by Jess Corban
In another flash of anger, he slams his fist against the table. “I should have done something!”
I know a thing or two of regret. Of wishing you could go back and act before tragedy takes what you love.
“Now you can,” I say, drawing from some reserve of strength I thought had completely drained through the cracks in my heart. “You can’t change what happened, but you can change what will. Teera knows you’re out here somewhere, and she’s furious. She has sworn to dedicate every resource to finding you, which means you’ll have Alexia crawling through the Jungle before long.”
The grit in Torvus’s voice returns, commanding. “How long?”
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe weeks, maybe days.”
Jase silently ticks off calculations on his fingers. “We’ve got twenty-two old enough to fight. Some of the younger boys could be useful too. We could shelter the cubs in one of the hunting camps farther in.”
Torvus shakes his head. “Too remote. And we’d need weeks to make them suitable for the cubs.”
“If we keep them here, it will require more men to guard them, leaving fewer to fight.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“What about Dáin?” I ask. As much as I despise him, one of the reasons I let him go was to utilize his resources. “He has men, doesn’t he?”
Jase looks to Torvus.
The older Brute fixes him with a hard stare. “No.”
Jase presses. “Maybe we should recon—”
“I said no!” He slashes an arm through the air, batting the offensive idea against the wall.
Jase doesn’t press his luck. Knowing he won’t change Torvus’s mind on the matter, he turns to me. “The Alexia—what are their weaknesses?”
“The Alexia aren’t weak. And depending how many Teera sends, they could outnumber you a hundred to one. But . . . as far as I know, they have little idea what lies beyond the border. If they knew your location, they would have reached you by now. The terrain might be your best ally. If you could keep them from getting close . . .”
Torvus interrupts, “Hiding isn’t enough. We have to end this.”
“What do you mean, end?” I ask skeptically.
“I mean end. The Matriarchy has stolen from us long enough.”
A cloud passes over the sun, plunging us in momentary shadow, though I doubt that’s why a shiver runs down my spine.
“End the Matriarchy?”
I have witnessed enough of a Gentle’s pathetic life to want to change their circumstances. And I admit, these Brutes have surprised me enough to make me question what great deficit warranted their alteration. But to end the Matriarchy—to destroy the only system I’ve known, everything safe—sounds sudden and drastic. I stare at the moody leader’s breadth and unpredictability with sudden panic. I will not be able to control them. What havoc will be unleashed if they leave this Jungle?
Or maybe such talk only sparks fear because of the volatile Brute making the plans. Would I feel the same if it were my idea?
The fire in Torvus’s eyes intensifies, but his voice remains cooly even. “We’ll kill Teera, and anyone else who thinks they have the right to tell us we can’t be men.”
My gaze darts from Torvus to Jase, who looks like a pebble stuck between two stones.
“Is that what you think too?” I ask him.
He fidgets with his thumb. “I doubt the Matriarch is gonna welcome us with open arms, Rei.”
He’s right about that—she’ll kill them without remorse. I have no doubt.
“I know things have to change in Nedé. I came back here not just because I promised Mother to bring the baby, but because I want to make things better for the Gentles too. But kill Teera? Then what? You’ll single-handedly murder her Apprentice and a thousand Alexia so you can take over? How convenient. You know what? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you really are the monsters I was taught you are.” I back toward the door, shocked by the brazen volume of my own tirade.
Jase tries to soothe, “Reina, please.”
I have a sudden urge to run from this house and never return. But where would I go? What do I have left in Nedé? Treowe is gone. Callisto is gone. Mother is gone. Teera can’t be trusted, Jamara wants to kill me, and after reading Tristan’s journal, I don’t know what to make of anything anymore. I’m here because I know something needs to change. I’m just not certain how to go about it.
