Overpowered

by Kathryn McConaughy

  Snow put a spiky bush between them and looked at him narrowly. “Vine, are you afraid of something?”

  The young man snarled and gave a little lunge, but stopped when he noticed the thorns.

  “Snow!” came a shout from Fig.

  Snow turned gratefully toward his voice. “Here I am!”

  Fig and Yotam were walking down the hillside, shoulder to shoulder. “Cedar found the child,” Yotam called when they were nearer. “So you can come back to camp.”

  “Why are you here?” Fig snapped at Vine, sounding angrier than Snow had ever heard him. “Cypress didn’t send you this way!”

  “I looked, the child wasn’t there,” Vine shrugged. “You two go back. Snow’s out of water; I’m taking her to the spring.”

  Snow glanced at him, appalled. Had he just said “her”? Had they noticed? Should she act angry? If they hadn’t noticed, mentioning it would be a mistake.

  Fig hit Vine in the stomach. One moment Vine was upright and sneering, the next he was bent over with a shocked look on his face. “Don’t insult the lad,” Fig said in a tight voice. He turned his back on the gasping youth. “Let’s go back.”

  Yotam matched Snow step for step as they headed back to camp, with Fig trotting just behind them. Snow could hear Vine wheezing in the rear.

  Snow found Yotam’s calm both reassuring and strange. “Is Fig well?” she asked quietly.

  “Thus,” Yotam told her. He looked sidelong at her. “I think you should be wary of Vine.”

  Snow glanced at him skeptically; her cheeks warmed when he favored her with a lopsided smile. “A frightened donkey is more dangerous than a happy lion,” he tried.

  “Did you just make that up? Because a donkey is more dangerous than many creatures.”

  “But you understand me? A trapped animal is dangerous.”

  “Vine isn’t trapped. He does whatever his heart pleases.”

  Yotam made a dissatisfied sound and tapped her shoulder with a long brown finger. “Snow. Trust me. Please be careful.” His eyes were serious.

  She frowned back at him. “If it seems good to you, thus.”

  “Good!” said Fig. Snow twitched—she’d almost forgotten he was there.

  **

  From time to time, as the Sabbaths went by and the villagers harvested their grapes and pomegranates, a ragged mercenary would appear at the camp, bringing news of Abimalk’s war in the north. Yet Cypress and his band remained in the hills.

  Snow had not been surprised by this at first. They had fought against Abimalk’s men at Qir Qatina; surely that meant that they should stay away from his army, unless they intended to throw in with his enemies. But one night, as a light rain fell from the sky, its drops vanishing into nothing before they even touched the dust, Vine began to talk. ‘How great the plunder of the north would be!’ ‘How great the glory of fighting for the first king to rule in the hills for over a century would be!’ “Let’s go to the north!” he finished, and sat back, fingers flexing on his knees.

  Cypress gave a slow nod. “We are men of war. We have been sitting here in peace too long.” This was not precisely agreement, but it was not disagreement either.

  “A woman will forget her child before an enemy forgets an offense,” Willow said stiffly. Snow thought that he was probably right. Would Abimalk’s men have forgotten their retreat from Qir Qatina?

  “Don’t be a worm,” Vine snorted. “Mercenaries fight for the one who pays them. Whether we fight or don’t fight, no one sets his heart on it.”

  “No? Lad, that’s just a lie. Oyeb hates us with all his heart; was it a little thing i’ your eyes that we made a fool o’ him before his people? We can find another war t’ fight in.” Cedar wagged a finger at Vine, then went back to cleaning his mace. Despite its hard use and uneven surface, it was probably the cleanest thing he owned.

  Fig nodded.

  Yotam said nothing, his face calm. Willow fidgeted nervously behind him.

  “Another war, then.” Cypress said it easily enough, but he did not look pleased. Snow caught the glance that he gave Fig and Yotam, and wondered. He had seemed to like Yotam well enough before the fight at Qir Qatina—bringing him into the discussions of tactics like one of the older warriors—but now his face had changed toward him.

  Vine made a frustrated noise. He kicked a rock into the fire, then glared at her as if Cypress’ reversal were somehow her fault.

  Yod.

