The Dew of Flesh

by Gregory Ashe

  Chapter 17

  Siniq-elb flinched as Crook and Bald set him down. Crook slapped him on the back as the two eses walked away, and Siniq-elb clamped his teeth over a moan. The healers of the Garden were skilled—perhaps more skilled than he might have wished, for their salves and potions helped men recover from terrible wounds far more quickly than they should have. It only made the eses all the less hesitant about abusing the people of the Garden. Laughing to each other, Crook and Bald took up their positions against the far wall.

  Vas stood a few feet away, stiff as a board. He glared down at Siniq-elb for a moment before stalking away—or as close to a stalk as the man could manage with his wounds.

  “Vas,” Siniq-elb said. The stout man did not stop.

  Siniq-elb bit back a second shout. Vas might still be angry at Siniq-elb for causing trouble with Khylar, but forcing him to stay would not fix anything. It did not help the situation that, for whatever reason, Khylar had ordered that Vas continue to help Siniq-elb. Watching Vas walk away, straight-backed from the pain of his injuries, Siniq-elb wondered if it wasn’t a way of reminding both men of their punishment.

  When Vas sat down with an older woman, also wearing the brown of the Garden, Siniq-elb spun and started toward the pile of rubbish and broken tree limbs in the corner. The wounds on his legs had closed, thanks to the strangely efficacious remedies of the healers, and the flesh was toughening and getting thicker. Siniq-elb felt barely any pain as he moved toward the corner, but by the time he reached the edge of the rotting leaves and discarded food, sweat made a cool line down the back of his neck, and a web of fire across his back warned him that his more recent wounds were close to breaking open again.

  “Look like a beast,” Agahm growled from beneath the shelter of his branches. “Swinging around like that. I read about animals like you, in the south of Cenarbasi. Look almost like men, all covered with hair, and live in trees. Think you’ll be taking up a new residence soon?”

  “Morning to you too,” Siniq-elb said.

  Agahm spat at him.

  “Listen, I need some help,” Siniq-elb said. “A favor.”

  “Ha,” Agahm scoffed. “Why in this gloried world would I do you a favor? You aren’t much help to your friends; look how Vas ended up. He’s practically a child, and you managed to get him whipped within an inch of his life.”

  “That was a mistake,” Siniq-elb said. “He wasn’t supposed to be involved.”

  “No,” Agahm said. “I suppose you thought that Khylar would take kindly to having his jaw broken in front of half the eses of Khi’ilan. Lot of good it did you; his jaw was probably healed up by that night, while you and Vas are going to be flinching every time you get dressed for a month.”

  “He had it coming,” Siniq-elb said. He paused, the other man’s words sinking in. “What do you mean, he’s probably healed?”

  “Su-esis,” Agahm said. “You’re lucky he didn’t rip you apart himself. Tair only knows why he didn’t, but then Khylar is a cold one. He’ll take his time getting back at you. Pick you to pieces first.”

  The words, delivered with almost off-handed disregard, sent a chill through Siniq-elb. If Khylar really was a su-esis, a sarkomancer, why had he not killed Siniq-elb? And, even more importantly, what chance did Siniq-elb have against a man possessed by the strength of a god-made-flesh?

  “Didn’t know that, did you?” Agahm asked with a cough and a laugh. “You’re dumber than you look. Bet you didn’t even notice his brachal.”

  Heat flooded Siniq-elb’s cheeks, but he tamped down the anger. He needed Agahm—at least for right now.

  “A favor,” Siniq-elb said.

  “Why should I?”

  “I’ll pay you,” Siniq-elb said. “Whatever I have.”

  Agahm bit his lip, the movement barely visible through the tangled, sandy-brown beard.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Crutches,” Siniq-elb said. “So I can stand up, walk around.”

  “Look like a man again,” Agahm said, his mouthing curling up into a tight smile.

  “I am a man,” Siniq-elb said. “But I have to respect myself before I can expect others to respect me. That means making an effort, trying to improve my situation, not just letting this place control my life.”

  “Haven’t figured out you’re trash yet, have you?” Agahm asked.

  “I’m not trash. I’m a man,” Siniq-elb said. “Will you make them?”

  “Why me?”

  “Vas told me you used to be a carpenter,” Siniq-elb said. “You’ll have the best idea of where to start.”