“Don’t baby her,” Torvus scolds. “What do you propose, then? You want to ‘make things better’ for the Gutless? How? By postponing Initus a year? Offering the stinger to toddlers? The only thing worth giving them is their right to be men!” His face is red with passion, the intensity overwhelming. Nonsensically, I feel the urge to cry. No, I won’t let his anger make me fragile.
I fire back, “You said to take a life out of fear would make you no different from us, remember?”
Torvus is undeterred. “This isn’t about fear—it’s about justice. Enough is enough.”
Jase tries to break the tension. “I wish there were another way too. But . . . sometimes people have to get hurt so the right thing can happen.”
I hate those words, the mantra Dáin cited as his reason for the raids. But somehow they sound different coming from Jase.
Of all the Brutes in Tree Camp, I realize, he’s the one I trust most. He’s warm and kind, has proven he cares about me, and . . . is the most like Mother. I take a step toward her child and hold his familiar, blue-green eyes with my gaze. For a moment I see Treowe in them, and I remember: I killed him. I took his life to give life to others. If honoring his death costs one more, it’s a price I’m willing to pay. It’s nothing the Matriarch herself wouldn’t do.
My voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Is it the only way?”
He squeezes my shoulder gently.
I swallow the bitter fear burning my throat and hope I’m not played for a fool.
Turning to Torvus, I say, “I’ll help you find Teera, as long as you promise not to hurt innocent Nedéans.”
The hulking leader considers my offer the way he appraises me: silently and suspiciously. Eventually he steps forward and grasps my forearm, sealing our agreement.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TIMID TONGUES OF RED AND orange flames lick across the center of the fire ring by the time we leave Torvus’s house, the small beginnings of the blaze to come. A few Brutes prepare, carrying bundles of wood, filling jugs, securing skinned animals to spits. As twilight settles over camp, the smell of smoke and the promise of a good meal momentarily replace the anxious knot in my stomach with cautious anticipation.
Jase leads me to the wooden dais on one end of the ring. “Wait here while I get the others.”
“Without you?”
He chuckles. “You just went toe-to-toe with Torvus, and you’re afraid of them?” He thrusts a thumb toward the milling Brutes. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
I watch him walk away. I’ve always had Jase or Rohan with me around camp. I suppose he’s right—what would these younger Brutes be able to do to me? Still, as I lean against the edge of the platform, my fingers run absentmindedly over the bone handle of Rohan’s knife. I don’t know enough of these Brutes to feel at ease around them.
I take stock of my surroundings, noting their positions. Apart from a few glances my way, they keep to their tasks. Still, their presence makes me a bit edgy.
A few minutes later, a rustle in a nearby bush catches my attention. Three cubs, no taller than my waist, crouch in the dense branches, arguing with each other. I only catch bits.
“. . . a she.”
“Why . . . ?”
“. . . here before.”
“. . . a spy!”
“I dare you, Pip,” one challenges, loud enough for me to hear clearly.
Next thing I know, a tiny warrior emerges from the bush, sprinting as fast as he can, straight for me, arm raised, clenching a long, thin object.
Before he can strike, I grab h
is wrist and twist his arm behind his back. The object falls to the forest floor. He’s strong for someone so small, but my size affords an obvious advantage. I immobilize his neck with my other arm. In no time, I’ve eliminated the threat. Adoni would be proud.
But when I get a good look at the object in the dirt, I see it’s only a stick. Hardly dangerous.
I spin the one they called Pip to face me, holding his arms tight against his sides. “What were you trying to do?” I ask, stern as Marsa when she’s fed up with me and Ciela. “Stop squirming and look at me.”
Pip’s eyes grow wide as he obeys, the whites shining bright even in the dimming light. The rest of him is one solid shade of clay, from his hair to his skinny legs. He looks scared as a curassow in the kitchen.
“He dared me.”
“Dared you to what?”
“To touch you. Please don’t tell Jase.”
I drop his arms, embarrassment warming my cheeks. I just apprehended a child for playing a game. Way to overreact, Rei.
