Chapter Text
The girl had been walking for several days. She was leading a mare- a brown and white paint horse- instead of riding it, as it had developed a limp upon their departure. Even though she felt lighter than usual due to her rations running low, the girl didn't want to risk the horse being injured further. Her head was pounding, and she knew she would need to find water soon, or stop for a break. But she pressed on. At one point, she thought she smelled a campfire, but it passed after a few moments. She held her sleeve to her nose and sniffed. Still smelled like smoke. She promised herself the next time she'd found more water than a small creek, she'd use the bit of soap she brought to wash them, and herself. Her long braid was tucked under the collar of her shirt, and the rest of her hair was hidden by a too-large sun hat. Her pale face was smudged with dirt and ash, and her clothes, borrowed from a larger mans' wardrobe, were mostly bound to her small frame with a wide leather belt. Everything she wore was dirty. But at this point, she figured, she could lay low if need be and blend into the ground.
This was important to her, as she'd just escaped a fire that consumed her whole town.
The girl did not think about this as she walked on. And she forced down the thoughts of her mother...
They played with fire and they got burned.
The girl instead thought about how she'd keep herself safe while on the lam. Tucked into one of the pockets of her duster was a knife- her mother said it had been her grandfathers, but she didn't really know to use it. She had wanted to bring a gun. Her mother had a shotgun on the small ranch that they had lived on, but if the shot she heard from the barn right before all hell broke loose was any indication, it was buried with her mother.
She doubted anyone was coming after her anyways.
The day wore on and her headache was beginning to blind her. She was hungry and dehydrated, and her legs ached. She thought she saw movement in the corners of her eyes, but would turn to see nothing there. She thought she needed to get out of the heat. There were trees around, but mostly dead and dying ones. They provided a small amount of shade from the warm sun, but not much in the way of fruit, she thought, sighing. She listened for the sound of running water, and felt she may have strayed too far from the creek she was trying to keep close to. Up ahead she saw a giant spruce with low hanging branches and very few needles. It was easily the tallest thing for miles. She decided to climb up and see if there was any indication of water, or a posse coming after her.
Though the jacket hindered her movement a bit, she managed to get herself higher up than most of the surrounding foliage. Behind her, to the north east, she saw nothing, not even the smoke from the city. She had put more miles between herself and the town than she thought. That was comforting. She had walked down into a valley, and looking uphill she saw no dust from horse hooves, or signs of any travelers. She was safe.
But this also made her feel alone.
She looked to the south, and saw that further down, the trees thinned out some, and were still mostly dry and sparse. There was one that stood out though- and the girl rubbed her eyes and then made an effort at polishing her spectacles, and strained to see if it actually was a tree or some sort of vivid cloth canopy. The top was round, lacy and undeniably purple in hue. It was a couple miles to the south and west, and looked healthy and lush. The girl clambered down the branches, and set up an arrow in the direction of the strange purple tree, fashioned from rocks. She bunked down to sleep among the roots. It was a fitful sleep, and fever dreams woke her every few hours. She slept til well past noon, and cursed herself for her late start.
The girl had made it halfway to the tree, by her estimation, when three things jolted her senses: The smell of a campfire, the drop in temperature when you near a body of water, and the sound of the strumming of a guitar. She was cautious but instantly piqued by the music. Someone who played that beautifully wouldn't be dangerous would they? she thought to herself. She heard singing, a male voice, and then the splashing of water. She hurried her pace, after making sure the horse was able to handle it.
After about a quarter mile, she came upon a creek. The section before her was smallish, but beyond it and past a stretch of wooded land she could hear a louder, larger stream, as if the river branched off a few miles to the east. She figured she'd worry about crossing that when she reached it, but for now... There was no sign of the musician, and the water was sparking and clear. She lead Luna, the paint, to a spot downstream where she could soak her sore legs and have a drink, and then the girl stooped to put her whole face in the cool stream. She scrubbed the ash and dirt off and took a long swig herself. She was about to undo her braid and wet her hair when a man appeared across the river. He was carrying a bucket and smoking a cigarillo. The girl scooted to the side, to hide behind some river rushes, and hoped he hadn't noticed her. She studied the man, who was slight of build, had the brown skin of a Mexican or Indian, and a little grey stubble around his chin. He wore a too large shirt tucked into baggy trousers, and a slouchy hat. He had a belt and suspenders, and she took note of the hunting knife on his belt. He too, had rounded spectacles, and was singing with the cigarillo clamped in his teeth. He moved jauntily, with a spring in his step, or maybe a limp, and seemed cheerful enough. The girl wondered if he was a prospector who'd found a little gold in the water. She had no intention of speaking with him, but if she did- she'd make it clear she was NOT interested in gold, and just passing through. She had known prospectors to be a greedy, selfish bunch. Then she remembered Luna.
