Raven's Wings

by Colin Lindsay

  The door behind her opened, and Rat stepped into the ring. She braced herself for the worse, but he only spun her by the shoulders and guided her out of the room and back to Baron’s.

  Kala rolled over in her sleep and the ache in her left wrist woke her. She looked down to find both of her wrists bandaged. She’d hurt them pummeling Beryl and they still smarted. She touched her right wrist tentatively and it twigged that something was missing from around it, but she couldn’t recall what. She shifted positions to sit up and the pain in her ankle exploded, answering the question of whether she’d broken it.

  Baron walked in carrying a lightly smoking brazier. He looked up as he entered. “Good, you’re awake,” he observed and placed the brazier down gingerly under her cage. A strange, biting smoke wafting up. Baron held a handkerchief to his face and prodded the coals. The flames were too far below to cause her any harm, but the acrid smoke rose to envelop and choke her.

  He looked up at her as her vision began to blur. “Sweet dreams, Birdy,” he said, and the room started to swim. Shortly after, the screaming started. Kala couldn’t differentiate between the screams that filled her head, those that escaped her lips, and those that bombarded her. Soon the screams were drowned out by howling. Wolves surrounded her and nipped at her. She was torn apart again and again but never allowed to lose consciousness. She screamed until she was hoarse and eventually passed out.

  She awoke drenched in sweat and her filth. She retched, but her stomach was empty. She curled into a ball at the back of her cage.

  Baron walked in and was assaulted by the smell. He turned and left to fetch Marija, the house madam. Escorting her back, he gestured up at Kala. “Clean her up,” he said, holding his nose, and left the room.

  Marija motioned for a guard to lower her cage and unlock it. She reached a hand through the open door to Kala, who didn’t budge.

  “Help me with her,” Marija ordered the guard politely.

  He had to crawl into the cage to extract Kala. He pulled her out, thoroughly disgusted, and lifted her to her feet. She stood unsteadily, without comprehension.

  Marija slid an arm around her waist, relieving the man. “I’ve got her,” she told him. “Clean the cage.”

  The man hesitated briefly at the repugnance of the task, but if Baron had ordered Marija, and she had ordered him, he couldn’t very well refuse. He left in search of a bucket of water and rags while Marija guided Kala to the showers.

  There were three working girls at the showers getting dressed. They noticed Marija enter, and a dark-haired girl with a scar across her cheek leaped up to help. She took ahold of Kala’s other side and told Marija, “We’ve got her if you want to come back for her later.”

  “Thank you, yes,” she agreed and transferred Kala’s weight to the girl. “Have her clothes laundered,” she added as she walked out.

  The two other girls began undressing Kala while the dark-haired girl held her up as she stood limp and unaware.

  The girl shuffled her into the showers and reached back to turn on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was warm. She pulled Kala under the stream of water, despite being half-clothed herself, and her friends began washing and detangling Kala’s hair.

  The girl found it easier to hold Kala in a hug. She said into Kala’s ear, “You’ve got to hang on. Find somewhere deep inside where no one can reach you, and hang on.”

  “You’re wasting your breath,” her friend told her kindly, “she’s already gone.”

  “No one is fully gone,” the girl muttered.

  Deep down, some part of Kala registered. I’m not gone.

  17

  Kala

  Kala awoke, curled against the bars of her cage. She peered through them into the dimly lit room. Her gaze turned to the rusty bars. She used a fingernail to pry off a flake of rust, then another, and another. She stared at them, and their shapes reminded her vaguely of people.

  This one’s a girl, she decided, moving it carefully aside. She moved two more beside it. And this is her family. They love her, and she loves them. She moved three more flakes. She has friends. She examined the remaining flakes and selected the best one, which she moved gingerly over. There’s a boy. He loves her too. They’re going to get married. Her friends are excited for her.

  She lay there, making up stories until Baron entered the hall and, spying her, announced, “It’s time for you to learn to be useful, little bird.” He conferred with Rat while she carefully moved her rust-flakes safely aside.

  Rat lowered her cage and gestured for her to get out of it. She shook her head and shifted to the back of it.

  “You’re trying my patience,” he said. “Get out here, or I’ll make you pray for Thane’s attention.” It was the first she’d heard his voice, and its timber was surprisingly pleasant. For that reason alone, she crawled out of her cage and stood in front of him, regarding him quizzically. She’d never thought of him as a person before, just a part of her cycle of suffering.

  He drew back to punch her face. She leaned forward and closed her eyes.

  “No,” he barked. “Defend yourself.”

  She stood there, trying to remember how or why she would.

  Rat snorted in disgust. He lifted her arms and arranged them into a defensive position. He swung his right fist at her with exaggerated slowness and used his left hand to guide her to deflect his blow. He repeated this two or three times, then placed her arms back in a defensive position, drew back, and punched her full in the face with such speed and force that she staggered backward, blood streaming from her nose and down her face. The blow cleared the cobwebs from her mind.

  He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, straightened her, raised her arms again, and stepped back.

