by Tam Linsey
She nodded, the tendons on her neck showing as she swallowed. “Hurry.”
So strange to think of all they’d been through. Only yesterday, they’d been at odds—enemies—and now he was sworn to protect her. A lump filled his throat as he bent to kiss her. He hesitated just shy of the kiss; then she closed the gap, pressing her hands against his cheeks. He savored her lips, breathing in the subtle, spiced scent of her skin. A wash of her spirit magic reached him through the contact. He pulled her closer.
“We’re not waiting,” Rann said, already several paces down the trail with Wint and Pulo.
Jubal opened his eyes, looking into Eily’s moonlit face. A shimmer on her cheeks told him she was crying. He wiped the tears away with one thumb. “Be careful. This is the edge of Taguan territory. People may pass by.”
She nodded mutely. He turned to catch up with his brother.
The trail grew wider as they approached the Taguan and the amarantox on either side less ragged. Stakes and woven netting supported the towering stalks in the wind and had protected them from the storm, allowing the manna beetles plenty of time to tunnel and grow before the harvest. Ahead, Jubal spotted a man-shaped shadow and signaled a halt. He held his breath a few moments. When the figure didn’t move, he crept forward and realized it was a panakot—a “man” made of bunched bullrushes and dressed in discarded clothing to scare away the pecker birds.
He continued, pushing Wint and Pulo until the Flame Runnas were stumbling. The way Wint shuffled one foot reminded him of Pops. He urged them faster. Near another panakot, Pulo went to one knee, and Rann walloped him with his staff. The bigger man lumbered drunkenly to his feet.
Jubal stepped between his brother and the slaves. “We’ll rest here.”
“Dawn’s coming.” Rann pointed to the bruise-colored sky in the east.
Jubal pressed his lips together, not wanting to admit his brother was right. “We’ll settle them here and move on. Hopefully Sefe will accept the box, and we won’t have to trade them.”
“Do you really think Sefe’s going to accept that beacon thing for Pops’s life?”
Jubal drained the last of his water flask and capped it. His empty stomach churned around the fluid. “We’re pretty good traders, Rann. If anyone can convince him, we can.”
Rann shrugged. “I’m all for keeping the Flame Runnas for ourselves. I guess we can give it a try.”
Without arguing the point, Jubal pushed into the amarantox until they were far enough off trail that only someone tending the staked plants might find the men. Sitting them back to back, he tied their hands and feet. He wasn’t happy about leaving them unattended so close to the Taguan, but if Sefe demanded more than the beacon, he wanted to be able to provide a quick alternative.
He pulled out Pulo’s flask and gave them each a deep drink of water. “Be still and quiet, or you’ll have no hope of freedom.”
The men were exhausted. Pulo’s head already nodded against his chest.
Rann scowled down at them. “What if the sunstorm hasn’t ended? We should put a blanket over them or something.”
“They’ll get too hot,” Jubal said.
“We’ll be back soon.”
Hesitantly, Jubal draped a blanket over the slaves’ heads. He intended to get Pops and be away from the Taguan quickly, maybe even before the sun reached its peak. The slaves shouldn’t suffocate in that short time. He and Rann trotted back to the trail. To mark the spot they’d left the slaves, he hung a string of beads around the panakot’s neck.
As the first rays of the sun spread fingers up the horizon, the acrid scent of burning wood drifted toward them. The familiar tang of cooked meat thickened the air. His head spun with hunger, but he hadn’t the time or the means to deal with it now. Once he had freed Pops, he would retrieve his stashes of goods and flee this place. He picked up his pace, the weight of his pack jarring against his back with every step.
From the crest above the cave, Jubal looked down onto the twist of river and empty beach. A male voice came from a cluster of rocks to their left. “What tribe?”
Startled, Jubal jangled his trader staff. “Traders, Cousin.”
A small man armed with one of Sefe’s guns emerged from the rocks. “I know you.”
“How’s my Pops?”
The man shrugged. “Not long from the Knife.”
Jubal’s heart eased. Pops was alive! “Take us to him.”
