by Ann Denton
Mala's face heated up. He's been watching me? The thought made her chest clench slightly in panic. The only person to ever track her movements before had been Garon. And Garon's only motivation was cruelty. What does Lowe want? Why is he watching me? And what else has he seen? She recalled the spell in the woods and clenched her fist defensively.
“I don't swim alone,” she scoffed.
“Yes you do. Every day you bait and check sixteen traps. Today you caught a catfish.”
She tried not to gasp. “How do you know that?”
“I'm a very observant person.”
“So fishing makes me a misanthrope? Because if that's the case, you need to let just about everyone on that platform know.”
“No. There's more than that. I've asked around. For as long as anyone can remember, you've been quiet, elusive. A ghost. You avoid everyone.”
A long moment of silence passed as Mala tried to determine if he was insane, dangerous, or just insatiably curious. She met his eyes and his gaze held hers. There was a gentleness in it that melted her stomach. It made her utterly uncomfortable.
No one looks that way. He is definitely manipulating me. Why? She didn't know, but it didn't matter. There was no way she was going to share her problems with a stranger. No way she was going to mention her hallucinations or the fact that she wasn’t sure whether she needed to be locked up. No way she was going to mention that, despite everything—even tonight's pathetic disaster, some small part of her still believed in Erlender magic. In Erlender curses. She broke eye contact and stood, despite the pain.
“You know, you're right. I avoid everyone but my mother. You included.” She turned to go, but he grabbed her shoulder and turned her back. His face was far too near.
“Why?” He didn't let go, though she pulled. Instead he put another arm gently around her back and sent her heart into a flurried panic. He’s playing with me, like Garon, but using gentleness instead of force. He’s ... she was flustered; she couldn't even decide what he was.
She said the first thing that came into her mind. “Have you ever tried to speak with my mother?”
“No.”
“Never asked anyone about her or our past, in your stalkerish curiosity?”
He grinned. “I haven't had that much time to ask questions. I just discovered you haunted these boats, Misanthrope.”
“You're so funny.”
“It's a side effect of being incredibly handsome.” He tossed his hair.
At that, she couldn't help herself. She let out a deep roaring laugh, one that set her shoulders shaking. Before she had finished, he let go and stepped back.
“That's kind of offensive you know,” he commented as he crossed his arms.
“What?” she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.
“That you find my looks so laughable.”
“Well, I am a misanthrope, after all. I hate everything about you,” she said with a grin.
Just then a loud alarm sounded, reverberating off the water. A dull clanging gong. Mala's entire body tensed. Only one thing set off the alarm: Erlenders.
Chapter Five
Bells trilled discordantly over one another, a chorus rising up from all sides of the island. They're attacking. Panic started to seep into Mala's stomach. A flurry of images came unbidden to her mind. Men dressed in black, long guns, torches, boats aflame. She pushed them back.
“Mom!” she yelled. Everyone was abandoning the platform and stumbling towards the boats. Children wailed and everyone was calling out for someone else. The warriors had all but abandoned the party, crashing through the trees toward the threat.
She could hear Bara shouting orders. “Arm up! Barde, you take a ship south—warn Kita's guard. Verrat—find them! Bring me a head!”
In the cacophony, Mala knew her mother would never hear her. She tried to cut through the crowd, but like a river the current of people was flowing past her, forcing her farther up the shore.
She ignored the yells of those she passed, though something Barde said caught her ear. He asked his companion, “How did they find this place?” as both checked their semiautomatics and headed out. It was a good question. The island was well hidden. But Mala didn’t have time to think about Erlender scouts and she pushed onward, eyes scanning for her mother.
Finally, she was able to edge sideways to where the crowd thinned and limp toward the right side of the platform, where she had last seen Erinne dancing.
The older woman stood frozen, stoic, her thin lips stretched in a ragged line, eyes dull. The alarm had made a statue of her, as if she couldn't bear to face what followed in its wake.
