—with a single word he could put a stop to his sister’s cruelty—but he also knew Ysolde would only get angrier if he did.

Noak brushed passed Finn and saved him from deciding.

“Enough,” the blonde warrior said. “Let him go.”

Ysolde ignored Noak’s order. The other pack members tensed. Noak was the leader of this mission and Ysolde had promised to follow him, instead she raised the old man higher.

Noak’s mouth hardened at the insult. “Finn!”

He leapt into action. “Yissy,” Finn said, “don’t hurt him anymore.”

Ysolde flinched at the command, but she obeyed, as she must. The old man crumpled as he hit the ground, coughing and spluttering for air. Finn could already see the dark bruise forming on his wrinkled skin.

Ysolde rounded on him. “How dare you give me an order!”

“You were going to snap his neck.”

She pointed at the outsider. “He insulted me.”

“So?”

Ysolde’s lip curled.

Noak came to his aid. “Your brother’s right. You were supposed to take the old man’s weapon, instead you lost your temper and wasted your power.”

“I’m fine,” Ysolde said.

“No,” Noak said, “you’re not.”

Finn agreed with Noak. Ysolde was shaking. Her black hair was plastered to her forehead and rivulets of sweat cut lines through the mud on her face. She rubbed her chest where the Leashworm sat. He knew it pained her because it pained all of them when they lost control. Her grey eyes glowed with traces of the Source, a sign she hadn’t quite let go of the dangerous and seductive power.

Ysolde being Ysolde, denied Noak’s words. “I’ll show you.”

She moved towards the old man.

Noak cut between Ysolde and her prey. “Step back.”

“Don’t be a fool,” she said. “We can all see he’s unsuitable for my father. The old man’s going to die, either by our hands or Cohen’s. You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“That’s not your call to make,” Noak said.

Finn held his breath while the two of them faced off. His sister was the better fighter, but Noak was strong too and he commanded the loyalty of the group.

“This is my pack,” Noak said, finally. “You chose to tag along today and now you’ll follow my orders.”

Ysolde scowled. “Fine, protect the old man. He won’t thank you for it later.”

She stalked off towards the closest house. Finn released his breath and went to follow.

Noak placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let her go.”

Finn noticed Noak still had his knife drawn. “What is it?” He asked.

“I have this itch beneath my skin,” Noak said. “Something’s not right.”

Finn glanced at the old man. “You think he’s dangerous?”

The outsider had woken and was now gulping down great breaths of air. He rolled onto his back. One hand loosened the collar of his jacket and the other clasped the white whiskers at his throat.

“He looks harmless to me,” Finn added.

Noak continued to study the stranger, his brows drawn. “Just be ready.”

“Got it.” At thirteen years of age, Finn might be the youngest one here, but he was eager to prove his worth. If an attack came, he’d show them. He’d draw his knife and fight… to the death even. Then they’d tell stories of his greatness around the fire at night and—

The horse squealed, disrupting his thoughts of glory. Finn spun. The pack had the mare surrounded and she didn’t like it. She pawed at the ground, her ears pinned back, and she shook the chains linking her harness to the wagon.

Noak strode towards the animal and reached for the lead. The mare snapped at his hand and reared. “We don’t have time for this.” Noak pulled out his knife. “We can use the nag for meat.”

Finn recoiled from the idea. He’d seen how the old man had treated the mare—she was more family member than animal, and family was sacred.

Noak tensed, ready to slice at the horse’s throat.

“You can’t kill her!” Finn’s order rang out.

His leader’s arm froze.

“Damn it, Finn.” Noak sheathed the weapon. “Roan, deal with the animal before I do.”

Roan was six years older than Finn and taller than him by a good three heads. He ran a hand across his red hair while he assessed the situation.

“Hello, lovely.” Roan bent his knees to make himself seem shorter and edged towards the mare. “Quiet, now.” He closed his fingers over the lead and pulled the mare’s head down. “I’ve got you.”

Roan continued to murmur in her ear until she settled.

“She’s all good,” Roan said and gave Finn a wink. “No need to turn the old girl into horsemeat.”

Noak grunted. “We’ll see.”

Their leader moved around the trembling animal to inspect the wagon.

“Have you ever seen such a thing?” Finn asked, following. Against the pale sky and drab rotting houses, the wagon showed hints of bright red, green and blue amongst the dirt. “It’s beautiful.”

Noak tapped at a collection of silver wind chimes hanging from the rear of the wagon. “It’s foolish. We heard the old man coming from miles away.”

Noak used his forearm to wipe the muck from several side panels. Finn made out a figure sharpening a saw, another writing and a third fixing a machine of cogs and wheels.

“It’s like a storybook,” Finn said.