“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” I say, trying to soften my glare. “But the next time you run at an Alexia, she might not be so forgiving.”
As he races back to the bushes, I hope he takes the warning to heart.
“Tell me what?” Jase says, coming from behind with the remaining Nedéans in tow.
“Oh, nothing,” I say loudly enough for the cubs in the bushes to hear, glancing their way. At least I hope Pip’s friends respect his bravery. He deserves that reward after what I put him through.
We take seats on a log adjacent to the dais, Bri sandwiched between me and Jase, Neechi and Jonalyn to my right. As night firms her grip on the land beneath the trees, curious flames continue to spread outward, setting multiple bundles of wood ablaze, until the whole ring burns with a beautiful, dangerous glow. Brutes stream in from the surrounding forest and thatched-roof buildings. They find seats on boulders, logs, and low-slung tree branches, some jawing, most rather somber. I suppose our presence affects the mood.
I try not to watch for a particular Brute, but I notice Rohan’s arrival all the same. His skin absorbs the warmth of the firelight, his hair hanging in wet, dark waves over his ears. That strange flutter returns. Perhaps it was better when he was filthy.
I force my attention toward the other figures joining the clearing, watching them carefully as they approach—some tall and thick, others lean and wiry, all distinctly Brute. They’re full of a peculiar energy, like fast-moving water or compressed coils, ready to spring.
I steal a glance at Neechi beside me. I’ve never noticed just how low a Gentle’s shoulders naturally sag. The shadowy light deepens dark rings under his eyes, and he fidgets with a corner of his shirt. Still, he follows the Brutes’ movements with marked curiosity.
“You okay?”
It takes him a moment to register I’ve spoken, another to process my question. Finally, he answers, “At the Finca, I heard stories. Some gossiped of creatures more like us than women. I didn’t believe them.”
I sympathize with his shock, though I don’t know what to say.
“What are they, Dom Reina?”
I consider how to answer. I could lie, but for what purpose? To spare his feelings? If we go through with our plan, he’ll find out eventually. Besides, he tested his body and risked his safety to follow me here. He deserves the truth, no matter how painful.
“They are what you should have been.”
Our eyes meet. I know I have to tell him the whole truth.
As I explain the general facts of the vaccine, understanding spreads across his face, but not sadness. To be told you’ve spent your life as a sickly shell of what you might have been—well, I expected indignation, injury, even bitterness. Instead he just nods, slowly processing the information in his gentled brain.
“I’m sorry, Neechi. On behalf of all of Nedé, I’m sorry.”
His gaze sweeps the circle of Brutes, his expression impossible to read. Finally he says, “No need to be sorry, Dom Reina. A dog can hardly imagine being a coyote.”
He says it so plainly, so free from longing or deprivation, I have to fight back the emotions bubbling up on his behalf.
Suddenly Torvus is taking the platform and calling for silence. I shake away the longing to comfort Neechi, forced to give the Brute leader my undivided attention.
Balancing his weight equally over a wide stance, Torvus seems in no hurry to begin. Our Politikós could learn something of commanding an audience from his confident ease.
“As you see,” he finally begins, standing in front of his chair on the platform, “the Nedéan has returned. She warns of coming danger.”
In a strange déjà vu, I’m swept back to the last time Torvus talked about me at a fire meeting. Dáin interrupted with plans of his own. So as Torvus explains that they shouldn’t be alarmed by our presence, I subconsciously scan the perimeter for a cruel, freckled face.
“What about the cubs?” someone asks. I recognize the speaker as Ori, the Brute who was caring for Jonalyn’s baby earlier.
“We mean to deal with the Matriarch before she has a chance to find us. Nevertheless, the fourteen cubs and the youngest boys will remain guarded here. Six men travel with me: Jase, Rohan, Galion, Dantès, Théo, and Jem. The rest of you will be assigned to scout, man traps, stand watch, and continue the normal duties.”
“What about the Nedéan?” another Brute asks.