They followed the guard down the trail. The savory smell of meat lingered in the close air. All Jubal could think was how glad he was it hadn’t been Pops. They entered the dark hall toward the cavern where Sefe presided. The quiet sounds of sleeping people mixed with bursts of noise from those who’d begun to stir. A baby cried and was hushed.
The moment they entered the central cave, Jubal’s gaze sought the cages near the back. The spaces were empty. Where was Sefe keeping Pops?
Their guard approached the sleeping king. Sefe rose onto an elbow, his movements stiff with sleep. He yawned, face twisting as he stretched. Next to him, Eily’s sister struggled upright, her belly larger than before. She propped herself up on one arm and regarded Jubal with cold, dark eyes.
He swallowed, amazed at how like Eily she looked, yet how unlike her at the same time. This woman was all cannibal and queen of her domain. Her exposed breasts were swollen from pregnancy, and her shrewd gaze took in every detail. Where Eily had offered to sacrifice herself again and again—first for Gid, then for Pulo and Wint—he doubted Ana would do the same. How would she react when he told her Eily was waiting for her?
Approaching the dais, he stayed alert for his father in the crowded room. Behind him, he could feel the weight of the guards’ gazes. Lowering his pack to the ground, he dug out the beacon. “We’ve brought you Flame Runna magic.”
Sefe gestured to Ana, who rolled onto her hands and knees and languidly shifted forward to kiss him. Jubal’s pulse thrummed like a river current against a sweeping branch. Sefe broke the kiss and rose to his feet. “Show me.”
Jubal held out the box, realizing how small and insignificant it looked. He squared his shoulders, clutched his staff in his other hand, and spread his lips in his trader smile. “This will summon a flying machine.”
Sefe flicked a glance toward the box, one eyebrow raised in disdain. “This trade isn’t what I asked for.”
“Take it to a place where you can hide in ambush.” Jubal opened the lid and held it up so Sefe could see the button. “Push this. When they arrive, you can shoot them down in safety.”
Huffing, Sefe rolled his eyes. “Useless magic. I told you the crash kills the Flame Runnas. I want them alive. This is no good.”
Jubal swallowed. His heart beat so hard, he thought everyone in the cave must be able to hear it. “The Flame Runnas use this to find their own kind. They won’t shoot, they’ll land and begin to search on foot. Easy prey.” He snapped the box shut. “But if you don’t want it, I can get more for it from someone else.”
Sefe’s eyes glinted. “Then take it to them. Tonight we will feast on your father.”
Ice surged through Jubal’s veins. Before he could speak, Rann said, “We will give you what you want.”
A leer spread across Sefe’s face. “You do have Flame Runnas. You thought you could keep them from me?”
Jubal kept his eyes on the king. He’d known it could come to this. He rattled his trader staff. “We want a fair trade.”
“What price do you put on your lives? I told you not to come back without payment.”
Jubal kept his chin high. “Where’s Pops? For all I know, you’ve already killed him.”
Sefe flicked an arm out to point toward the far wall. “The old man should have gone to the Knife long before now. But I would not have had you think I’d broken our deal.”
Where Sefe pointed, Jubal spotted his cousin, Rodi, standing with fists clenched at her sides. A prone form lay on the floor next to her. She shook her head, her mouth a thin line.
Without waitin
g for permission, Jubal strode toward the small woman. Pops lay on a blanket, eyes staring at the ceiling. His gaze shifted toward Jubal, but he remained still and silent.
“Pops?” Jubal whispered.
“He fell the day after you left. Sefe told me to keep him alive,” Rodi’s voice broke. “But he wants the Knife, Jubal.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Haldanian Protectorate
“Councilman Rael!” An aide burst into Rael’s sun-streaked office.
Rael jerked his head up from reading his gamma pad. His eyes burned, and his jaw ached from grinding his teeth. The Doomseeds project had taken a turn for the worse in the lab, with one human subject in critical condition and Rael’s lead researcher threatening to go to the Board. “What?”
“We’ve got a Fosselite on the com.” The aide’s voice squeaked as he wrung his hands. “And he’s requesting you.”