Above these pictures, the old man had bolted metal rings into the wood. Finn tugged on the closest and a panel swung out with a click. He flattened the board and as he did, gears pulled a strange metal machine from the inside of the wagon and onto the makeshift table. He sniffed at the sharp scent of grease and oil.

Finn circled the wagon and jerked another ring. He examined the second machine. “What are they?”

“The first one’s a sewing machine, I think.” His face screwed up as he regarded the other. “Maybe a grindstone?”

“How do you know? Did you use them before?”

Noak’s eyes darkened and Finn knew to let the subject drop. He moved before the sewing machine. It took a bit of fiddling, but he managed to unlatch a foot pedal. Finn tested it. The needle jolted up and down in sync with his awkward movements.

“Nice.”

Finn sought out his sister, who was sulking in the shadows of the old cottage.

“This is great!” Finn shouted. “Yissy, want to come see?”

He was careful to give her choice, and it worked, Ysolde sauntered over. The rear wheels bounced as she climbed up the back of the wagon and bent into the storage area.

“What’s in there?” Finn asked.

The wooden panels muffled his sister’s voice. “Blankets, rope, tools… Father will be happy with that, at least.”

Curiosity drew the others from their posts. They began opening draws and holding up trinkets and spare parts. Finn heard laughter. Excited chatter filled the air. Noisy debates started over the purpose of the old man’s machines and other strange items in the wagon.

Finn checked on the outsider. He’d recovered enough to clamber to his knees and watch, horrified, as they rummaged through his belongings.

“What’s all this?” Noak asked, crouching before the old man. “Who are you?”

The old man frowned. “I’m a Junker.”

“A Junker?” Noak shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

The outsider cleared his throat. “I travel from settlement to settlement, offering my services in exchange for junk. I explore old ruins and abandoned places collecting what I can. I fix it up and sell it on. Junk’s my business, hence I’m a Junker.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Noak asked. “Are you searching for more of this… junk?”

“Yes,” the old man said. “Exactly.”

Finn thought the Junker had been a little too quick to answer. He squatted to Noak’s left, mirroring the older warrior’s stance. “What kind of services do you do?”

“All sorts,” the old man said.

Finn shuffled closer. “Like writing and reading? Smart stuff like that?”

“Yes.”

A dangerous idea started forming in Finn’s head. “Do you know your letters?”

“I do. I write certificates, deeds, contracts. Mostly, I fix things. Like generators, lights, machines from before the Chaos. I sharpen a lot of tools…” His gaze flicked to the knife at Roan’s chest, “…and weapons. I sharpen those too.”

Noak rose. “Well, Junker. You might be some use to us alive, after all.

The old man swallowed.

Finn got to his feet and stretched on his tiptoes to pat the mare between the eyes. Her hair was soft beneath the dirt. He brought his hand close to her muzzle and her nostrils quivered. Her breath tickled his skin. Finn fought the urge to giggle—only kids did that sort of thing.

“What’s your horse called?” Finn asked.

“Pippa.”

Finn’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Pippa? If she were my horse, I’d call her Thowra, just like the Silver Brumby.”

Roan snorted. “Thowra was a stallion.”

“I don’t care,” Finn said. “That’s what I’d name her.”

Finn peeked over his shoulder to see if Noak was also laughing at him. Noak was twenty years in age, a man in everyone’s eyes, and Finn didn’t want Noak thinking he was some silly child.

To his relief, Noak hadn’t been listening to the exchange. Their leader’s attention had shifted to the wagon, to where Ysolde meddled with the tarp shading the crowded driver’s seat. She freed an object from the frame and turned it on her palm, so it caught in the faint afternoon light.

Noak inhaled a sharp breath. “Ysolde.”

The pack reacted to his tone and the tension returned. Ysolde jumped to the ground, threw Noak the object and drew her knife. Noak plucked the ornament from the air, his hand closing around it before Finn could get a good look.

Noak lowered himself before the man again and let the object—a long charm made from glass, mirror shards and fragments of polished shell—dangle between his fingers.

“Tell me where you got this.”

“The charm? It’s nothing,” the outsider said. “Just scraps. It’s not even worth anything.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The Junker eyed the sharp blade in Noak’s hand. “My niece made it. For luck and protection. Really, it’s nothing.”

Noak passed the charm to Roan without taking his eyes off the Junker. “Look.”

Roan studied the object until Finn squeezed in beside him.

“Let me see,” Finn demanded.

The redhead gave him an irritated glance before he obeyed. Finn turned the charm and found the mark, a tiny oak tree painted onto one of the shells.

“What’s that?” He asked.

Roan paled.

“I don’t get it,” Finn said, poking Roan’s shoulder. “What does the tree mean?”

“That’s Haven’s symbol,” Roan said.

Noak took back the charm and held it before the old man’s face. “You’re an Undergrounder.”

Ysolde’s knife wavered. “He’s from the mountain?”

