Overpowered

by Kathryn McConaughy

  “What service are you offering?” Thorn asked. The stranger squeaked; there was a flurry of movement, then stillness. He must not have seen Thorn as he came up.

  “Silver for a task that will not weary you, my lords. Word has reached me that a young woman is in your company.”

  Snow went still. Vine, she thought. He told someone. He was unpleasant and reckless, but somehow she’d thought he would keep her secret.

  She could edge around the cistern, crawl through the grass—perhaps she could escape before she was seen. Or she could just get up and run. She was almost sure that she was faster than any of the warband.

  “A woman? And what is she to you?” Willow asked patronizingly.

  “She is my wife’s cousin, my lords,” said the stranger, with a sigh. “She was dishonored, and ran from home; a foolish thing, but what can one expect of a woman? Still, my wife would welcome her in our house, as we have many children.”

  “Truly, he who is generous to the poor will reap his reward.” That was Willow.

  “In truth, I would pay for her safe return.” There was the noise of metal shaken in a bag, then coins poured out on a hard surface.

  “Your wife is desperate for help,” Thorn said dryly. “She must be a harridan—drove off all her other relations, did she?”

  Who is this man, and why is he looking for me? Snow shifted slowly around the cistern. He’s no relative of mine. Cypress’ band didn’t know she was a woman—that would slow them down. But if this stranger gave any description, they would realize it was her—Thorn and Cypress were too clever not to realize her deception.

  Yotam. Yotam was clever, but she didn’t think he would hand her over for money. He was supposed to be watching the road to Shilo; would he help her if she found him?

  “That’s a nice bag o’ silver. But there’s no woman here,” Cedar said at last.

  “Not to offend—but she might be dressed as a boy, my lords,” the stranger tried. “Dark haired, slender—”

  “Do you take us for fools?” Thorn snarled. “You think we wouldn’t know if there was a woman here? Leave.”

  “But my silver!”

  “Rejoice that we’re letting you keep your life. What did you expect, dog? We’re blood criminals.” Snow could hear Thorn gathering the silver coin.

  “My lords—”

  “Go!” Cedar bellowed.

  There was a sound of feet retreating.

  Snow, lying on her belly in the grass beyond the cistern, tried to remember how to breathe. Her kidneys were still fluttering like a bird in a snare.

  She lunged up, knife in her hand, when Thorn suddenly appeared beside her. “What were you doing, sleeping?” he snapped. “Useless! Come along.” Ignoring the knife, he gave her a shove toward the eastern hill. “We’ll see if Fig can keep you working.” He marched her rapidly toward the faint trail Fig had taken earlier that day.

  Snow was surprised by the push, but glad enough to leave the camp. That stranger might come back. “I can go by myself,” she said, trying to sound like a sulky boy woken from a nap. And once I’m out of sight, I can run. Leave the band. It would be the safest thing to do, now that someone—who?—knew where she was.

  “So you can lie down and sleep? I’ll bring you to him,” Thorn grunted.

  **

  Azri kept going, walking fast, until two battered mercenaries fell in on either side of him. “No one’s behind you,” one grunted, eying him with wary contempt. Azri suppressed an ingratiating smile. He was supposed to be the head of this raid, after all.

  They waited on a hilltop while the sun went across the skies. One of the mercenaries kicked over a small standing stone, grinning as it rolled down the hill. Long after Azri had begun to wish they had chosen a shaded meeting place he saw a third mercenary making his way toward them.

  “Old Thorn fished a skinny youth out of the grass and took him away from their camp,” the third man reported. There were burrs all over his back; he tugged at them gingerly as he talked. “They went up along the ridge as far as the Koshib spring. Met another of Cypress’ men there.”

  “Thorn’s still there?” asked one of the other mercenaries warily.

  “No, he returned to the main camp.”

  “A skinny youth,” Azri smiled. “That must be the girl. Take us to the Koshib spring. We’ll seize her tonight!”

  The mercenaries looked disdainfully at him; but since this was the most obvious plan, they made no complaint.