  When disaster came to the king of the Dawn, it came swiftly.

  Abimalk stretched out his hand toward the tower of Teybiz, looking every inch a king, dressed in the best of the plunder of a dozen towns. “The downfall of the Dawn will be the downfall of Teybiz! Break down these houses—bring me every scrap of wood! We’ll burn the tower gates, and the blood of our enemies will water the ground!”

  The Avenger, his hands empty but for his sword, stayed close to Abimalk’s side within the protective circle of the king’s shieldbearers. He had no love for archers, and the top of the tower was full of them.

  Abimalk himself was the first to reach the tower gate with an armful of wood. He threw the splintered sticks against it and turned to one side along the wall, that those following might reach the paneled gate. He paused to see the men stacking the wood under the eyes of their captains, then strode triumphantly away from the wall.

  The Avenger, still looking back toward the gate, heard the crash of stone on armor. He turned and nearly tripped over a large disc-shaped stone.

  Abimalk was on the ground. Zeb looked down and recoiled, lest he dip his foot in the blood.

  “What—” Abimalk croaked.

  One of his shieldbearers searched the wall above with his gaze. “It was a woman! She threw down her millstone!”

  “A woman?” the king coughed. “I will not be killed by a woman!”

  Zeb looked at him coldly. “You are dying.” That was clear for anyone to see.

  “I will not be so shamed! Zeb, kill me! They will not say I was killed by a woman!” The words seemed to take his last strength, for he said no more.

  Shame, Zeb thought. Yes. To be struck down by a woman was more disgraceful than any other wound could be. Still, he would not take the king’s blood on his hands. He was no fool; the army would not follow Abimalk’s slayer.

  He turned to one of the shieldbearers. “Do it.”

  When the man hesitated, Zeb drew his sword. He did not say a word, yet the shieldbearer paled. All the army knew that the Avenger would strike down any man who defied him.

  The shieldbearer knelt down beside the king, his knife in his hand. When he had finished his task, he did not rise—only crouched on the ground. Suddenly he lurched to his feet and threw the knife away. “The king is dead!” he cried. “The king is dead!”

  “We must… we must find a cart. We must find a place to bury him,” murmured the spear-carrier, his eyes wide.

  “He is dead. He cares no more for your haste,” the Avenger said flatly. “We will bury him after the tower falls.”

  The king-killer whirled toward him, face gray. “Why should we listen to you?” He fell silent at the sight of Zeb’s bronze blade.

  But his eyes burned.

  **

  Vine was bad-hearted for several days. He disappeared for an entire Shabbat but returned before dawn the next day, in good spirits.

  “I wonder,” said Yotam, watching Vine teasing Cedar. The young man had an air about him like a jackal that had found a lamb and intended to eat it all by himself.

  “Perhaps he’s sold something and come back with gold.” Fig gave a final twist of his awl and held up the boiled leather to inspect the row of holes he’d made.

  “What could he sell?” Yotam asked, diverted.

  Fig looked at him for a long moment. “Anything any of us had. Anything someone in the village had. Does it matter?”

  “Ayeh.” Vine worried Yotam. He told lies to everyone, but mostly, Yotam thought, to himself. “Shall I go with Snow today?” Ever s
ince Vine had tried to lure her off, the two of them had taken care to watch either Snow or Vine all day long.

  “We’re both going to the pomegranate harvest. I’ll guard her,” Fig told him.

  It was a measure of their suspicion that, when they returned to camp in the cool of the day only to find Vine cooking the evening meal, Fig’s first question was, “What mischief is this?”

  “I’ve never seen him cook before,” Snow said thoughtfully. She peered at the battered carcass turning on the spit. “What is that? A mole rat?” She pursed her lips sternly. Yotam suppressed a laugh and wondered if he should find a way to warn her that this was not a very male expression.

  “Mole rat’s no’ so bad as fox,” Cedar pointed out judiciously. He was leaning against a rock and doing nothing at all.

  “You don’t like it? Eat the soup,” Vine snapped. His cheerfulness seemed to have worn off.

  Fig eyed the pot of soup. With the tips of his fingers he reached in and plucked out a rock-hard chunk of gourd. “It’s not ready yet.”