  “Carpenter?” Agahm said, another smile revealing his yellowed teeth. “Sure, why not.”

  “That’s all?” Siniq-elb asked.

  “Sure,” Agahm said. A loud laugh echoed from behind Siniq-elb; he recognized Crook’s voice. Agahm nodded toward the noise and added, “Those two, if no one else, will make sure to knock some sense into you. I’ve got a price, though.”

  “What?” Siniq-elb asked.

  “Your food,” Agahm said. “For a week.”

  “Crutches won’t be much good to a dead man,” Siniq-elb said.

  “Keep your breakfast then,” Agahm said. “The midday meal, and dinner. You bring them here.” A wider smile tugged at the corner’s of those hard emerald eyes. “And you bring it to me in front of Vas.”

  “Why?” Siniq-elb said. “So you can torture him again about eating? So you can remind another person of his weaknesses? No, I won’t do it.”

  “No crutches then,” Agahm said. “Better get used to having Lud and Hir haul you around—that is, if they don’t accidentally break your neck one of these days. Can’t imagine they have much patience for hauling trash.”

  “I won’t do it,” Siniq-elb said. “You can have my food—all of it, all three meals—but I won’t bring it in front of Vas. I’ve caused him enough grief.”

  Another guffaw came from the eses behind him, and Siniq-elb flushed again. Being carried was humiliating enough, but to entrust himself to those two—it was almost beyond bearing. He gritted his teeth, turned himself around, and started to scoot away. Better to deal with the straightforward, blunt cruelty of Crook and Bald than to help Agahm torture another person. Siniq-elb would be able to find some branches, perhaps fashion something on his own.

  He had barely moved a pace, the cuts on his back throbbing in the heat of the late morning sun, when Agahm called out, “Fine. All three meals. For a week. You get the crutches then.”

  Siniq-elb did not turn back to look. He gave a single nod, answered by a rattling cough from Agahm, and continued away from the corner, toward the line of trees and the slender band of shade they offered. After another dozen paces, the pain in his back and arms was so great that Siniq-elb turned over on his hands and knees, grateful that his legs had healed somewhat, and resorted to crawling.

  He made better time this way, although his face burned as Crook and Bald called out for their ‘little puppy’ to come back. It was the first time they had called him that—perhaps because it was the first time he had crawled in front of them—but it sent dangerous waves of anger and self-pity roaring through him. When the relative coolness of the woods closed over him, Siniq-elb collapsed against smooth-barked beech, letting his sweat-damp forehead rest against the trunk. A dozen breaths he allowed himself before he forced himself away from the tree and started to crawl again. He had a battle to win.

  At first, Siniq-elb had simply sought the shade of the trees, a respite from Agahm’s gaze, away from the laughter of Crook and Bald. Under the network of branches, though, where sunlight fell in pomeled crescents, a new idea struck him. If he were to give up his food for a week, he would be lucky to live long enough to use his new crutches. If he could find something in the woods, though—roots or plants he could eat—then it would increase his chances of revenge. A grim smile broke out on Siniq-elb’s face and he began to crawl through the woods.

  It did not take him long to find his f
irst potential meal. Spring onions grew up against many of the trees, the slender, hollow stalks tender to his touch. Nearby, heaped in careless piles, chestnuts covered the ground. Siniq-elb folded his tunic and started gathering the nuts; the onions would not keep in his room, but he could always come back. The open burrs of the chestnuts gave easily to reveal the smooth, dark brown of the nut itself. He could eat them raw, if he needed to, but they would be better cooked. He gathered more and more, stripping the burrs, each chestnut making a satisfying click as he dropped it into the fold of his tunic.

  “What are you doing?”

  The voice startled him, and Siniq-elb jerked upright, the gathered chestnuts clattering in response. He glanced back and found himself caught by lavender eyes in an oval face.

  “Mece,” he said. “I’m—”

  “How do you know my name?” she asked. Her voice was soft, almost meek, but the lavender eyes did not look away. She moved out from behind the trunk of a white-barked elm to stand a few paces away from him. In the dappled light of the woods, Siniq-elb saw a bruise that ran the length of her jaw, and another across her right temple. She stood there, the sunlight and shadows running across her as the branches creaked and stirred.

  “Vas,” Siniq-elb said, realizing that he had been silent, staring at her. “Vas told me.”