Noak nodded.

She tightened her grip on the handle. “That settles it, you know the rules. We have to kill him.”

Finn straightened, ready to protest, but Noak stopped him. “Keep your mouth shut, Finn. The last thing we need is you forcing another command on us.”

Finn reddened, though he probably deserved the reprimand. He may have been altered by Cohen’s Leashworm, same as everyone else, but the power he had was different from them. Finn was supposed to watch every word he said, but today he hadn’t been very careful.

“Noak, what do we do?” Roan asked.

“Our instructions are clear,” Ysolde said, her mouth set it a grim line. “I don’t understand this hesitation, unless you’re not up to the task?”

“Shut up, Ysolde,” Roan said. “Let him think.”

The silence continued while Noak underwent some great internal debate, his focus moving between the Junker and the charm.

“You say your niece made this?” Noak asked, finally. “For protection?”

The old man tried several times to answer. “Yes.”

Noak stood. “You can tell her it worked.” He turned to the others. “We’re going to let him go.”

A chorus of voices protested.

“Why?” Ysolde asked. “Cohen said—”

“I’ll deal with your father when the time comes.” Noak pocketed the charm. “Now, all of you move!”

They began taking what they needed from the wagon. All except Finn, he stayed close to the old man.

The Undergrounder shook his head. “My junk.”

“Is ours,” Noak said. “Call it a payment for safe passage, a one-time offer only.”

“But––”

“You don’t seem to get it,” Noak said. “This valley belongs to the Blood Wolves now. Return and die.”

The old man clambered to his feet. “What about my horse? She’s too tired to make the journey and there’s a storm coming.”

“Leave her here or take her.” Noak pointed to the darkening sky. “You have until the light fades to get off our territory.”

“Or what?”

The Source turned Noak’s normally blue eyes to yellow-gold. He had the old man’s full attention now. “At nightfall, we hunt.”

***

Finn watched the Junker gather his discarded belongings, mainly useless trinkets and tools too heavy for the Blood Wolves to carry. When he was ready, the old man asked for his weapon back. Roan removed the bullets and handed the silver gun back without comment. The Undergrounder studied the unloaded weapon before tucking it into his carry bag.

The wind picked up and the air tasted metallic on Finn’s tongue. The trees along the stream shook back and forth, their leaves rattling to announce the coming storm. The setting sun bled through the dust cloud, its rich red colour a bad omen.

The outsider set his poor horse walking with a flick of his wrists. Pippa huffed and Finn felt a pang of guilt. Heads down against the wind, the two weary travellers disappeared along the trail. The murky woods swallowed the bright wagon in one gloomy gulp. Finn watched the spot for a long time after they’d gone.

The Blood Wolves gathered up their stolen goods and waited for the order to head home. Finn wasn’t ready to go. A thousand thoughts and ideas buzzed around his head. He needed to talk to someone.

Finn found Noak sitting on the edge of the bridge, still holding the charm. He turned it over and over while staring into the distance.

“Noak?”

“Not now, Finn,” Noak said.

Finn scratched his upper arm to hide his nervousness. “It has to be now.”

Noak remained silent and Finn took it as an invitation to continue. “You said he was from the underground.”

Noak put the charm into his pocket and sprang to his feet. “Let it go.”

Finn craned his neck. Noak was so much taller than him, his body lean and muscled, his movements powerful and graceful. He was everything Finn wanted to be. “The old man is from the shining city, isn’t he? The one from your stories.”

“I said let it go.”

Finn had never ignored Noak’s warnings before, but now he pushed.

“He must be someone important,” Finn said, “Or they wouldn’t let him leave the underground. He’s smart too. You saw his machines. Maybe he could help us? Or maybe he could tell the others in the city and they could help us? I don’t think we should have sent the Junker away. I think we should go after him now and ask—”

“Enough!” Noak’s voice rose above the wind. “There will be no more talk of Undergrounders and shining cities. The Undergrounders will not help us because they only care about protecting themselves. Forget the stories I told you. Forget them all. We’re on our own.”

Finn couldn’t hold Noak’s stare. He dropped his gaze to his feet, but in his heart he felt defiant. Noak was wrong. They did need help. They couldn’t do this on their own. Their enemy was too powerful.

“Move out!” Noak said, just as the blood red sun disappeared behind the first storm cloud.

The forest darkened. The Blood Wolves formed a line to pass through the thick undergrowth. Finn followed at the rear and the others let him be. The wind picked up. It threw debris and dust into the air. Lightning cracked across the sky and the rolling thunder caused a familiar pain to spread through his chest. Finn waited until Noak engaged his sister in conversation, distracting her, and slipped off the path. When they were all out of sight, he doubled back to the village. He passed through the empty streets and hurried down the overgrown trail, following the old man’s wagon wheels.