The horse whinnied over at the man from where she was soaking, some fifteen feet away. The girl silently cursed herself for forgetting the mare. But the horse seemed excited to see another soul, and gave a little musical neigh of her own.
The man looked up in surprise, and squinted over at the horse. She wasn't actually that far away from him, and the girl took from this that his eyesight wasn't the best. She stayed put and tried to think of a plan. She had a knife, she had a lie, and she had a horse that may be able to outrun one old man with bad eyes. Meanwhile the man just waved at the horse.
"Oye pretty! Whatchu doing out here? All by yourself ey?" The man put the cigarillo out on a rock, put the stump in his shirt pocket, and filled the bucket with water. "You hungry, horse? Or just passing through?"
The girl watched in awe as the mare seemed to nod in response. While living on the ranch, the horse had never been this responsive to anyone.
"Alright well come on! I have some beans. Some bacon if you like bacon. Or maybe a tortilla!" The man laughed and the girl was perplexed. The mare glanced over at her as if to ask permission.
"Traitor." The girl grumbled.
The man was squinting in her general direction, and then back to the horse, but didn't seem to see her. At this point the girl figured she'd take a chance on the old man. Now that she had something to drink and a full canteen, she figured she could out run him if need be. She stood up as tall as she could. The girl was all of twelve, but tall for her age. In the last few months people often mistook her for a grown women. She dusted herself off and called to the man in a voice as low as she could muster. "She's mine." The man stared for a beat.
"Oh. Well." He turned and gestured for her to follow. "You can come have some beans too!". He shouted as he made his way inland.
The girl took her boots off and waded down to where the mare was waiting. The horse practically pulled her across the stream, which was only a few feet deep in the center.
"What are you in such a hurry for? YOU can graze wherever!" The girl scolded, stopping at the other side to pull her boots on. They followed the smell of the campfire to a little clearing in the brush. The grass was lush and soft here, and the mare pushed past the girl to grab hungry mouthfuls. The girl took stock of the camp. There was an old gunmetal grey horse tied to a gnarled tree, a tidy fire with a small cookpot hanging from a spit, and a guitar set up against a tree stump. It looked like he was camping, solo. His saddle was slung over a downed log, and she looked for weapons, but didn't see any immediately. She did see some panning dishes resting with a pile of his things, but decided against asking after it. She stood, awkwardly, not knowing what her next move should be.
The old man, meanwhile, was watering a mound of earth, as if he'd just planted something. Then he set the bucket aside and checked on the cookpot. He took a deep whiff of the smoke. "Beans aren't done just yet." He said absentmindedly to the girl. He had made no effort to introduce himself and the girl was fine with that. If she had to move on quickly, she could, and he wouldn't likely be able to identify her later. She wanted to sit next to the guitar, but figured that was his seat. She sat instead on the downed log, watching the man bustle around the camp. He pulled some of the pans from the pile and splashed them in the water in the bucket. He dug in his saddle bag for utensils. The whole while, he was humming or singing to himself.
"My love she shines just like the moon. We had a daughter, gone too soon. You have a son, they fly away. A girl stays on for one more day. You plant the seed, you carry on. The night is darkest before the dawn. "
The girl felt he was making up lyrics as he went, but found his voice pleasant and soothing. She wanted to speak with him, to take her hat off and relax, but didn't want to give away her youth, or that she was a girl. She sat and watched him as he pulled some jerky from the saddle bag, and quickly threw it into the pot. The beans smelled delicious and she felt her stomach rumble. She hadn't eaten for a day at least, having devoured the last of her bread the morning before. I'll have a bite, thank the man, then move on. She thought. That's all. No need to go into detail, or give away too much. We're two strangers in passing, that's all. She looked up and the man was standing before her with a steaming plate of beans and beef.