  “Vas is kind,” Mece said. “Perhaps the only kind one here. The rest of us, well, I don’t know any more.”

  “Vas is kind,” Siniq-elb said. “Vas also said you don’t talk to anyone.”

  A smile flitted across her face, almost lost in the play of the brindled light. “He keeps trying,” Mece said. “But I have nothing to say to him.”

  Silence fell between them. Siniq-elb shifted, suddenly aware that he held several pounds of chestnuts in his tunic, and realizing he looked at best a fool. Mece straightened, as though ready to turn and leave.

  “But you have something to say to me?” Siniq-elb said, desperate for her to remain.

  Mece nodded.

  “What is it?” Siniq-elb said.

  “What are you doing?” Mece repeated.

  Cheeks hot, Siniq-elb said, “Gathering chestnuts.” He held one up, then let it fall back into his collection.

  Mece shook her head. “Why?” She paused, and a look of concern came onto her face. “Are you alright? You don’t think . . .” She trailed off.

  “Think I’m a squirrel?” Siniq-elb said with a smile.

  The smile reappeared, brighter than a rose in winter, then vanished. “Something like that.”

  “I’m alright,” Siniq-elb said. “I’m looking for stuff to eat.”

  Mece eyed him, uncertainty written in her stance, but after a moment she nodded. “The food isn’t very good here; often, that is all Vas will talk to me about. I think he likes that I don’t respond. He tells me stories of what he used to eat, what he used to prepare. He loves food.”

  “Sounds like Vas,” Siniq-elb said.

  “Have you gathered any acorns?” Mece said. “Buckrams? Chicory?”

  Siniq-elb shook his head.

  “There are patches of buckrams and chicory along the edges of the woods, near the back. The gardeners don’t tend it as well back there. I think it’s because I’m the only one who ever goes back that far.”

  “Show me,” Siniq-elb said.

  With a nod, Mece started deeper into the woods. Siniq-elb struggled to keep up, holding up his tunic with one hand while he crawled, until Mece knelt to take the chestnuts from him, making a pocket in her own tunic. Kneeling next to him, she reached out and scooped a handful of the nuts, but as she transferred them to her tunic, many of them slid from between her fingers to roll across the short-growing grass. Siniq-elb snatched at them, dropping them in the pocket Mece had formed. And then he saw her hands.

  Thin, delicate fingers, they would have looked elegant, if not for their deformity. Each finger was bent in more than one place, broken and set to heal wrong, and then broken and set again, so that her hands were like tangled skeins of yarn, fixed by bone and flesh. When Mece saw his gaze, she plunged her hands into the chestnuts, scooping them out in great batches, heedless of the nuts that spilled free.

  Siniq-elb caught her wrist with his free hand. “What happened to you?”

  A blush slid into her cheeks, but Mece’s eyes were angry. “The same thing that happened to you.”

  “Tair bless us,” he said. “Why?”

  “You haven’t asked that about your feet yet? About why they chastised you?”

  “It’s a mistake,” he said. “They made a mistake.”

  “The tair doesn’t make mistakes,” Mece said, her voice bitter. “It’s one of the gods-made-flesh.”

  So. She was a heretic, of some sort. It seemed impossible; she was so beautiful, so soft-spoken. Like a flower petal, ready to blown away by a stiff breeze. How could a woman like this be a heretic? A traitor, fighting against everything Siniq-elb had tried to protect.

  “Why your hands?” Siniq-elb asked.

  Mece stared at him for a long moment. Siniq-elb shifted. The heat under the canopy of branches, dense and heavy and humid, suddenly seemed worse than the rays of the sun.

  “Ask your friend Vas,” Mece said. “Let’s go. I want to show you the plants before we have to go back.”

  She stood and started walking. As she went, Mece held the edge of the tunic up to hold the chestnuts, revealing the smooth, even lines of her thigh, and Siniq-elb found himself knocking into roots and fallen branches until, with an effort of will, he tore his eyes away from her moonlight flesh to watch where he was going. Even so, his throat tightened, and the pounding of his heart had nothing to do with the exertion of crawling.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked, wincing as a root scraped his knee, raw and unaccustomed to crawling so much.

  Mece caught his glance and stopped. “Are you alright?”