  “Again,” was all he said and struck her. She tried to deflect him this time, but he was so fast that she was only able to soften the blow slightly. She wiped the blood off her face and onto her sleeve then settled back into a defensive stance.

  The corners of Rat’s mouth twitched up. “Again,” he said, and again he struck her.

  Kala awoke with her face pressed against the damp metal of the cage floor. It wasn’t uncommon for her to wake in a pool of her blood, but the metallic smell was off. She raised her head and looked around. Her cage was damp with water from having been scrubbed clean. She searched anxiously for her collection of rust flakes and despaired when she couldn’t find them. She spied a boy mopping the floor below, and she glared at him with murderous intent.

  Baron walked in with Thane and his crew. “Ready for some more fun?” he asked and motioned to one of the men to lower her cage. Thane pulled her out, and she faked docility. Once on her feet, she twisted from his grip and ran at the boy with the mop.

  Rat threw a dagger at her back, and anticipating it, she spun mid-stride, snatched it from the air, and turned back to the terrified boy. Rat had anticipated that and had already loosed a second dagger, which struck her by the pommel in the back of the head. She sprawled on the ground as the cleaning boy fled the room.

  Thane hauled her to her feet and slapped her hard, while Rat recovered his daggers and returned them to their sheaths.

  “Control her better,” Baron ordered Rat, “or you can join her in that gods-damn cage.”

  Rat grasped her upper arm firmly, but not roughly, just tightly enough to indicate that he would not tolerate any misbehavior. She was once again led to the pit in which she’d faced the drug addict, Chantal, and the piece of work that was, or had been, Beryl.

  The room was as it had been, save for a small, red wooden chair against the wall, which she stared at uncertainly.

  Baron appeared in the gallery and waved at the chair. “Nothing but the best for my Birdy,” he said.

  Kala took that as her cue and limped toward the chair, sitting down gingerly, and waiting.

  She didn’t have long to wait before the door that she was facing opened, and two confused-looking thugs entered the ring. They took in their surroundings, in
cluding Kala. She simply looked at them impassively.

  Baron once again cleared his voice to signal the crowd that the spectacle was beginning. “Lads,” he began, addressing the young men in the ring with Kala. “It seems you’ve been selling kor on my turf. This displeases me greatly.”

  The two men looked nervous.

  “But, I’m feeling charitable. I’m willing to allow you two to walk out of here, if…” he paused for dramatic effect. “If you can get through her,” he said, gesturing to Kala.

  The two men looked at her, then at each other in disbelief, then back at Baron.

  “Don’t look at me,” Baron said. “I’m betting on her.”

  The men turned uncertainly to face Kala and drew knives from beneath their tunics.

  “Oh, my. Perhaps I should have disarmed you,” Baron chuckled. “Oh well, what’s done is done.”

  The crowd complained that this upset the odds and bets were adjusted.

  The two men spread out and advanced toward her from opposing sides. She sat patiently, biding her time. The man on her left stepped forward and stabbed at her. She whipped the chair out from under her and smashed it into his face in one fluid motion. She spun with the remains of the chair still in her hands and drove two stakes into the chest of the second man, who stood startled until he crumpled. Kala stood over their bodies, snarling, and the room went silent.

  “Well, that was anticlimactic,” Baron complained and collected coins from several men around him. Stuffing them into his pockets, he turned to address the crowd. “Let’s change things up a bit,” he suggested cryptically.

  The door opposite Kala opened, and men entered to remove the bodies, the first of which was merely unconscious until a knife was driven into his heart. His body thrashed briefly, then stilled, and the bodies were dragged out. A third man entered, carrying a small table, and placed it against the wall. He laid two maces on it and left. Kala looked at the maces from where she stood but didn’t approach the table.

  The door opened again, and a nondescript-looking man was shoved in. Kala wondered what infraction had led him to this hell. He stepped into the center of the room, confused and recoiled when he saw the maces.

  “Hi, Colm,” Baron greeted him.

  The man looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

  “Bit of a run of bad luck at the tables,” Baron reminded him. “It seems you’ve accrued quite a debt. But that’s okay – I’ve come up with a way for you to clear it. You just have to participate in a little entertaining combat, and if you best my little Birdy here, we’ll call it even. What do you say?”

  The man looked uncertainly from the maces to Kala and back to Baron.

  “Oh,” Baron added, “and by ‘best,’ I mean that only one of you walks out of here.” He leaned back to let the man consider the stakes.

  The man looked long and hard at Kala. “I won’t do it,” he decided. “I have nothing against this woman.”

  “How noble,” Baron said sarcastically. “I thought you might need a little more incentive,” he said, and turned to call over his shoulder, “Thane, bring in Colm’s daughter.”

  The man looked aghast as Thane dragged a girl of seven or eight years forward.

  “Daddy,” she cried to her father, “help me!”

  “Baby girl,” he replied, his heart imploding in front of everyone. “It’ll be all right. Just wait for me there. I’ll come get you.” He turned uncertainly toward Kala and looked again at the maces.

  Kala made no move. She just shook her head. “He’ll never release you,” she told him.

  “I know,” he replied, “but what choice do I have?”