"Here you go, mija. Hope you're hungry!" He peered at her face. "Oh! I thought you were an Indian! But no. Just a little girl with an Indian horse. Eat up!" The man commanded, serving himself a plate and sitting on the stump.
The girl was dumbfounded. The man continued between mouthfuls of beans. "Is your name Zoe? Strange name huh? It's Greek I think. Means something in Greek anyway, I hear. You look like a Zoe. Palest baby I ever seen! But no- she was younger. She would be about ten or so now..." He swallowed a bite of jerky, heavily, and continued. "Anyway. I'm Thomas. That's Toledo." He aimed his thumb at the horse. "Heading up to see some family in the north. My sister and her gringo husband. But I had to stop and camp here for a bit. Love this river. This here's my river- Rio de los Reyes. River of Kings. Been stopping here since I was knee high. Love this place..." He stopped and lovingly looked off in the direction of the larger body of water as he chewed. The rushing sound was calming, the girl decided, and in the afternoon sun, the clearing was green and inviting. She could see why the man loved it so. She shoveled a spoonful of beans into her mouth, savoring the hot meal.
"Is there a safe place to cross?" The girl asked, after tucking away half her plate, and when he had paused to pull a drink from the bucket. "I'm trying to get a little further south". She was glad he hadn't asked her real name, but was unnerved by the question. One of her nursemaids used to call her something like "Zoe", she recalled. Her grandmother explained it was a language barrier. She could not, however, remember what language the woman spoke. The man had asked another question and brought her back to the present.
"Mexico?" The man asked, his eyebrows raised.
"No, not that far. What else is between here and there? Just trying to get away from the cold weather." The girl tried.
"Then keep heading south. Stay away from the mountains, there's snow up there, even in the south. Let's see... I got cousins in Yuma, but its too hot there. Got cousins in Los Cruces, but that's further east. South and to the West, you got options, all the mission towns. My wifes people are from San Diego, its nice there, growing like crazy. There's New Jorvick, its east but not too far. My girl is there. Good people. Mostly foreigners. But nice, you know?" The man nodded, as if agreeing with himself.
"Nice like church people?" She was wary of the missionaries, and people who put the church above their fellow man.
"Church peoples is nice?" The man laughed. "No, just decent folks. They've never given me trouble. But I haven't visited in a while."
The man looked sad, so the girl changed the subject. "On the way here, I saw a tree up ahead. It wasn't green though- it was purple. Like it was painted. I was hoping to pass it... do you know what tree it is?".
At this the mans eyes lit up. "Jacarandas!" He shouted. "Those are my Jacarandas!" He stood and dropped his plate by the fire, then he grabbed her empty plate and dropped it next to his. He pulled her up by the hand and pulled her in the direction of the larger river. It wasn't far, but he limped a bit as they neared the river, which was tumbling over some great boulders to the east, and flowing calm and smooth to the west. The sun was beginning its descent and across the water, reflecting on the surface and drenched in gold light, was a magnificent grey-bark tree dripping with purple foliage. It towered over the rest of the scrub, dropping delicate purple petals into the water with even the slightest of breezes. The girl had never seen anything so beautiful, and felt tears welling in her eyes. The man stood beaming with pride.
"The only good thing my gringo brother in law ever did was bring these seeds from Australia. I've planted them in a path from here to our ranch in Mexico. Not all of them survived, but there's enough of a path that I can follow it in the summer with my eyes closed, just with my nose! I just put one there by the campsite today. In fact, if you want to get to New Jorvik, just follow them down south, and when you see two side by side, head east." Then he grew quiet, and they stood, side by side like his trees, watching the colors of the Jacaranda change as the sun set. As they walked back to the campsite, she allowed him to lean on her for support. Whatever was causing his limp grew worse as the chill set in.
When they reached the camp, she took the bucket down to the stream for more water, and grabbed another log for the fire. He asked why she wasn't riding the horse, and she explained the mares limp, and how she couldn't pinpoint its origin. The man felt the horses leg tenderly, then retrieved a bottle from his saddlebag. He handed it to the girl as he grabbed a piece of cloth from the other side of the bag, and ripped it into strips. The girl took a sniff of the liquid, which had herbs floating in it, and made a face. She pinched the bottle between two fingers and handed it to him, careful not to spill any on herself.