  The concern in her voice sent a flush of heat through Siniq-elb’s cheeks. He did not need the sympathy of a traitor and an infidel. With a nod, he motioned for her to continue, repressing another wince as the tender flesh of his knee came down on top of a broken twig. If Mece noticed, she did not say anything.

  “So?” Siniq-elb said.

  Mece shrugged. “You . . . did something for me.”

  “This is just your way of paying me back?” he said. A pinprick of disappointment.

  “There’s not much else I can do,” Mece said. “You’ll have to find a way to cook this food; eating too many of the nuts raw will make you ill.”

  “How do you know all this?” Siniq-elb asked. “You don’t look like a woman who has spent much time outdoors.”

  Mece did not answer. She stopped at the edge of the woods, where a span of short-growing grass separated the trees from the stucco wall that marked the edge of the yard. Against the gleaming white stucco ran a line of green, leafy bushes dotted with white flowers. Among the white and green, lavender and storm-blue flowers flashed, the same color as Mece’s eyes. She gestured at the plants.

  “Chicory and buckrams,” she said. “Probably other things as well, so you’ll have to be careful, but it’s enough that you won’t starve.”

  She knelt down, pulling out a handful of chestnuts, and held them up with a questioning look.

  Siniq-elb thought; he had barely been able to move while carrying the chestnuts, and with Crook and Bald carrying him, they would immediately see the smuggled food. “Could I ask for another favor?” he said.

  “What?”

  “Help me get some of this back to my room,” Siniq-elb said. “I’m afraid the eses will take it from me if they see it.”

  Mece nodded. “Whom are you selling your food to?”

  With a grim smile, Siniq-elb said, “Agahm.”

  She blinked once, then said, “You’ll need help taking it to him. The eses let us move around; they just watch you because you’re new, still healing. I’ll come by your room at dinner to get the food.”

  “You make t
his sound normal,” Siniq-elb said.

  “Not normal,” Mece said. “Just trying to be practical.”

  It made no sense; she was an infidel, a traitor to each of the Thirteen Paths. Why would she care about him? About anyone? Perhaps she truly had been reformed in the Garden; it made Siniq-elb wonder what would happen to him, how he would change, if he did not escape soon.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “for earlier. For prying. It’s none of my business.”

  For a moment, Mece’s eyes softened. Siniq-elb felt his heart pound again, and the thin fabric of the tunic, the inches of summer air, seemed a weak barrier between their bodies. His hand slid out, across dirt and grass that were cool against the sudden fever of desire. He brushed the edge of one of her fingers.

  Mece started, her eyes suddenly hard again, and stood. “I’ll leave these in your room,” she said.

  “Mece,” Siniq-elb said. “I—”

  The sound of footsteps broke through his plea, and Siniq-elb glanced toward the woods. When he looked back, he caught sight of the edge of Mece’s brown tunic as she vanished between the trees. With a growl, half of frustrated desire, half of bewilderment, Siniq-elb turned to face whoever had ruined what might have been a fine moment.

  A moment later, an esis appeared at the edge of the woods, a few paces away from Siniq-elb. Chain glittered over the green robe—unusual for an esis within the Garden—and, as the man turned, Siniq-elb saw that the man’s robe was missing a sleeve. A well-muscled arm, tanned deep brown from the ever-present sun of the Paths, bore an ivory-colored brachal. Not an esis, then. A su-esis. The hilt of the su-esis’s oversized sword reared over his shoulder.

  It took a moment for Siniq-elb to recognize the man. Dark, foreign hair. Eyes the color of Cenarbasin chocolate. The last time Siniq-elb had seen him, Siniq-elb had been dragged through these woods to have his feet cut off. Dakel.

  Anger such as he had never known flooded through him, hot as sunlight off a knife. Siniq-elb held himself in check, clenching his teeth against the insults, against challenge. Against the sobbing question of why that lurked at the back of his throat. Siniq-elb had learned his lesson from Khylar; he was in no position to challenge an esis, let alone a su-esis. He needed to escape, to plan his revenge.

  Dakel glanced toward him, dark eyebrows arching. “Finally,” he said. “What are you doing back here?”

  Pure will kept the words flat. “Looking for some privacy.” Siniq-elb gave the man a pointed look.

  With a brief laugh, surprisingly natural, the su-esis approached Siniq-elb. “Yes, I can imagine. This is not a place for you; that lot back there, they aren’t your kind.”

