2.
No Rhyme Or Reason
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Setting out on his own some time after the Eclipse, Wyatt had one direction of travel: "Far from where I've been." He would not return to old haunts at the hems of old woods, for some ancient things of the heart never fade. He would not be where he had been, and where he had seen his family play.
First he travelled east, and for six months was a rancher's hand. By an old friend of the Resistance, he'd been invited to join the largest cattle drive in all the realms; and for three months that was his salvation. He wrote DG and Glitch letters describing the sights passed before him, and transcribed that it was "pretty simple on the mind being among cows and steers after all we went through, and the men aren't much for talking, which suits me fine." He wrote to Jeb epigrammatic descriptions of landscapes and visual impressions of all he saw. He wrote letters to himself, sent them to the postal bureau down in the western hillside town he thought he'd be settling in.
DG shrugged her shoulder, to wake up a dozing Glitch, as the big, burly town sign, made of roughly hewn pine tree logs, passed outside the car window. Ashers Falls, spans and spans from fair grasslands roamed, from cows whose solemn faces and destiny helped heal the wounds of shock and grief. After the cattle drive, Wyatt wandered again, relieved of all significant sense of duty, and found odd jobs—odd jobs that found him by accident first, by intention second. Nearly three months ago, he'd walked into Ashers Falls to remain indefinitely, and he'd collected his mail, the letters he sent to himself, at the postal bureau. Tucked into the woods at the trickling feet of Ashers Creek, Wyatt left his rucksack on the unfinished porch of the unfinished home as he unlocked the door…
The porch was a finished object now, the wrap-around sort from front to back, and magnificently tiered: a narrow staircase on one side adjoining an intimate balcony from a room practically in the rafters to the casual side entrance. Wyatt heard the car approach, heard the noises of doors opening and closing. A screen door slammed shut somewhere, later they discovered it was in the front of the house, and heavy steps thundered across the dewy grass still deep in tall, cool shadows.
A greeting was an incoherent but joyous tumble of vowel sounds as Wyatt approached. His arms opened wide, wide as his smile, and he scooped up DG, tiny and wispy as a reed, and twirled her about. She hugged Wyatt's thick neck until her arms were sore, felt a kiss in her hair as she fell back to earth. While Wyatt did not exactly twirl Glitch, there was a bear hug, a lift so that Glitch's toes were off the ground, and a gentle descent. The happiness did not end there, an ill-contained aggressor that brought Wyatt to holding DG's cheek with one hand, and Glitch's neck with the other. A suggestive tug and they hugged again, but it was softer than before, and a solemn sort of tension rose, unspoken yet felt even as they disconnected.
DG found that the luggage had already been removed from the trunk, to the dirt drive, and into the house. The driver bowed to her. She thanked him with a casual "See you later," whenever the later came, whenever she requested a pick-up, and he departed.
But it was not he that had stolen the luggage and placed it inside. An industrious slip of a caramel-coloured shadow curved along the trees. And then there were two. One shadow walked upright, with pale maple syrup eyes; the other was a quadruped, furry like its companion, though furrier, of black and grey and silver, irises of yellow and taciturn of spirit. Raw hung back from the new arrivals until DG brought him round to a cosy embrace. He had arrived the morning before, he said. He never stayed very far from Ashers Falls, being of the sort who preferred aloneness, but came to Wyatt's every so often, to help with tasks, to visit with friends. Among them now was the silvery dog, and while Glitch assimilated how very apt it was for Wyatt to have a dog, he nonetheless stepped away in retreat.
"Wyatt, that's a wolf."
Wyatt reached over and petted the wolf's grizzly neck ruff. "So she is."
"Chimtu," said Raw, and they could not quite believe it but he almost smiled.
"Bless you," Glitch offered. "Didn't know you had a cold, Raw. What?" This to DG, who'd hit him limply. Then he glanced at the wolf. "Oh, Chimtu. I see, that's its name. How cute. Is it a sneeze or a name? Well, who can tell!"
"Dare we ask why you have a wolf?" DG ventured. Wyatt sloshed through indecision while DG knelt to introduce herself. Chimtu inched forward, black leathery nose licked before giving DG a good sniff. And when she walked, her right paw showed a mild limp.
