Moira Young - Blood Red Road

Copyright 2011 by Moira Young

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisheror in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agencyis an infringement of the copyright law.

Doubleday Canada and colophon are registered trademarks

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Young, Moira
Blood red road / Moira Young.

eISBN: 978-0-385-67184-2

I. Title.

PS8647.O64B56 2011 jC813.6 C2010-907846-2

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in Canada by Doubleday Canada,
a division of Random House of Canada Limited

Visit Random House of Canada Limiteds website: www.randomhouse.ca

v3.1

F OR MY PARENTS AND FOR P AUL

L UGH GOT BORN FIRST . O N M IDWINTER D AY WHEN THE SUN hangs low in the sky.

Then me. Two hours later.

That pretty much says it all.

Lugh goes first, always first, an I follow on behind.

An thats fine.

Thats right.

Thats how its meant to be.

Because everythins set. Its all fixed.

The lives of everybody whos ever bin born.

The lives of everybody still waitin to be born.

It was all set in the stars the moment the world began. The time of yer birthin, the time of yer death. Even what kinda person yer gonna be, good or bad.

If you know how to read the stars, you can read the story of peoples lives. The story of yer own life. Whats gone, whats now an whats still to come.

Back when Pa was a boy, he met up with a traveler, a man who knew many things. He learned Pa how to read the stars. Pa never says what he sees in the night sky but you can see it lays heavy on him.

Because you caint change whats written.

Even if Pa was to say what he knew, even if he was to warn you, it would still come to pass.

I see the way he looks at Lugh sometimes. The way he looks at me.

An I wish hed tell us what he knows.

I believe Pa wishes hed never met that traveler.

If you seen me an Lugh together, youd never think we was the same blood.

Never think we grew together in the same womb.

Hes got gold hair. I got black.

Blue eyes. Brown eyes.

Strong. Scrawny.

Beautiful. Ugly.

Hes my light.

Im his shadow.

Lugh shines like the sun.

That must of made it easy fer them to find him.

All they had to do was follow his light.

T HE DAYS HOT . S O HOT AN SO DRY THAT ALL I CAN TASTE IN my mouth is dust. The kinda white heat day when you can hear thearth crack.

We aint had a drop of rain fer near six months now. Even the spring that feeds the lakes startin to run dry. You gotta walk some ways out now to fill a bucket. Pretty soon, there wont be no point in callin it by its name.

Silverlake.

Every day Pa tries another one of his charms or spells. An every day, big bellied rainclouds gather on the horizon. Our hearts beat faster an our hopes rise as they creep our way. But, well before they reach us, they break apart, thin out an disappear. Every time.

Pa never says naught. He jest stares at the sky, the clear cruel sky. Then he gathers up the stones or twigs or whatever hes set out on the ground this time, an puts em away fer tomorrow.

Today, he shoves his hat back. Tips his head up an studies the sky fer a long while.

I do believe Ill try a circle, he says. Yuh, I reckon a circle might be jest the thing.

Lughs bin sayin it fer a while now. Pas gittin worse. With every dry day that passes, a little bit more of Pa seems to I guess disappears the best word fer it.

Once we could count on pullin a fish from the lake an a beast from our traps. Fer everythin else, we planted some, foraged some, an, all in all, we made out okay. But fer the last year, whatever we do, however hard we try, it jest aint enough. Not without rain. We bin watchin the land die, bit by bit.

An its the same with Pa. Day by day, whats best in him withers away. Mind you, he aint bin right fer a long time. Not since Ma died. But what Lugh says is true. Jest like the land, Pas gittin worse an his eyes look moren more to the sky instead of whats here in front of him.

I dont think he even sees us no more. Not really.

Emmi runs wild these days, with filthy hair an a runny nose. If it warnt fer Lugh, I dont think shed ever wash at all.

Before Emmi was born, when Ma was still alive an everythin was happy, Pa was different. Ma could always make him laugh. Hed chase me an Lugh around, or throw us up over his head till we shrieked fer him to stop. An hed warn us about the wickedness of the world beyond Silverlake. Back then, I didnt think there could be anybody ever lived who was taller or stronger or smartern our pa.

I watch him outta the corner of my eye while me an Lugh git on with repairs to the shanty roof. The walls is sturdy enough, bein that theyre made from tires all piled one on top of thother. But the wicked hotwinds that whip across the lake sneak their way into the smallest chink an lift whole parts of the roof at once. Were always havin to mend the damn thing.

So, after last nights hotwind, me an Lugh was down at the landfill at first light scavengin. We dug around a part of it we aint never tried before an damn if we didnt manage to score ourselves some primo Wrecker junk. A nice big sheet of metal, not too rusted, an a cookin pot thats still got its handle.

Lugh works on the roof while I do what I always do, which is clamber up an down the ladder an hand him what he needs.

Nero does what he always does, which is perch on my shoulder an caw real loud, right in my ear, to tell me what hes thinkin. Hes always got a opinion does Nero, an hes real smart too. I figger if only we could unnerstand crow talk, wed find he was tellin us a thing or two about the best way to fix a roof.

Hell of thought about it, you can bet on that. Hes watched us fix it fer five year now. Ever since I found him fell outta the nest an his ma nowhere to be seen. Pa warnt too happy to see me bring a crow babby home. He told me some folk consider crows bring death, but I was set on rearin him by hand an once I set my mind on somethin I stick with it.

An then theres Emmi. Shes doin what she always does, which is pester me an Lugh. She dogs my heels as I go from the ladder to the junk pile an back.

I wanna help, she says.

Hold the ladder then, I says.

No! I mean really help! All you ever let me do is hold the ladder!

Well, I says, maybe thats all yer fit fer. You ever think of that?

She folds her arms across her skinny little chest an scowls at me. Yer mean, she says.

So you keep tellin me, I says.

I start up the ladder, a piece of rusty metal in my hand, but I aint gone moren three rungs before she takes hold an starts shakin it. I grab on to stop myself from fallin. Nero squawks an flaps off in a flurry of feathers. I glare down at Em.

Cut that out! I says. Whatre you tryin to do, break my neck?

Lughs head pops over the side of the roof. All right, Em, he says, thats enough. Go help Pa.