  “Woe to him who asks a question to which he does not wish to know the answer,” Willow offered sagely. Yotam smiled at him. Willow was quite a good cook himself, although he had never offered to make a meal after Vine’s sulky comments about servants.

  Vine ladled brown lumpy soup into a bowl, then stirred it with his finger. “First bowl’s for Snow.”

  He reached out to hand it to her, but Yotam plucked it gently from his grasp. There was something strange about all this that did not sit easily on his heart. He stared at the surface of the soup, and spotted a speck of brilliant green: the leaf of something that had not been cooked. Vine must have added it after serving out the soup.

  “Surely Commander Cypress should eat first,” Yotam suggested. “I’ll set this aside for him.”

  Vine looked harassed, but served another bowl and tried to hand it to Snow. Fig intercepted it. “And we should save some for Thorn,” Fig added smoothly, with a glance at Yotam. He wasn’t sure what Yotam was doing, but he was willing to follow his companion’s lead. Yotam gave him a little nod.

  “And this for Cedar.” Yotam lifted the next bowl away—but didn’t hand it to the giant, though the big man reached for it.

  “And this for Willow.” Fig started to carry it over to Yotam’s companion, but Vine surged to his feet.

  “Why him next? Willow and Yotam haven’t been here as long as the rest of us! Give it to Snow!”

  “Why not to me? I been here longer than you or Snow,” Fig reminded him. “I’ll eat it.”

  “I wish you would,” Vine said viciously, then turned away, realizing that this was too hot an anger for a dispute about soup. “Cypress isn’t here yet—I’ll fill his bowl later, when he comes. Then his soup won’t be cold. Snow, you take that one!”

  Snow sighed. “Peace, Vine. I’ll eat it.” She reached for the bowl.

  Willow, who had been watching Yotam with a frown, leaned toward her politely. “Let me help you—oh, forgive me.” He had spilled the soup onto the ground.

  Yotam was wondering if they were going to have to find way to overturn the rest of the soup bowls when Vine let out a yell of frustration. “So! Is it a small thing that I cooked for you? Serve yourselves—what do I care?” He stomped off into the twilight.

  Fig calmly poured his bowl back into the soup pot. “I don’t think these gourds are supposed to be eaten,” he said. He poured the rest of the soup back in, then lugged the pot away.

  Cedar—and Thorn when he returned—divided the mole rat between them. They were the only ones willing to eat it.

  **

  Snow climbed the ridge to its highest point, then scrambled atop the great square boulders that collected there like giants’ building blocks. Her toes were wet in her sandals; there had been rain in the night. The autumn rains were growing heavier and more frequent.

  It was a good lookout spot. To the north, she could see all the way to the Mountain of Curses, lying in a blue haze beyond the hills. To the east, beyond the place where her hill fell away into a deep, narrow ravine, the land gradually levelled until one came to the Downward River.

  What am I looking for? she wondered. Cedar had brought news late yesterday evening; Cypress and Thorn had looked grimly pleased. ‘Something’s happened at Teybiz. They say the tower ne'er fell, that the army’s broken. Could be we’ll see trouble moving south.’ What had happened? She’d seen several small groups of soldiers moving along the valleys this morning—but they carried few weapons, and never came near the camp.

  “How joyful you look, Taliyah.”

  Snow stopped breathing for a moment. Then she turned, scraping her hand on the rock in her haste. “Zeb?”

  The man below her bore little resemblance to the sleek and complacent cousin she’d known. His clothes were torn; there was blood clotted in his hair and streaked on his neck. The front of his tunic was thick with dust; had he crawled? Snow couldn’t imagine Zeb putting his face to the earth.

  He wore no sandals, no cloak. It was as if some sudden upset had sent him fleeing unprepared.

  Snow couldn’t imagine Zeb fleeing. She could barely imagine Zeb alive. “I didn’t kill you, then.”

  He stalked forward, leaving copper streaks on the broken rock. “No. How could you kill me, little worm? But you left me a pretty mark.” He pulled apart the remains of his tunic to show a ropy scar along his collarbone.

  Snow looked at it, fascinated. There had been so much blood; who would have thought he would survive it? “I didn’t kill you,” she said again, and realized that she was smiling.