  “You’re a fool, but I understand,” Kala replied and stood her ground, regarding him with pity.

  He walked to the table, picked up a mace, and held it like it burned his hand. He turned to his daughter. “Close your eyes, honey,” he called up to her and turned to face Kala. She made no move to acquire a mace of her own – she just watched him.

  He lifted the mace awkwardly and advanced, swinging it. She ducked under it and struck his elbow, making him drop the mace. He picked it up hurriedly and turned to face her again. He lifted it, winced at the pain, and advanced on her again. He swung it, and she sidestepped the blow, punching him hard in the kidneys. He lurched forward, and she kicked hard at the side of his knee, which bent unnaturally, and he collapsed to the ground. He tried to rise but couldn’t.

  “Stay down,” she ordered him.

  Realizing he’d lost, he dropped the mace and began to cry. He looked up at his daughter. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry.”

  Baron turned to Thane, “Take the girl to Marija – perhaps she can help Colm to pay his debt.”

  Kala looked numbly up at Baron, realizing that she’d fully given her soul to the devil, and there was nothing left of it.

  The door opened, and Rat entered to collect her.

  Kala was awakened by the movement of her cage as it was lowered to the ground. Baron got off his throne and left the room with parting words to Rat, “The girl’s got a gift… make her a weapon!”

  Rat opened the cage door and ushered her out. She emerged and glanced across the room at the frightened cleaning boy, clearly ordered to be present to test her.

  “Play nice,” Rat ordered, and she returned her gaze to him. He pulled two batons from behind his back and tossed her one. He demonstrated the proper stance and how to hold it like a surrogate sword. He whacked her whenever she failed to live up to his exacting standards. She learned sword work quickly, despite her growing collection of bruises. She had a tactical advantage in that she seemed to disregard pain. She’d allow Rat to hit her if it provided her with an opening to strike him back.

  Rat would exclaim, “If these were swords, you’d already be dead, you idiot.”

  “They’re sticks,” she’d reply.

  Because she showed no apparent inclination toward self-preservation, Rat progressed to blades in short order. Kala immediately shifted tactics. It threw him off guard, but at least confirmed that she was neither suicidal nor an idiot. Her skill increased rapidly with each lesson.

  Kala awoke one morning to the cold stone floor pressing against her cheek. She scanned the room urgently for her cage, but couldn’t see it anywhere. She felt exposed and vulnerable and backed against the wall. Looking upwards, she spotted the rafters, which seemed safer than the ground for a reason that she couldn’t fathom.

  She tugged on a tapestry to confirm that the rail to which it was mounted was securely fastened to the wall. Grabbing ahold of its edge, she pulled herself up it to the rail. She swung onto it, steadied herself, and leaped for the rafters. She caught one and hauled herself up into the dark recesses of the ceiling. She found a connection between the beams and rafters that afforded her more room for a perch and perch she did.

  Baron entered the room, glanced about angrily, then stormed out. He returned with Rat, Thane, and several other men. The men moved off down different corridors while Baron paced around the room. Rat just sat down in the center of the room and looked around. Completing this, he looked up and scanned the ceiling. Spotting Kala, he got up, walked to Baron, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to her.

  “For the gods’ sake,” Baron exclaimed, “Get down here this instant.”

  Kala looked about for her cage and failing to spot it, shook her head.

  “Get down here right now, or so help the gods, Rat will use you for target practice.”

  Kala leaned further back behind a rafter. Baron was beside himself with rage. He snarled, and Kala flinched.

  “Do you like your nest, little Birdy?” he asked, taking a different tack.

  Kala nodded cautiously.

  “If I told you that you could make yourself a nest up there if you like, would you come down to work with Rat?”

  Kala spent a moment considering Baron’s proposition, but when he snarled again, she winced, nodded, and reluctantly retraced her path to the ground. He stormed off
to call off the search.

  Over the days that followed, Kala padded her nest with whatever was left out that caught her eye, like a magpie, and soon had a veritable arsenal stored in the rafters. She stole a mirror from Marija that she pulled out when she was alone, trying to puzzle out the girl in it. Was there still good in her or should she do the world a favor and end her? No matter how intently she stared, no answers came, and she found it easier to stop asking the questions. She returned the mirror.

  Kala’s training continued, and after she’d worked with bladed weapons for a while, it seemed pointless to withhold her possessions, so one day she found her pack returned to her. She scampered up to her nest to search through it and found its contents intact. It occurred to vaguely that something was missing but couldn’t recall that it was her journal.

  She found a small packet of flower seeds in her pack and planted them in pots that she procured when everyone was sleeping. Her new hobby unsettled the men of Baron’s keep almost as much as her sleeping in the rafters. She’d break off from a bloody sparring match with Rat, wander over to water her precious flowers, then return to combat.

  Kala received lessons in camouflage and make-up from Marija. She took to the camouflage more than the make-up and took great pleasure in a game of sneaking up on Rat before each of their lessons. She’d wear black from head to toe and drop from the rafters on him. It usually ended with him startled and her nursing a split lip, but every cut was a victory.