  **

  If Thorn had wanted Snow to work, bringing her out here hadn’t been the way to achieve it. Even though Thorn had pulled Fig aside as soon as they arrived—presumably to complain about her—Fig had nothing for her to do.

  “These vines are in poor shape,” he’d told her, as he cut off a twig here and tied up a vine there. Though he still moved stiffly from his injuries in the battle at Qir Qatina, he worked with as much thoroughness and care as ever. “It seems good to me to do this myself. Why don’t you find something for us to eat.” But when she headed over the hill to see if she could find a game trail on which to set her snares he called her back. “Stay where I can see you! I might want you for something.”

  What did Thorn say to him? Snow wondered. Fig couldn’t possibly know that she was thinking about running away. Would he care if he did know? He’d always been kind to her, but could they truly be friends when she was keeping such a secret from him?

  They camped that night under the arbor he was building. Snow lay and watched a cluster of green grapes bobbing in the faint breeze. The smell of grape leaves lay over her like a cloud, making her sneeze.

  Whose vines had these been? She hadn’t seen a house anywhere nearby.

  Snow didn’t expect to be able to sleep with the memory of the silver-offering man in her heart, but she drifted off, only to wake with a jerk when she heard Fig stand.

  “I heard something,” he whispered, catching a glimpse of her open eyes. “Stay here.”

  Heard something? There were any number of night creatures that could have made a noise. Perhaps he meant that one of her close-in snares had caught something—but surely he would send her to check them? She rose to a crouch, watching him dart into shadow. He had his knife in his hand.

  No sooner had he disappeared than she decided that she should have gone with him. Too late now. But if Fig were alarmed, she should be too. She pulled out her own knife—a long one plundered after the battle at Qir Qatina—and squeezed as far back under the waterfall of vines as she could. No one could see her under here—but if anyone had been watching them, they would already know where Fig and Snow had been sleeping.

  Long moments passed. The Lion Star and the Manacles shone steadily overhead.

  Snow took slow breaths and tried not to worry. Both she and Fig had survived a battle; why should she be afraid now? Overpowerer, are you still watching? Perhaps it was only Yotam that he guarded.

  “Pssst,” came a hiss. Snow twitched as she felt a fingernail tap her calf. “This way.”

  Fig? She tried to crane around, but the vines were in the way. She parted them carefully, following the hunched figure.

  Its arm crossed the moonlight, and Snow froze. Not Fig. Fig never had such hairy brown arms. And it was too small—even in the shadows, she could tell that its head would hardly reach her waist.

  It realized that she wasn’t following and turned, leaping back to her. It reached up to tug on her tunic. “Come! Hide!”

  The creature was covered in brown fur. Though it stood on its hind legs, its ears were folded over and high on its head, its nose broad like that of a hyrax. Long burrowing claws tipped its three fingers. It looked exactly like the one she had seen in her… dream.

  Snow shook away her surprise and followed, lips pressed tightly together. There wasn’t time to stare. In truth, a pazir. According to tale and chant they were clever and magical creatures. Years ago, the pazir had looked after the houses and gardens of the Gibe’anim and Amorrim and guarded their children
from more dangerous mist-dwellers. Yet with the coming of the Yeshurnim, who neither fed them nor feared them, the pazir were rumored to have left the sown land to live in ruins and empty places.

  Snow thought of Fig’s constant warnings about looking into the abandoned houses and wanted to tear her hair. He knew they were here. She had even seen their tracks. Why had she never realized?

  “Hurry!” the pazir insisted, pushing a boulder aside with unexpected strength. It squirmed into a dark hole in the hill. Gritting her teeth, Snow followed. Certainly no one would find her here.

  It was a tight squeeze in the dark, with dirt in her mouth and rocks tearing at her hips. Snow wriggled forward. She felt the prick of claws as the pazir tugged at her arms and resisted the urge to strike at it. More claws pricked from the rear, pushing.

  At last she reached a larger space. Small warm bodies huddled around her. “Shh!” one ordered as soon as she tried to talk.

  Dirt sifted down on her head, making her eyes water. Thump, thump, thump—someone was walking overhead.