Thomas laughed. "My fathers recipe. Its a tincture of alcohol and uh.. sacred herbs." He dampened the rags with the liquid and tied them around the mares leg. Then he dampened another and, pulling up his pant leg, he rubbed his own knee with it. Relief spread across his face as he sat for a moment. He then rose to retrieve a coffee pot from the saddlebag, fill it with water and set it by the fire. Satisfied that it was steady, he eased himself onto the stump, and instructed the girl to fetch some sarsaparilla root from the bag, and add it to the water for tea. As he did he talked.
Boy did he like to talk. He spoke of his travels, both as a sailor, and back and forth and across the South West. How his family had always raised horses and had ranches here, but more and more of them were losing their land to newcomers. How he and his brothers had been hired to work a cattle ranch, by an old associate of his from the East Coast. His friend had met one of these foreigners, from Jorvick, and moved across the country to settle down. He was an ex military man, and then was a Pinkerton agent briefly, but retired soon after being sworn in. The friend had went into business and finance once he met the woman from across the sea. They eventually moved north to start a vineyard, and the brothers all scattered like dust in the wind. His one brother, to Colombia. Another, to Los Angeles, and he and his wife, back to her family in Baja California. His daughter stayed on in the small town. His son married and moved to Nevada, and so now the man spent all his time traveling to visit one or the other.
As the night went on, his stories grew more fanciful. He spoke of little crimes he had committed, fights and scraps he'd gotten into. Things he'd stolen. Nothing that had earned him a place on a wanted poster, just little acts of vengeance against the unjust or villainous. Like Joaquin Murrieta, only not so outrageous, the girl thought to herself. He spoke of people he'd like to fight, like the man that broke his daughters heart. What he would do if he ever found him again (and thought he could get away with it). It helped to have a former agent of the law to vouch for him, he said. He believed in family and loyalty, and that anyone who hurt his kin would pay. The man seemed downright proud of his small crimes, and the girl almost understood this, given her own past.
Though she had squirmed a bit at the thought of the man being friends with a Pinkerton agent, she didn't feel as though he would turn her in. Especially not when he had so many... mishaps under his belt. She looked up at the smoke and the sparks from the dying fire. "I did something bad once, too." She stated, staring straight up at the stars.
"Oh yeah?" He asked, sleepily.
She looked over and saw him drifting off, so she felt safe in continuing.
"I set fire to a church. But it ended up taking most of the town with it." The man said nothing, so she went on. "The preachers wife, she had it in for my ma. And most everyone that was Indian or Mexican, or didn't attend the church as often as she did. I don't think she really liked anyone to be honest. She said my father had wanted me to grow up under the lord and my ma was refusing her husbands wishes. But Ma kept telling her they weren't even married. This didn't help things of course. They kept asking her to leave me with them, so they could raise me in the safety of he church. She refused, saying I needed my family. Anyway, one day they got into a yellin match over something, and then a while later, our barn mysteriously caught fire. No one came to help they just... they just watched." She felt much of her anger release as she spoke the words. It was close to midnight, and she felt only exhaustion. Her eyes grew heavy and the flying, swirling embers made it look as though the stars themselves were aflame.
"They had it comin." The man finally said, sleepily. He had given the girl a thick woven blanket to sleep on, and had wrapped himself in a dirt colored hide. He yawned heavily, and called softly across the fire pit. "Hey what did you say your name was?"
The girl murmured, her eyelids fluttering. "Isabelle."
"And your family name?"
"the stars are on fire..." She breathed, half asleep.
"That's a good name." The man mused, as he drifted off himself.
* * *
The girl woke abruptly in the gray half light before dawn. The man had saddled the paint horse, and packed her some food and a couple of skins of water. He was standing near a tree, looking north, and whisper shouting to the girl.
"Hey Miss Star! Mija! Get up, you got to go!"
The girl sat bolt upright and took stock of the surroundings. The man had her horse by the reins and kept looking over his shoulder. The camp was cleaned up and both the horses were packed for travel. She scrambled to her feet, handing him the blanket, which he caught and tossed onto Toledo.
