Chapter 14: The Weald

We make good time – within a quarter of an hour, we're out of the swamp, and back into the Weald proper. Both of us went through the fungus before, so the Hellion readily agrees when I suggest we try to go around that crap rather than through this time. It ain't perfect, since it's still all over, but at least we don't hack our lungs out as badly going out as we did going in – even if we're still soaked with sweat in half an hour.

I make a great show of pulling out the compass every so often to check we're still going the right way – making scrupulously sure we're headed due northwest when she's looking, then, once we're headed out, making sure to bank us west. It's not too hard, actually – just gotta make sure you mostly turn left when you can. It helps that the Weald's a tangle of overgrown paths, so it's harder for the Hellion to tell what direction I'm taking her.

I sneak a glance back at her every now and again. Never met a woman before was head and shoulders above me – gotta be six and a half foot tall at least, all lumpy battle scars and whipcord muscle. She's still spattered with the swamp mud, liquefying in her sweat, and her face is set in the usual glare. She also stinks worse'n a sewer – even walking in front I can smell her from here. Stale sweat, stale blood, and stale shit, all trapped in the reeking furs she got on. Guess I can't hold it against her – I ain't had a proper bath in a long time neither, and both of us have been through two big fights in as many days. I probably smell just as bad if not worse.

That's her, then. Six and a half foot of rancid stench, hard muscle, and bad attitude. Glad she's on my side for now.

The two of us do get in one fight, maybe an hour in – bunch of spiders the size of dogs come at us from the brush. Hellion kills two with a single sweeping blow. One of the fuckers jumps at me, all dripping with poison – once lost a man off our crew like that. I've seen that trick before, though, and I'm ready for it: I lunge forward with my knife and the thing skewers itself on the blade. The last spider I swing the torch at – it scuttles backward, hissing, and the distraction's enough for the Hellion to swing down with a blow that hacks it in half. Whole thing is over in six seconds.

I don't admit it to her, obviously, but I'm glad the glaive-bitch was with me for this one. If it had been just me against four spiders, I'd've been dead – with her, though, it was so easy I'm almost disappointed. After checking to make sure neither of us got bit, we move on.

Even though we only have a few hours of travel before dusk, it feels like days. Don't help that neither of us speak to one another, except when absolutely necessary – the one time I attempt to make conversation, she ignores me, and I quickly give up. Somehow, time passes, and it's eventually dusk.

We gather what wood we can, and then get a fire going. Then we put together a quick meal from the packs – dried oats, chestnuts, and a couple pieces salt jerky. While the water's boiling, I mix the oats in with water from my canteen 'till it's paste, then boil it in the pot to make gruel. When the gruel's cooked, the Hellion cracks the nuts and crumbles them in, and then we have it with the jerky. It's bland, but the Hellion eats ravenously all the same – she didn't have any food last night, so she musta been starving. For dessert, I fish out an apple from the pack, slice it in two, and toss half to the Hellion.

We're down to our last two torches, so once I'm done with the apple I take a spare piece of kindling and wrap one end with the bandages, then I mix most of Bressac's gunpowder with some cooking grease and soak the bandages in it. Hopefully it'll carry a light. As I'm working, the Hellion pulls a pouch from her furs and mixes whatever's inside with water – it makes a batch of the blue warpaint, and she uses the remaining water to clean her face a bit before applying a fresh coat.

The entire time – cooking, eating, and working – we don't say nothing to each other. Not a fuckin' word. Eventually, once I'm done with the torch and we're just sitting round the fire, the boredom gets too much, and I decide to try my luck on a conversation again.

"So," I say, "You got a name?"

"Names are for friends," says she. I just laugh.

"What, you want I should just call you 'Hellion'? Or you maybe you'd prefer 'glaive-bitch'?"

For once, she doesn't rise to the bait, and just shrugs. "Hellion will do."

"What'd you even come here for, Hellion?" I ask, rubbing my arms. This fucking place's got cold again all a sudden.

She doesn't reply. But I'm not giving up – if I have to sit here freezing my ass off, I might as well get the pleasure of baiting her.

"Ain't no one comes up this shithole without a reason," I prompt. "Was it gold, I wonder?"

She glares at me, but still doesn't talk.

"I bet it was gold you came here for," I continue, meeting her eyes. "You know, you ought've taken my offer when we first met; joined up with us. Woman of your skills'd make a good living in my line of work. Better than whatever that stingy bastard callin' the shots up at the Hamlet would offer, any case."

"Be like you? I'd rather die," she finally snaps. "It's not gold I came for. It's glory. The glory of sending demons and monsters and men like you to hell, where they belong."

I chuckle. "Glory, huh? That's just another way of saying you're in it for the killing. Guess I can respect that. Known a lot of boys preferred red to gold."

"That's not the same thing," she flares.

"Ain't it?" I drawl. Seeing how far I can push the Hellion without turning her violent's a dangerous game, but getting under her skin's satisfying enough to be worth the risk. I sit quietly and wait – and sure enough, she can't let me have the last word.

