the genitals.
“If he won’t fucking talk, Uchitel, then I’ll fucking rip off his fucking balls.
Hear him sing then.”
“Leave him be.”
All three of Uchitel’s followers looked at him, hearing the familiar crack of
command. The woman staggered unsteadily off toward the others, who were cooking
a stew of root vegetables. Urach backed away from the helpless boy, resheathing
one of his surgical-steel knives. Pechal pulled the gray hood of his long cloak
over his head, bowing slightly. But Uchitel noticed how Sorrow’s long curved
nails were driven so hard against the palms of his hands that crescents of blood
showed brightly.
“We would like to visit some reputable stores. Which do you recommend?” asked
Uchitel, moving closer to the helpless youth, careful to avoid the fouled snow.
“Stores, mister?” gasped the boy. “I heard tell of ’em. Where Traders go. Ain’t
none. Not for a month’s march there ain’t.”
Though most of the boy’s words were incomprehensible to Uchitel, the negativity
was clear. There was a long silence while he thumbed through the book.
“Can you direct me to the best place to buy a real bargain, if you please? Thank
you.”
“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout nothin’, mister. Swear to the blessed savior, Jesus
Christ crucified, I know fuckin’ nothin’. I can’t help you.”
Uchitel blinked, fighting to control his temper. His translation book wasn’t
getting him anywhere. At the last hamlet he made the mistake of speaking to an
old man only to find the dotard was deaf as granite. It had been a mercy to slit
his throat for him. But now he was still failing. Failing was something that
Uchitel didn’t like.
“I will try again. I think his head is filled with ice,” he said to the other
two.
The boy stared from one to the other, his face twitching with nerves, the cold
making his whole body tremble. Already the yellow snow around his bare feet was
turning to ice. These barbarians with such awesome blasters had come from the
west. But everyone knew there was nothing to the west, just a land where chaos
ruled and muties lived. The gross woman who had tugged at his penis with her
rough hands had been frightening, but the one who was their leader and who was
trying to speak to him in a crooked and halting tongue was the worst.
He had eyes of gold, like the ferocious mutie wolves that ravaged the land and
were hunted for their furs. Never had the boy seen a man with such eyes. The
face was kindly, the mouth full lipped and generous. Yet the young lad could
hardly breathe for the fear the man inspired.
If only he knew what the man wanted, he would tell him. Tell him anything. If
his family hadn’t already been butchered, the lad would betray them now for his
own life.
“I request you direct me to where I can find food and clothes.”
It was Uchitel’s last try. If this didn’t work.
Suddenly an idea came to the boy. They wanted to find some place where there
were clothes and food in abundance.
“Yes,” he said.
“Da?” queried Uchitel.
“I know what you want. I heard tell of it. Ain’t here. Ain’t never seen it.
Don’t know anyone who has, but I heard tell of—” The boy stopped as Uchitel
waved a warning hand, frantically turned pages of his tattered little book and
finally found what he wanted. “Slowly, if you please, madam. I am a stranger and
a visitor to your land.”
“Slowly? Sure. You want the stoppile. Word is it’s filled with stuff like you
want. But my Dad said it was all bear shit. Doesn’t exist. Anyways, folks go
there and they die there. That’s what they say.”
“Stoppile?” repeated Uchitel. “Clothes and food?”
“Sure, mister. Stoppile. Near where Ank Ridge used to be.”
Uehitel shook his head. “Where?” he asked, smiling to himself at the obvious
wonderment he could read on the faces of Urach and Pechal.
“Near Ank Ridge. That way,” he said, gesturing with his head to the southeast.
Uchitel tweaked the lad’s cheek, much as a kindly uncle would after his favorite