  “Where is she? I thought you said old Thorn brought her out here?” growled someone directly above them.

  “You shouldn’t have hit that lad on the head,” complained another voice. “He’d have told us where she was.”

  “Why are you standing there? Keep looking!” shouted a new voice.

  Snow twitched. It was the voice of the man who’d tried to pay silver for her.

  “This was your plan,” one of the others answered gruffly. “You keep looking. Don’t know what the commander wants with a thin boy-looking girl anyway. There were plenty of women in Shilo.”

  “It’s nothing to you what he wants with her. Only that he does want her.”

  “It’s your head for the axe if you don’t find her, Azri—so find her!”

  “Shim is still looking,” the silver-man pointed out. “I’ll remember his faithfulness to my lord!”

  “Shim tripped and sprained his ankle. Says a hyrax jumped out at him. Come on, Shallum, let’s go.”

  The footsteps had long gone silent and Snow was reduced to holding her nose to keep from sneezing before the pazir began murmuring among themselves in a soft chirring language. She couldn’t understand a word, yet the sound was familiar.

  A new furry shape came down the tunnel and crawled over Snow’s legs. “Gone!”

  The pazir made a rush for the hole. In five heartbeats Snow was alone in the dark.

  It took her longer to get out than it had to get in. At last, with a twist and a push of her left foot, she managed to heave herself out onto the sparse grass. “Ayeh,” she breathed. The night air was so cool, the sky so bright.

  The pazir’s rescue had been as unexpected and unlikely as the flight of Abimalk’s men. Overpowerer, the rescue was yours. I hope you were guarding Fig too, she thought, and climbed to her feet.

  Fig wasn’t hard to find. He was sitting up in the middle of a group of muttering pazir with a clump of leaves held to the side of his head. As Snow approached, one of the pazir made a crooning noise, patting the side of Fig’s face. He squeaked back in the pazir language.

  “Fig?”

  He blinked up at her, his pupils uneven in the moonlight. “Ah, Snow.” He looked around at the pazir, who were staring as if they had never shared a hole with her. “Eh… you’re dreaming, and don’t really see them?”

  You won’t catch me that way a second time, she thought. “I see them.” Snow eyed him. There was a smear of blood on his cheek, the source probably under that leaf-clump. There was no more blood that she could see, and he was sitting up—so probably not badly hurt.

  She crossed her arms and frowned at him. “Does everyone in the band know about the pazir except me? You must have been talking to them all this time. That’s why you know every hidden place in the hills!”

  “I told Yotam. No one else.”

  “But not me? If I don’t take this out of your skin somehow,” she said threateningly. She didn’t blame him for telling Yotam; Yotam radiated trustworthiness as the sun radiated heat.

  He smiled ruefully. “But you won’t tell anyone else.” He seemed sure of it.

  “Thus,” she agreed.

  “Thus!” chorused the pazir, making her jump. Then they melted away into the dark.

  “Why are you so sure I won’t tell anyone?” Snow asked, as she supported Fig toward a stunted group of broom trees. They were not going under the arbor again.

  “I know that you can keep secrets,” he said.

  They went on a few more steps in silence. It was a waiting silence. Its pressure built on Snow’s skin until she said, “I wonder who those men were looking for.”

  Fig snorted. “Do you?” He paused. “Ayeh. Let’s go back to sleep. And if those men come back, they can attack me in my bedroll—I’m not getting up.”

  Tet.

  The Avenger of Blood received Azri coolly.

  Upon his return to the north, Zeb had found Abimalk encamped near the Refuge. The locals, wretched and fickle creatures that they were, had rejected his rule. Abimalk would not let this stand. How dared they?

  Abimalk’s men had broken through the wall of the Dawn the day before. The Avenger had taken over a large, pleasant house; its roof garden had been almost undisturbed in the attack. Now he sat in the shade of an awning and looked out over the city to the still-besieged fortress at its heart.

  He did not ask where the girl was. He did not ask anything.