"I have honour," she says. I roll my eyes real theatrical, making sure she can see, and she grinds her teeth so loud I can hear it. "I'm nothing like you, you bastard," she chokes.

"Oh yeah?" I taunt, enjoying the game. "We're both survivors, for one. Everyone's dead but you an' me. We've both lost a lotta friends the last two days, for another."

"All of whom would still be alive if you hadn't attacked us. You'll get no sympathy from me."

"Don't expect none," I shrug. "Hitting the carriage, coming after you and Blondie, agreeing to take you to the Hamlet – it was just business, yeah? Career as a bandit –"

"Ah, yes, 'business'," she interrupts, oozing contempt. "All your treachery, for what? A few coins for you to gamble and drink away while you brag to your friends about all the people you robbed and murdered and raped. You're disgusting."

"You think I'm the fuckin' devil, huh?" I snarl, suddenly on the defensive. "You think I got no soul? Well I might be the devil, but that's only cause I live in hell. And you know what else? I want out. I want fuckin' out."

"You think I wanna be out here forever?" I demand, violently jabbing my thumb at the Weald hanging over us. "Out here in this fucking hellhole, where you can't even get a proper bite to eat without killing a man for it? Every day a fight for your life. Every night spent cowerin' round a dim fire, wondering what's looking at you from the dark. You seen what happened in that swamp. You seen what happened when we hit you. That's what life out here is. Always."

I suddenly realize that I'm not lying to her, or trying to get under her skin. I mean every word I'm saying.

I never really put it together till now. Maybe I never felt this way till now. But I ain't lying. I hate this fucking place; this rotted corpse used to be a forest. Can't even get proper loot no more: all the civvies who was easy pickings, they're all dead or hiding safe in the Hamlet. Now it's always a fight. Hell, half the time we gotta send raiding parties to the Cove or Warrens and duke it out with the fish and pig men if we want decent pay. Hellion's right, too – when we do get money, we piss it away. And we never get out…

"That's what the treasure's for," I go on, talking more to myself now than to the Hellion. "Sell it and slice the money among all of us, it's a start. Couple more scores like that's all it takes, then I can get the fuck outta here and never come back…"

I trail off, and take a swig from my canteen.

"You want a piece of advice, Hellion?" I go on, my voice thick. "The second you hit the Hamlet, you get on the next carriage and you get the fuck outta this place. That's the happiest fuckin' ending you'll ever get. Ain't no glory here."

She doesn't say anything for a while. She's still looking at me with contempt, but there's curiosity now 'neath the hatred.

"And when you're gone?" she eventually asks. "What's a brigand do when he retires?" I scratch my head.

"I dunno," I admit. "Haven't thought it through yet. Friend of mine, Florent, he used to talk about maybe buying a winery one day, when he was rich. Seeing as he's dead, maybe I'll do it instead."

"How'd he die?" she asks.

"You killed him," says I.

She don't say nothing back, and we're quiet for a few seconds.

"Anyway," I continue, "I'll find a pretty girl, I guess. Start a family. Use the money to make sure my kids go to school like I never could. Learn to read and all."

She nods.

"I can't read either," she admits. "My husband tried to teach me, but it never made any sense."

"Your husb…" I repeat stupidly before it clicks. "Wait, you're married?"

"I was. A widow, now." She holds up her right hand, and for the first time I notice the golden band around the ring finger. Memento, I guess.

"...Huh," I manage. "Didn't figure you for the domestic type. Thought you was a dyke, matter of fact."

She smiles bitterly.

"Most men do assume that. He didn't, though. Wasn't intimidated by what I look like. It's what I used to love about him..."

She trails off as she remembers who she's talking to, and we go quiet again. She's stopped glaring at me, and seems lost in thought. Thinking about him, maybe. Didn't think a killer like her'd have a soft spot, but I guess you can never really tell.

"What happened to him?" I eventually hazard.

"Plague," she says simply. I grunt acknowledgement. I lost my mom to the plague, too, a long time ago.

Don't act so fucking surprised. Of course I had a mother. Everyone had a mother.

"Don't think this makes us friends," she adds, as an afterthought. Her face is curled into the old familiar sneer. Guess bonding time is over – probably she's realized she's showing weakness.

"Don't expect it to," says I. "Just havin' a chat, is all."

"Hmph."

"Ain't friendship I want from you, anyway," I say, lying down in the dirt. "We done too much to eachother for that. All I want is what you promised."

"You'll get it," she says coldly. "When we get to town."

"Good," I nod. "So, what was it Blondie stole, anyway?"

"You'll find out," she deadpans. "When we get to town."

"For fuck's sake," I mutter. Guess I waited this long, though – few more hours won't hurt.

"She had a name, you know," she goes on. "Justine. Not 'Blondie'."

"You're the one said names were for friends," I snap.

She laughs without humour.

"You've got me there."

I laugh too, and look up into the pitch-black darkness of the canopy above us.

"Don't worry," I tell her. "You and I don't gotta put up with one another much longer. Tomorrow, Hellion - tomorrow it ends."

"Tomorrow it ends," she echoes.