Rael’s throat tightened. Two nights had passed, and the two remaining reversion signals continued to creep across the Reaches along with Eily’s beacon, unhindered by Fosselite intervention. In retrospect, he had to admit the after-dark broadcast to the Reaches had been a little crude. The Fosselites must suspect something.
“I’ll take it in here,” he told his aide. He straightened his nuvoplast necklace and activated the vid-com.
An image appeared on his desktop: a dark room and the sharp planes of a man’s face, lit only by the glow of the communication screen he faced. The caller’s eyes glistened red where others’ eyes were white. Fosselites were extremely sensitive to light, but Rael wondered how much they used it as an excuse to conceal their body language during their dimly lit transmissions.
The man’s voice was brusque. “Councilman, I understand you currently oversee reversion policies for your government.”
Rael raised an eyebrow. “Our policies aren’t your concern, Dr....?”
“What are you doing with your reversions these days?”
Rael sat back in his chair. He rubbed his fingers and thumb together beneath the desk as he considered how to respond. How much did they suspect? “I’d like to know who I am speaking to, if you don’t mind.”
“The name’s Torin. No doctor. I’m the new head of external affairs.” The man leaned forward so his face completely filled the screen. “We intercepted your transmission two nights ago.”
Heart racing, Rael cleared his throat. The man was going to jump right to it. Of course the Fosselites wouldn’t fall for his clumsy attempt to lure them in. And now they’d be watching for anything amiss. The Doomseeds fungi weren’t detectable in a blood sample, but if the Fosselites tested further… He had to make them believe the transmission had been valid. “We have things under control now. You need not concern yourselves.”
Torin cocked his head, then settled back away from the camera until he became little more than a silhouette. “Are you tagging all your citizens with tracking signals these days? Or only your escaped reversions?”
Rael’s body turned cold. They’d discovered the signals? Of course. You gave them the coordinates. The muscles in his right cheek twitched. He spread his mouth in a smile to cover his distress. He had to come up with an explanation, fast. A policy change? He let out a breath of relief, his smile becoming more genuine. “We’ve changed our reversion policy.”
“You release them into the Reaches?”
“Not intentionally. But we have certain factions insisting on freedom of choice.” Rael pressed his lips together in what he hoped came across as bureaucratic frustration. “We do our best to keep an eye on potential troublemakers. We cannot allow them to negatively affect our citizenry.”
“Are these escaped reversions dangerous, then? You did authorize lethal force.”
“We’ve determined they are far enough away at this point that they no longer pose a threat.”
Torin steepled his hands in front of him. “So you have no intention of pursuing them?”
Rael had to work hard not to show his glee. Go ahead and take them! He hardened his features and said, “As I told you, we have things under control.”
Torin’s teeth flashed in the darkness. “Good day to you, then, Councilman.”
Rael cut the com, then allowed his face to bloom into a wide grin.
The Taguan
Jubal fell to his knees and put a hand on his father’s forehead. The skin felt rough and dry, and the old man’s pale, chapped lips trembled. A cloying reek of dried sweat and urine hung about him. Pops blinked rapidly, as if trying to use his eyelids for speech.
“I’m sorry, Pops.” Jubal bent and kissed his father’s head, then got to his feet, his chest tight with grief.
Rann knelt at Pops’s side, head bowed, clutching one of his father’s limp hands. He still wore his pack. Jubal rolled his shoulders and darted a glance to where he’d left his pack at the dais. His hand ached from gripping his staff.
He’d known this day would come, but somehow it hurt more than he’d imagined. He lifted his chin to face Sefe. “You honored your deal. For that we give you the summoning box.” His throat strained around his next words, and he fought the bile that rose in his throat. “Let your Shaman give Pops the Knife. You may celebrate his flesh-feast.”
Sefe crossed his arms. “Where are the Flame Runnas?”
Jubal took a deep breath and shook his head. Circumstances had changed. He would do everything he could to keep Wint and Pulo out of Sefe’s hands. “You have my Pops. And the box will bring you many Flame Runnas. We give you a fair trade.”