"You can probably ride her now, just put the tincture on every night. There were some men out a ways, not law, not too bright. Probably hired men, they were asking about a girl who may have disappeared up north. I told them I thought I saw a girl down river a couple miles, where its harder to cross. You'll have a good head start. Remember what I said about the path to New Jorvik? Follow the trees south and then east. They're salt of the earth people, most of them- they will likely keep you safe. Look for the woman in the biggest house there, I hear she won't turn a girl away. Go now, cross where the boulders are, then up the hill there and down south. Follow the trees, they'll get you there."
"Thank you Mister." She said as she mounted Luna.
"You stay safe." He made a little gesture over her and her horse. "Now you've been blessed by the river gods. By the king of the river gods. Nothing can stop you now! If anyone tries you strike them down! And if the stars won't align to clear your path, then you light those stars on fire, you hear?" He spoke with the bravado of a fire and brimstone preacher, only in hushed tones.
The girl smiled. "Yes sir." She turned Luna towards the river, but then called back to him softly. "Will I see you again some day?"
The man looked at her sadly, and smiled back.
"Maybe, Mija. I haven't spoken to my girl in years, but maybe one day I pay her a visit. And you too." He ambled over, took her hand and shook it.
* *
She rode for a day and a half, slowing to a walk when the mare seemed to need it, and stopping briefly to sleep under a tree, near a small ranch with an overgrown field. She stole a few apples from the adjacent orchard and some root vegetables left stacked against the barbed wire. They were gritty and covered with dirt but she needed food. She fed Luna the apples, and ripped open a skin so the horse could drink from it. As the man promised, the jacaranda trees lead south, and she could almost smell them before she saw them. Around noon she found the twin trees, and turned Luna to the east. She reached New Jorvik after sundown. And it wasn't hard to find the biggest house there.
The girl pulled herself onto the porch of a grand painted lady, where every light in the house seemed to be lit. She left Luna to munch on some hay at the hitching post in front of the house, and promised that she would come back and groom her in a moment. She knocked at the door, weakly, and was vaguely aware of music and laughter within.
A maid answered the door and looked at the girl, covered in soot and dust and waving from hunger and tired. "Lady of the house?" She asked the maid, who didn't know what to make of the girl on the porch. A dark haired woman in a fine silver dress appeared behind the maid and the girl removed her hat and gave a half curtsy. The woman took stock of the red hair, the pale face, and the wobbly knees.
"What is the meaning of this?" She asked of the girl, her eyes frantic. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
"Thomas... sent me." She murmured. "I'm Zoe, Zoe Starr." And with that the girl fainted dead away on the porch. The woman looked out and around, noticing the paint horse hitched at the watering post. She ordered Penelope, the maid who answered the door, to see about the horse, and then called for the cook.
"Get her upstairs, and have Clem clean her up. For gods sake, find the poor child a bed." Madame Miranda called. Once the chef carried the girl upstairs, and the maids had tucked her in, the Madame placed herself by the parlour window with a strong cup of coffee. Her father had stopped speaking to her when she opened the brothel, and if he was in town she damned sure wasn't going to miss the visit, for better or worse.
She sat by the window for almost three days, which was also how long it took for the girl to wake up.
The man never did appear, but a letter did, addressed to Miranda and tucked into Luna's saddlebag, with the tincture.
The Madame read it in private, and never told a soul what it said, but after that she took to Zoe as if she were blood- Nursing her back to health and encouraging her to enroll in the school there. She found her a place to board away from the brothel, until the girl had taken over as the school teacher and moved into the school house. Miranda knew the girl was trying for independence, but made sure she always had plenty of food, and money if she needed it. There was an unspoken agreement that everyone in town was forbidden from speaking of the girls arrival, and when strangers came to town, the Madame usually made sure to send one of her girls to warn, or hide, Miss Starr, at least until any suspicion had passed. As far anyone in town was concerned, the girl was a born and bred New Jorvikian, and always had been.
The girl was safe, and felt at home at last. And though Miranda warned strongly against her leaving, she knew one day she'd follow the trail of purple trees, up to the River of Kings, and see her friend again.