“Mom!” Mala splashed through the shallows, adrenaline overcoming the pain in her ankle. “Mother. Come on! We have to go! We need to get to our boat now!” Her commands brought no response. When she grabbed her mother's hand and pulled, it was like trying to move an anchored buoy. Erinne swayed but wouldn't take a step.
“Please. Please, Mom.” Mala tried to stay focused on her mother. She pushed back thoughts of Erlenders, tried to ignore the sounds of war cries and gunfire in the distance. Suddenly someone was beside her. Without a word, Lowe swept her mother up over his shoulder. He looked at Mala. “Which way?”
She pointed. Left, through the trees, on the far side of the island, she had tethered their little craft, originally thinking she wanted to sleep as far from the revelers as possible. Less chance of a drunk peeing on her deck that way.
Now the trees formed a formidable barrier, a dark black mass that would block out the moonlight and leave them wandering blind. But ships were their only option. Staying on the tiny island to face Erlender guns—that wasn’t a choice.
They broke through a thicket and wove through tree trunks as silently as they could. Most of the crowd had gone in the opposite direction, so other than startling a few small families, they didn't see anyone.
Mala tried to breathe evenly, stay calm, but her inhalations were ragged knives in her chest. She could hear her mother's panting and the sound nearly broke her heart.
“We'll get away, Momma. Don't worry. We'll get away.”
Lowe didn't speak, but his eyes swept steadily from side to side as they moved.
The little green craft bobbed into sight in front of them and Mala sped up. Lowe yanked on her arm. He crouched down and shifted Erinne so she was cradled on his knees. He peered through the brush.
Mala stood, uncertain whether to stay with him, or to take her mother's arm and drag her to the boat. Then she heard it: the scuff of a boot on the deck.
She crouched, trembling. She tried not to remember the last time Erlenders had been aboard their boat.
Lowe freed an arm and grabbed her hand. Shell-shocked, she turned to face him. “We have to go,” he mouthed.
She nodded. He turned to her mother.
“Can you walk? I need to guard the rear.”
Mala grasped her mother's hand. “She'll walk. She'll be fine.” Erinne was unresponsive.
Lowe stared hard. “If I'm going to protect you, I need to know you're both running. I need to know she wants to run.”
Mala hissed. “She wants to run.”
“I need to hear her say it. Her voice.”
“They stole her voice,” Mala's pitch rose though she fought it. She could see his skepticism. “Show him, Momma.”
At first, Erinne didn't respond. But Mala shook her, impatient at her woodenness. Now was not the time for her mother to mentally collapse. Erinne's eyes slid back into focus. “Show him what the Erlenders did.” She turned back to Lowe. “They stole my mother's voice, so she could never name them or what they did to her.”
Mala’s mother opened her mouth to reveal a gaping black hole. Her tongue had been severed far back in her throat.
Lowe pointed, and Mala set off into the blackest patch of trees, towing her mother. She cringed at every crack of a twig, every rustle of a leaf. She counted to one thousand in her head, pushing back any other thought that threatened to creep up
. Just keep moving.
Light flickered in the distance. Mala slowed, gesturing for Lowe and her mother to stop. “Wait here,” she mouthed.
Lowe grabbed her arm in protest, but she stared him down. “I'm small and dead quiet. And ...” her eyes slid to her mother. I need your help with her. She didn't have to say it aloud. He let her go.
Mala wove through the trees, a shadow, creeping toward the silhouettes circled around a fire. She stopped short as one of the men turned toward her. He was tall and lean, his head shaved; his bald pate gleamed orange in the firelight. His nose was clear, unstriped. That was rare. Erlenders took pride in their kills. What kind of Erlender is he?
Mala's thoughts were interrupted by the crunch of leaves to her left. She held her breath. The bald man peered into the darkness.
“Did you find it?” he asked brusquely.
A brute of a man stepped out of the cover of the trees near Mala. She shivered, unnerved by the fact that such a huge warrior had been within two meters of her and she hadn't even noticed him. He moved toward the fire, blue stripes gleaming on his nose.