  The words took Siniq-elb by surprise, disoriented him. “What do you want?”

  “Let me see your back,” Dakel said. “I heard what you did to Khylar. You deserved nothing less than a beating, but to give you the lash when you’re still recovering from chastisement, tair fend, the man is a fool.”

  Siniq-elb remained seated, glaring up at the tan, muscled warrior. “I’m fine. The healers have tended to me.”

  “Let me see your back,” Dakel said, his voice hard. “I won’t ask again.”

  For a moment, Siniq-elb considered refusing. The su-esis, with the strength of the gods-made-flesh, could handle him like a doll. He might even order Siniq-elb to be beaten again. After a drawn out, angry breath, Siniq-elb hitched up the back of his tunic, his face heating in embarrassment.

  Dakel stepped behind him. A few times, he ran a finger around the edge of a wound, and Siniq-elb drew in hissing breaths at the sudden flares of pain. “Very, very stupid,” Dakel said, and Siniq-elb did not know if he meant Siniq-elb’s behavior, or Khylar’s punishment. “It must gall you,” the su-esis continued, “that you received worse wounds from an idiot like Khylar than you did from a seir.”

  The words sent a chill through Siniq-elb’s spine that not even the ever-summer sun could dispel. With a shrug of his shoulders, he let the tunic fall and said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Your friend,” Dakel said, moving around to take a seat opposite Siniq-elb. He unstrapped the sword and let it rest on the ground next to him. Siniq-elb eyed the blade; if he could move fast enough, he could kill Dakel. Even if the other eses killed him, it would be worth it. To kill the man who had taken everything from him, that would be worth it.

  “Natam,” Dakel continued. “He came to me, after I delivered you here. He was distraught, telling a story that I thought was madness. At first I thought he was trying to get more coin, perhaps trying to keep me from charging him the cost of our expedition. I thought it was a lie; an excuse.”

  “It must have been hard for him,” Siniq-elb said. “To sell out his friends and then find himself being cheated.”

  The even expression of Dakel’s face did not change. “It’s an honor to serve the tair,” he said. “And there is nothing disloyal about surrendering an infidel.”

  “I am not an infidel,” Siniq-elb shouted. The words rang in the stillness. His breath came fast, so fast that it almost choked him, and the anger was back. He couldn’t stop shouting. “You bastard, you took everything from me, and you didn’t even get the right man. I’ve served the tair my whole gloried life, Father take you. Tell me what I did to make me an infidel!” He was shaking, Siniq-elb realized, so bad that he pressed his hands against the ground, trying to keep from launching himself at the su-esis.

  Those chocolate eyes darkened. “I saw the bodies of your men,” Dakel said, his voice almost a whisper, sliding under the silent echoes of Siniq-elb’s shout. “I saw the seir. I have never seen such a creature before, but I knew it when I saw it. Are there more? What do you know of them? How did you kill it? Who are you?”

  “You saw the body,” Siniq-elb said, his voice bitter. Suddenly he was tired, as though he had spent a day marching with full gear. “I cut off its head. You know as much as I do. Now leave me alone.”

  “You must know more,” Dakel said, leaning forward. “You must! How could you have killed it? They are unstoppable, worse than any stone-wight, deadlier than any deksu. Who are you? Tell me how you could do these things without the dew!”

  The last words made no sense to Siniq-elb, but he ignored them. He was too tired; the day had been a battle, and he was not sure he had won.

  “I’m nothing,” Siniq-elb said. “I’m a dead man. You’ve taken everything from me.” A dead man who would live again, who would have his revenge. Siniq-elb did not add those last words.

  Dakel stared at him, the muscles in his bare arm flexing as he clenched his fists. He stood, grabbing the sword, and stared down at Siniq-elb. “If the seiri are come again, it might mean the end of everything; next time, I will not be so patient. You will answer my questions, one way or another.”

  “You can’t threaten a dead man,” Siniq-elb said, fury coating his voice again. “Khylar should have taught you that, but it must be difficult with a broken jaw.”

  The chocolate eyes fixed Siniq-elb in place. “You misunderstand the Garden,” Dakel said. “You all do. The punishment is not to be chastised, not to be beaten and tortured, most certainly not to be killed. The cruelest punishment of the Garden is to keep you alive.” Then, with a sudden brush of air, the man vanished, the limbs of a nearby oak stirring in answer.