  He had terrified her and disgusted her, and now she was smiling, so great was the relief: she had not killed him. “Overpowerer, my sin is gone away, my guilt is sent far off…”

  “You’ve gone mad,” he said, glaring at her. Perhaps he didn’t care for her smile. “I would have thought that even you would understand: you will be dead before I leave you this day. I will erase my shame!”

  “Are you still angry?” Snow asked, barely troubled by this. The man she had murdered was back from the dead; threats could not shake her now. “You’ve had over a year to find me; if you were truly angry, you would have come sooner.”

  He snarled at her, vaulting onto the boulder next to hers. “Abimalk is dead. Killed by a woman. His army is shattered, the plunderers plundering one another. They desired to kill me! This is all your fault, you daughter of rebellion!”

  Snow stood up, feeling the cool air at her back. She could jump down and run, but he would catch her as he’d caught her before. She could try to kill him once more.

  But for this shining moment she carried no blood-guilt. She never wanted to carry it again. Overpowerer, I trust you. Divine armies had come to relieve the village of Qir Qatina; pazir had rescued her from malevolent strangers. Perhaps Zeb would not catch her if she ran.

  She looked at Zeb calmly. “The wise man knows what he has done, but the fool accuses all he meets.”

  “Mad,” he said again, showing his teeth—angry that she wasn’t afraid this time. “Thus.”

  He leaped from his boulder to hers, quick as a cat. And now it’s too late to run, Snow realized. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you,” she told him, and waited.

  He wrapped his hand around her throat and squeezed.

  Cedar’s deep war cry resonated in her bones. She saw the giant charging up the slope, two smaller figures quickly passing him. Zeb looked back over his shoulder, fingers tightening; then he stepped forward and threw her into the ravine.

  **

  Zeb was not afraid of his attackers. The man who ran the fastest was the youngest; he had no weapon in his hand. The young were often foolish, rushing in without thinking. A blow to the stomach would bring him to his knees—then Zeb could put his arm around his throat and force the others to stand away. With Taliyah dead, he had no reason to fight the robber band. Zeb set himself to meet the young man’s charge.

  But the youth dodged past him and hurled
himself into the ravine after the fallen Taliyah.

  “They are all mad,” Zeb hissed.

  The giant did not run as swiftly, but he never slowed, his bronze mace clutched tight in a massive fist. If he missed his first blow, Zeb could duck around him, perhaps steal the knife he could see in his belt. The smaller man was slowing, angling to one side; perhaps he did not care to attack alone. A coward and his breath are soon divided, thought the Avenger with satisfaction. “So come!” he cried.

  The first steps of the dance went perfectly. The giant could not maneuver; Zeb slid smoothly to one side, letting the mace go by, letting the man go by, lifting the knife from his belt with the tips of his fingers. Fool—

  A slingstone hit his hand, and the knife went flying. The giant’s huge hand came swinging back empty to grab him by the neck. The big man shook him violently and threw him to the ground.

  The Avenger rolled, ignoring the thistles that stabbed him even as he crushed them. He staggered to his feet, his right arm cradled against his stomach. “Men—I have silver hidden in the field. If you stop your attack, I will give it to you.” It was a lie, of course. He had brought nothing from the rout at Teybiz.

  “Will y’ pay for throwing one of ours over a cliff?” grated the giant. “I’ll see t’ birds eat you!”

  “Will you kill me for the sake of a woman? That skinny youth was a girl—she made fools of you all!” Zeb inched sideways, his arm still curled painfully against his chest.

  **

  “Overpowerer, great is your mercy, your loyalty shown to thousands of those who love you and heed your instruction…” The ravine was deep and very dark. Yotam pressed his hands against opposite walls, one foot against each side of the crack. “Snow, do you hear me?” It was so narrow, perhaps she had caught herself. “Snow?”

  The rock walls radiated heat, stifling. It was as dusty and silent as Sheol. “Overpowerer, living or dead let me find her.” He slid down, the sounds of the fight fading away. “God of armies, the dead on battlefields belong to you, those in the bellies of lions… and those lost in the depths of the earth.”