The story of the wolf, Wyatt decided, should be told with precision. "I got her from old Meria Maddigan. She lives on up in the hills. Not too far from Raw's place."
A slow rumble emerged from the hirsute viewer. Glitch's eyebrows went up.
"Don't you like her as your neighbour? I can imagine she's the sort that's trying to get you to adopt a lot of weird animals. Like—frogs and chickens and," he glanced uncertainly at Chimtu, "wolves."
"Bad… with stews," averred Raw, wringing his hands and looking around, as though afraid his neighbour would leap from the underbrush and lash him for this remark. "Can't cook at all. Smells terrible." He waved a hand in front of his sensitive nose to pantomime the atrocity.
"So her gastronomy proficiencies are a little off. Think she's the only one who doesn't know her way around the kitchen?" He held up one hand vertically, and pointed to DG with the other, hidden from her sight. She was fixed on Chimtu all the same. Glitch shrugged and glared at Wyatt for the rest of the tale. "So, is that all? Bad chef from the hills brings you a wolf and that's all we get?"
"She's a witch," Wyatt abruptly remarked.
DG shot up from the ground. "A witch?"
"Bad cook," grumbled Raw in the background. "Good witch."
"She's a good sort of witch." Wyatt flashed a brief but genuine smile. Glitch laughed in a trilling decrescendo. DG shared little amusement in the matter. She found her shoulder gripped in Wyatt's hand. "Witch Maddigan is harmless. She found Chimtu caught in an old abandoned trap out in the woods, fixed her up, and brought her down to me. Said our spirits were kindred, that we needed each other."
Glitch moved, hand extended, for Chimtu to survey his many beguiling scents. Cautious of this, DG laid guiding fingers at the martingale of his crimson greatcoat, and winced as Chimtu leapt to her paws. The outstretched fingers were saturated with licks, and Glitch smiled, DG relaxed, Wyatt rolled his eyes, and Raw nodded sagely. Glitch wasn't exactly fond of animals, particularly beasts not bred for domesticity, but they were excessively fond of him.
"You should get to know me, little one," Glitch spoke to Chimtu, slobbering all over his textile finery, "since we're staying awhile."
"Did you want us here for a specific reason, Wyatt?" DG brought the question forth plainly. "I know you said in your letters that we should come any time, but—with Raw here… Is something going on?"
"No rhyme or reason for it, DG." But he committed an open gesture to the back of his property, a space of trees set apart at exact distances, surround by taller poplars and birches. The area was recognised as the orchard he'd written about in their epistles. "Never had anyone tending to it this whole last growing season, but it's still got some fruit that needs hauling in."
"Canning," added Raw.
"Canning!" Glitch repeated enthusiastically.
"Canning?" The princess groaned and her shoulders slackened. "Well, I won't be able to help with that. You guys know what I'm like in the kitchen…"
"What? Don't be silly," consoled Glitch with a rub here and a kiss dropped at her temple. "You're the worst—best!—sorry, I meant best—popper of popcorn that ever wore a tiara. I meant best. Really! I did! Didn't I, Wyatt? Raw?"
Both men deigned to nod before Wyatt continued.
"Anyway, Deege, you won't have to do that part. I'll be doing that part, more or less."
The snort from Glitch showered derision. Wyatt narrowed his eyes momentarily but chose not to defend himself.
"Fine." DG couldn't believe that spending time outdoors, in the peaceful orchard, was such a waste of the last few days of autumn warmth. "I'll do the picking and the hauling—we can assign chores later, if that's what you want to do. Why not just let the fruit rot? What will it matter if you miss a season?"
Wyatt turned about to pilot them into the homestead, a strange structure that neither DG nor Glitch had ever seen, had only heard about in letters. They followed him obediently, curiously, with Raw and Chimtu steps behind.
"I'll tell you why tomorrow," Wyatt said.
Glitch and DG eyed one another, then Wyatt. A definite intonation of obscurity was in his voice. It would take them nearly the whole month to decipher all the riddles he expressed on the stage of a south-western harvest.