Wilde township Erlenders, Mala processed. Raiders. Known for isolating boats and attacking ... like wolves. Why would they attack us? Most of the guard was drunk. But still ... there are so many of us.
“Cherub,” the mountain spoke. “I think I fauund it, sir.” He tossed something that flashed gold across to the bald man, who held it up. A chain with a little trinket dangling from it.
Something pretty? Mala balled her fists.
“Glad to see you're not all completely useless,” the bald man sneered, his blue eyes fixed on the necklace. “Let me see her.”
The mountain shrugged a body off his shoulder. Mala hadn't even seen the girl because of his bulk. Her throat tightened and she clamped her teeth together so hard that she could feel the tension travel up her skull.
Black and blue, a trickle of blood running under her eye, and her wedding hat smashed to a flimsy pulp, Sari curled into a fetal position at the bald man's feet.
“Stand up,” he said.
When she didn't respond, he nodded to one of the Erlenders and they dragged her upright. She swayed in place, eyes on the carpet of leaves beneath her toes.
“Look at me darlin’.” The man called Cherub caressed Sari's cheek. The poor girl sobbed helplessly. He leaned forward. “Don't cry.” He placed a gentle, chaste kiss on her cracked lips.
Then, without warning, his left arm slashed through the air. At first, Mala thought he'd smacked Sari, but that was before she saw the knife ... or the blood. Half of Sari's cheek flapped open, her gums and teeth protruding from her ruined face.
Before anyone could react, the bald man grabbed Sari again and forced his face to her tattered lips.
What the mucking hell—a demonic ritual? Mala bit back bile. She looked down and saw the trident dagger in her hand. She didn't remember unsheathing it. Her fingers tightened on the handle.
When the bald man tossed Sari aside like a piece of garbage, Mala closed her eyes and let instinct take over. She let the knife fly.
But the bald man bent at the last second and the trident soared into the trees.
Shit! Idiot!
“What wuz dat?” A shifty buck-toothed Erlender asked. “Did you see dat?” He nudged a companion.
“What?”
“I think it wuz an arrow or sum’in.”
“Where it come from?”
Mala's breath stopped. Her stomach dropped as the buck-toothed blue nose raised a finger and pointed right at her. The Erlenders squinted in her direction. She knew they couldn't see her, but she edged behind a large tree. She was just in time. Bullets buzzed through the air around her. Boots tromped through the bushes.
They'll be here any second. She scanned behind her. Most of the trees leading to the clearing were too thin to offer good cover. Not when they knew she was here. Not when they were shooting blindly into the blackness. She had no escape. Mudding Muck.
A horrid bellow rent the air behind her. Mala looked back to see her mother charging at the Erlenders, waving her arms. Behind her, Lowe held his stomach and sank to his knees.
Fury boiled in Mala. How could he have let her get away— but that thought sank into oblivion as she heard the Wildes take the bait. Boots and bullets flew toward Erinne.
The clearing emptied but for Sari's prone form. Mala should have been backing toward it. But her limbs were frozen.
A scream scratched viciously at her throat, but her mouth wouldn't open, and it shriveled on her tongue.
Mala couldn't rip her gaze from her mother; Erinne was too far away for Mala to see her face, but the older woman held up her hand, thumb extended away from her fingers in a victory sign as bullets devoured her flesh.
Chapter Six
Mala couldn't tell if it was minutes or hours later when Lowe pulled her to her feet. He replaced her trident dagger.
Did he see me throw it? When did he have time to get it? Vague, simple thoughts floated through Mala's head. He slung her over his shoulder, and she nearly giggled at the fact that she couldn't feel her legs.
Was I shot? She didn't see any blood. Am I hallucinating again? She searched her fuzzy thoughts. It took her a few minutes to decide she must be in shock. She felt dizzy.
Mala asked Lowe to put her down as they came over a rise. Below was a nightmarish scene. In a clearing near the water, Bara's guard lay like dock planks. Stiff shoulder touched stiff shoulder in a line of bodies that stretched as far as the eye could see. The ground was laced with rivulets of blood.