“She has agreed to lead us to our target.”
Bri’s knee bounces agitatedly; she strains at her bonds, as if testing their strength.
“They promised not to hurt anyone else,” I whisper, defending myself.
“Oh? Perfect,” she seethes. “’Cause we have a long history together to ensure they’ll keep a promise.”
I don’t realize until it’s too late that she has managed to slip a hand free. Quick as a tail twitch, she jumps up, steals a blade slung across Jase’s back, and sprints toward the woods.
Jase meets my gaze for only a millisecond before taking after her, drawing a weapon from his thigh as he runs. I scramble behind, sidestepping trees and dodging limbs.
Stupid Bri! What will Jase do when he catches her? What will the others do? She might be as good as dead.
Realizing she won’t outrun her pursuer, the brazen Alexia soon turns on her heel and slashes. Jase meets the blow with his shorter blade. The clank of bone on bone rings hollow compared to the metal Alexia weapons we’re used to, but the sharp edges will cut through skin just as surely.
“Bri, stop!” I scream. “Jase!” Neither of them slow.
Bri thrusts viciously, her panicked movements consistent with fear. The Brute meets each thrust, protecting his body from her blows. I’m not an expert in a Brute’s abilities, but it seems to me he’s holding back, choosing the defensive when he could attack. Why?
Bri’s confidence grows, making her sloppy. When she overextends, he shows his real strength, chopping at her weapon so hard he knocks it clean from her hand. Before she can reach for it, he pushes her hard into a broad tree trunk. He grips her arm with one hand; the other presses the flat of his blade to her throat. She freezes, no doubt expecting the death blow she would have certainly dealt him.
“Get it over with,” she barks, fear and defeat mingling with her usual sharp tone, sweat beading on her forehead. Jase presses more firmly; he could take her life with a quick slice.
His chest heaves, and he holds her gaze with burning intensity. Without moving the blade, he asks, “Why are you so afraid of us?”
“Because . . . you’re Brutes!” she sputters, like it’s obvious.
“And what of it? What have we done to you?”
She doesn’t think before hurling back, “You hurt women!”
“Oh, and you’ve never hurt us? What do you call that Gutless you brought with you?”
I’ve never heard Jase so forceful. Then again, Bri brings out the worst in most of us.
“What about the attacks?” she spits back.
“I saw one myself.”
Jase leans forward, their faces now centimeters apart. “What Dáin did is inexcusable, but a man can only take so much.” He suddenly steps back and lowers the blade, control returning to his voice. “We’re not asking for anything that isn’t rightly ours.”
She stares at his lowered weapon, relief and confusion warring with pride.
“And the Matriarch is yours to take?” Her tone remains hot, but some of the fire in it has withdrawn, mirroring his blade.
“Teera plans to kill them all,” I interject. “Every last one. How is that fair—to punish some for the crimes of others? These Brutes didn’t attack Nedé. Shouldn’t they have a right to defend themselves?”
Bri doesn’t take her eyes from Jase. “That depends.” She moves toward him, so close their noses might touch if she were taller. “You haven’t struck yet, but would you, Brute?”
He doesn’t answer. His broad frame stands unmoving; his eyes hold hers, unblinking.
Without breaking his gaze, she stomps on his foot with the heel of her riding boot and grinds it back and forth for good measure. Her body tenses, ready for a fight.
His brow furrows, but he doesn’t strike—doesn’t even twitch. If I were in his shoes, I’d deck her. Twice. That’s obviously what she’s aiming for—and probably deserves. Instead he remains still as a stone carving.
Jase controls his body with impressive restraint. If she’s looking for proof they’re not all animals, that they possess self-control, surely she has it. I can’t say I’m not grateful to see proof of it myself.
“Fine,” she concedes reluctantly. “I’ll stay for now. But if they murder us in our sleep, Rei, I’ll track your butt down in the afterlife and kill you again.”
She bumps into my shoulder on her way toward the fire ring.