“I say no. A stringy old man’s flesh-feast is no replacement for a live Flame Runna. And how do I know this magic you offer will do as you say?”
“A trader doesn’t lie.” Jubal shook his staff, awareness of his recent falsehoods burning through his veins.
“You were to bring me two Flame Runnas to replace my lost one.”
Jubal rubbed his forehead. Pops had promised an extravagant trade because he never intended his boys to return. You’re a trader. You can make this work. “This box will bring more slaves than we could have brought you on foot.”
Sefe uncrossed his arms and held his palms out as if calling the Peace. “You can’t keep them from me. Tell me where you’ve hidden them.”
“We do not deal in slaves.”
Face darkening, Sefe dropped one hand and thrust his other arm forward to point at Jubal. “I warned you never to show your face here again without proper payment. I’m being generous to allow you to replace my Flame Runna. If you have none, then I claim your brother’s life.”
Rann rose from Pops’s side. “Jubal, we have to give him what he wants.”
Jubal closed his eyes. He’d promised Pops he’d keep Rann safe. He had to resign himself to surrendering Pulo and Wint. He was glad Eily was a good distance from them. “Fine.”
Voice warbling in relief, Rann said, “We’ll go get them.”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” Sefe crossed his arms. “You’re not leaving here.”
“Then come with us,” said Rann. “We stashed them in the fields.”
Sefe showed his teeth in a feral grin. “How many do you have?”
Jubal shook his staff. “Two, according to your terms.”
Purposefully squaring his shoulders toward Rann, Sefe said, “We are trading for his life. He’ll do the dealing, now.”
Clenching his teeth to keep himself in check, Jubal glared at Sefe. At least he’d separated Eily from the others. They’d hand over the two men and be done.
“Leave your goods,” Sefe pointed toward Pops. “My Shaman will see to the Knife while we’re gone.”
Jubal met Rodi’s gaze as he propped his pack against the stone wall. “I’ll be with him,” she said.
He nodded thanks. He didn’t want to think about the dead. He still had to think about the living. After touching his father’s face one last time, Jubal rose and joined the crowd clustering outside the cave mouth.
As they climbed the path out of the Taguan basin, he t
ook a lingering look down. Mothers stood with their arms around their children watching the excited hunters depart. Alone at the cave entrance, Ana stood with her chin high and haughty. What would she do if she knew her sister was near? That Eily could be in danger? If only he’d had a chance to tell her so she could be planning her escape.
He turned away and took the trail in long strides, ready for this ordeal to be over. Never deal in slaves. For any reason. Pops’s instructions had kept them alive on the trade routes for so many years. But the days of following his father across the Tox were over. He thought of Pops lying back in the cave, awaiting the Shaman’s Knife. He wished the old man had gotten a chance to meet Eily. Or at least hear about her.
Rann’s voice broke his reverie. “Through here.”
At least thirty men, several with guns, had accompanied them to this point, decorated in hunter beads and piercings. Sefe selected four of the largest men who stood close by. “The rest of you stay here.”
Jubal ducked through the foliage to where Pulo and Wint sat beneath their blanket. Rann pulled the cloth from them. Pulo squinted up. “Water?”
Jubal knelt to put his bota to the man’s lips. Pulo barely took a sip before his chin lolled back toward his chest. Wint hadn’t moved.
“What’s wrong with them?” Sefe’s brows knit with disgust.
“The sunstorm yesterday weakened them. They’ll recover,” Jubal said. Eily had assured him they would. He prodded Wint. The Flame Runna didn’t respond. He pulled out his knife and cut the bonds, freeing the man’s limbs. Wint slumped to the ground.
“He’s dead,” said a warrior whose head had been shaved to imitate his king.
Sefe stood over the prone form. “Check for his breath.”
Jubal felt at Wint’s nose. The air moved faintly. He let out a whoosh of air, realizing he’d been holding it. “He’s alive.” He turned to Rann. “The pills Eily gave him. Where are they?”
Rann squatted by Pulo and shoved a hand into the man’s pockets. He pulled out the small box and opened it.