Barde and his flaming red hair lay on the near side of the clearing. So the south will have no warning. The Erlenders’ attack had been well-planned.
Three black-clad Wilde soldiers were lining and frisking the bodies, filling their pockets with bullets and whatever knickknacks they could find. Their tattooed noses nearly touched the corpses they plundered, inhaling the scent of their fresh kill. Their faces were marred by stark blue horizontal stripes; the tattoos were a body count of those they'd killed. After tonight, most of their noses would be solid blue.
Mala turned away, disgusted. Heathens.
“We have to get out of here,” Lowe whispered. Mala nodded. But then she saw the bald man again. Cherub. With him was the mountain. Another body dropped from the peak of his shoulder.
Mala stared at her mother's blank face. The air left her body. She felt hollow.
Lowe saw what was happening and swung her over his shoulder. He turned. The bald man scanned the trees. And his eyes, a pair of blue flames, met Mala's as Lowe carried her back into the shadows. A furious heat spread throughout her body. It radiated out from the center of Mala's chest, a biting, horrid burn clawing at her heart. She couldn't even count to control it. It felt as though her chest might liquefy. For a split second, the trees faded and she saw a bright blue house. She ran into the wind and it resisted; she felt like she was flying.
Mala found herself dumped into the lake and startled back to reality. The heat was gone. She was wet and shivering instead. Her heart was racing. Lowe was shaking her. “Mala, swim. Swim to the nearest boat! We'll go to Sonne Pointe. Follow me, okay?”
Mala nodded dully. She began to count to clear her mind. One, two, three, four, five, six.
Lowe turned back to stare at Mala. He waved her forward and jerked his head toward the boats. She followed. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. She stroked hard in time with her counting. She refused to think of anything other than the numbers.
Gunfire echoed over the waves. Mala automatically dove, survival instinct overcoming everything else.
She tried to stay under as long as possible, but her twisted ankle wouldn't allow it. So she surfaced and began plowing the water with her arms, kicking with her one good leg. She couldn't see Lowe.
Bara's massive speedboat loomed in front of her and she angled herself in that direction. It would shield her from the barrage of bullets. But something brought her up short.
Throu
gh the shadows she could see a figurehead perched on the bow of the ship. Bara's boat had no figurehead.
A torch was lit on the deck; a blue-nosed Erlender carried it. He marched forward, knelt down, and set the torch to the figurehead. A scream rent the air. Bara’s voice. Mala watched in horror as the figure tied to the bow struggled.
The Erlenders were burning her alive, to send a message. Mala had almost forgotten they did that. Not forgotten, but wouldn't remember. Wouldn't remember a tall laughing man tying her father up, discovering a young girl crouched beneath some benches. Wouldn’t remember the words he whispered in her ear as he dropped her overboard. Wouldn't remember bobbing in the water as her father became a mass of shrieking flames ...
Mala grabbed onto a rubber lifeboat and pulled herself out of the water to keep from sinking as her legs again refused to work.
She turned her head to look for Lowe and Bara’s eyes locked on her. Anger and agony swirled in their depths. Mala's chest heated up for the second time that night. Her face melted and she felt the bones in her hands collapse. Her skin bubbled and popped like Bara's.
She felt as if she were outside her own body. The hallucination took over. Mala sank into the vision. She was floating. She looked down. Not floating. Perched on the back of a giant man, whose face she couldn’t see, but who had a beard on his chest cut like a swallowtail. And she was wearing shoes. Shoes! Only soldiers get shoes ... She looked up from her shoes to see an Erlender with a solid blue nose aiming a shotgun right at them.
As if through a mist, Mala heard splashing nearby and gunshots on the distant shore of the island. She could hear someone calling her name. But she couldn't respond.
“Mala,” Lowe whispered as he swam. “Mala, where are you? Dammit, why can't you follow instructions?”
He edged closer and closer. She leaned her head on the patched rubber bumper and looked out at the water. It was all she could manage.