We Leave Together, стр. 63
“You think it’s the corporal?”
“What’s that guy’s name… Kapelli? Matteli? He’s useless. He got corporal in the war and a few medals because he got out alive, and he hasn’t done anything since but wait for land.” Calipari turned to Salvatore. “What’s your name, Private?”
“I’m Private Salvatore Fidelio,” said Salvatore. Then, as a mumbled afterthought from his thief slouch, “Sir.” He looked like a man in a costume. Jona wondered how Calipari couldn’t see right through the dirty disguise. Maybe he did, but it was a letter from the captain in his hand that had him thinking he was part of something bigger than he wanted on his last patrol before his parcel.
“Right, Fidelio,” said Nicola. “I don’t know you and me and the corporal go way back, so you hang back and wait for us to finish our investigation. You don’t talk to anyone, got it?”
“Sir,” said Fideli.
“How long ago you finish training, Fidelio?”
“I’m new.”
“You ever kill anybody?”
“No, sir.”
“You got green all over yourself. I can see it from here. Stay out of the way. This is a bad business. I’ll handle the execution myself. Finishing the business like this. That’s me. Blood had to be my way out from the Pens.”
Jona smacked the reins, and the donkey kicked into life again. Jona looked over his shoulder at the two men in the cart. “Hey, Nic,” said Jona, “you gonna let me have a piece of him, too? I’m so bored, I’d break them both just to pass the time.”
Calipari said nothing. He re-read the note in his hand. He put it in his lapel pocket. He grabbed a stone from his pocket. He hocked a fat ball of spit onto it. He dragged his sword across the stone.
Jona waited, and when nothing happened, he kicked the reins. The donkey started to walk again.
Salvatore did his best to lie down and sleep with the mule cart bouncing around the road.
Calipari was an old hand at sharpening his sword in a cart. Not once did his hands slip in a bumpy rut.
***
Howl with us, dogs, for the victory of Erin.
My husband is very sick.
He said he would not die for me.
I knew it was a lie.
We are human, still. We wear the skin of the wolf, but it is not who we are.
In the darkness of the sewers Salvatore came. He carried bread and stolen jewelry. He had no fear in his eye, and did not know to be afraid. How could he remember fear of death? How could he even remember he was alive if he could not remember his benefactors?
He came into the darkness, then. We swept over one side and then another in the sewer to surround him before he knew we were there.
“Please,” he said.
He’s mine.
No, he can see you. Let me.
“Please, I want to live.”
I want to kill him.
That’s Jona. That’s not you.
He must die.
“Please, I don’t… I don’t know what you are… Big dogs… Elishta… But your eyes…”
My husband pulled the wolfskin from his back and stood tall. He lit a match and threw it onto the ground, where the sweat and urine of the demon caught the flame like lamp oil, burning against Salvatore’s skin and clothes.
Salvatore backed up, smacking at the flame, then he saw me behind him. He jumped ahead.
My husband opened his arms. “Come here,” he said. “Everything will be all right. Everything is fine, now.”
Salvatore stepped towards him, while I howled and swiped. I missed. He dodged me.
Don’t talk to him!
“She won’t hurt you,” he said. “She’s just angry, but it will pass. I have come to help you, friend.”
Salvatore stepped towards my husband.
“Look out,” he said. He grabbed Salvatore and pulled him from me. I was pouncing and snapping.
Salvatore was so scared of me that he did not see the blade enter his back from my husband’s hand. I saw him take the blade. I saw his gasp and shock.
“Please, no…”
“It’s done,” said my husband. The blood poured out over his hand. I felt its power, and my eyes watered and my throat closed up in pain.
“Please, I want to live!”
“Hush, now,” said my husband, holding the knife. He eased Salvatore down. “This isn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry for you.”
The blood was all over his arm, eating up his clothes and burning his skin.
“I don’t want to die,” he said. His voice was weak and pinched.
“Everyone must die,” said my husband. His throat was closing up. Blood was coming out of his eyes and he fell beside Salvatore. “Everyone dies,” he said.
Salvatore whimpered and started to cry. Then, he stopped crying.
My husband held his clean hand up to me. “Stay back,” he said. “Get the fireseeds.”
It was the last thing he said before he vomited blood.
The fire from the ground stain was touched by the blood. It spread.
No time.
I bit into my husband’s boot. I dragged him over the dirty rocks and mud. The fire caught the body, then, and dug into the blood. The noxious smoke filled the little hall, and stained a black, thick stain that would last a thousand years upon those rocks.
My husband knew I would drive my teeth into the demon child’s throat. He knew I would taste the blood.
He knew me.
He had turned Salvatore’s body away from me. He had pulled him back from my claws and teeth. He had taken the blood upon himself, instead.
I did not die for you. Don’t write that. I’m still alive.
You could have died.
I didn’t. I’m just very sick. We both could have died and we didn’t. I will heal. Nicola Calipari has healed. He took Jona’s blood upon his face and neck and went without your care