  Azri began to talk just to fill that cold silence. He spoke of his encounter with Cypress’ band. Of how he had bravely tried to kidnap the woman, but because of his companions’ laziness had not succeeded. He talked and talked, and Zeb looked at the burning tower.

  “My lord, there was nothing more for me to do!” Azri cried at last.

  “Then you are of no more use to me, are you?” asked the Avenger.

  A few moments later, he opened the door of his new-claimed house and spoke to the guards outside. “Bring me the young man Vine, the one who came with Oyeb’s men from Qir Qatina.” He turned away, then turned back again. “And send someone to remove the body.”

  The Avenger did not trouble himself about what the guards would think. Azri was not the first incompetent fool that he had killed, and he would not be the last.

  **

  Snow wasn’t terribly surprised when Vine returned—thinner and more nervous, less cocky but more angry. He had an easy life with Cypress’ band, and he wasn’t the sort of man to give that up. Still, she wished he’d stayed away. The moment he walked into camp he looked for her, and he kept staring even as Cedar and Willow scolded him for running away.

  He knew her secret. Had he truly been the one to tell the silver-man about her? Who else could it have been?

  If he didn’t stop staring soon, everyone was going to guess her secret.

  “What have you been doing?” Fig asked Vine, with a disapproving look at his mismatched clothes. They were finer than the ones he had worn when he left, but they did not fit him.

  “What’s that to you?” Vine snapped, ruddy face ugly with anger. He pulled out a dagger and waved it under Fig’s nose. “Nothing you’d want to know about!”

  Yotam, coming smoothly up from behind the other young men, plucked the dagger out of Vine’s grip. “A fine weapon. Where did you get it?” he asked, inspecting the design worked on the pommel.

  “Nowhere!” Vine snatched it back and tucked it inside his tunic. He glared fiercely around at them all—with a particularly sour glance at Snow—then stomped away.

  I could leave, she reminded herself, then laughed silently. I keep telling myself that, but I never go. Why do I still feel safe here? That was a stupid question. She felt safe because of Yotam and because of Fig, and a bit because of Thorn. It was hard to make herself abandon that, even though she knew Vine could betray her with a word.

  **

  Cypress’ band spent the next day searching the hills. Someone from the village had told Fig about a lost
child, and although no one had come to hire them to look, the villagers would certainly be grateful if the child was found.

  Snow took the slopes toward the east, checking every hyrax hole and clump of bushes. She broke off a long stalk of darnel as she walked, then pulled up two more and braided them. I wonder how many of these hyrax burrows really belong to the pazir, she thought, bending down to peer into another hole.

  “Have you found him yet?” Vine sprang over a boulder to land beside her. He eyed the braided stalks. “Or are you too busy making flower crowns?”

  Flower crowns were things little girls made. Snow dropped the stems and ducked around him. “Didn’t Cypress send you west?”

  “If the child’s that far from the village it’s because a lion carried him off. I’m not going to walk to and fro seeking for his gnawed bones.” Vine balled his fists and kicked at a bellflower until its blue petals tore, then followed her down the hill.

  Having Vine so close behind her made Snow’s neck itch. She stopped and turned around. “Why don’t you go help Fig? He went that way.” She pointed northeast.

  “Why should I?” He shaded his eyes, then smiled charmingly. “If the child’s out here, I know where he must be. Come on! We can rescue him and divide the reward.” He reached out and took her hand.

  Snow twisted out of his grip, skipping out of reach. “Cypress assigned me my lot, and I’ll stay in it. You go.”

  “There’s a cool spring—don’t you want a drink?” he wheedled.

  Snow eyed him suspiciously. “I have my waterskin.”

  “Stale old water!” He snatched the bag from her belt and dumped it out on the ground. “And now you don’t have any! So come and see.”

  If one of the older men had been acting like this, Snow would have run away; but it was hard to be properly scared of Vine. He’s more annoying than dangerous, despite what he claims. “I’m not going with you. Either help me or go away.”

  “Why do you have to be so stiff-necked?” he shouted, his eyes darkening. “Why won’t you just do what I tell you?”