Warmaidens

by Kelly Coon

  She whimpered, tears brimming in deep-set eyes framed with thick lashes. “I needed to keep Manzazu safe. Higal said we must listen to our queen’s command.”

  “It’s okay.” I smoothed the hair from her forehead. I licked my dry lips and looked back to the war, my heart hammering. “I need to stitch you up, all right?”

  Rish’s bloody stump swam in my mind. If I sewed her right there without cleansing the wound properly, she would die anyway, just later rather than sooner.

  “I need to get some help to move you.” I could grab Dagan and Shep and Marduk. We could get a cart and pull this warrior to safety.

  She grabbed my arm, suddenly stronger. “Don’t leave me.” Her bright eyes begged.

  “I must! Help is close by. I can’t carry you alone.” I pressed the tunic into her side, and her clammy hand against the tunic. “Keep this cloth here. It’s important.”

  “A-zu, don’t leave me!” she cried, looking after me in horror.

  “I’ll be right back with help. I promise.”

  Tearing myself away from her, I crouched behind the cart. When I went to stand, coldness bathed me from head to toe, and the Boatman brushed against me, the young guardsman in the bright blue tunic cradled like a babe in his arms.

  The boy met my eyes as he went past, raising a bloody hand as if to say goodbye.

  * * *

  Get it together! Together, Kammani!

  Near the kitchens where I’d seen Dagan and his brothers race, a low groan and a voice that sounded achingly familiar echoed from behind one of the massive ovens. Nobody else was about. The kitchens were abandoned as if they’d been left during preparations for the morning meal. Ducks lay partially plucked on tables, dull brown feathers spread all over the ground. Black smoke trailed from the ovens, rounds of bread burned to a crisp inside. Great casks of sikaru were spilled, flies buzzing above. I prayed to Selu that Dagan was safe. But that voice behind the ovens made my hair stand on end.

  “Who’s there?” a harsh voice, cracked with grief, echoed from behind one of the sandstone structures.

  “You first!” I shouted, clutching the bodice of my trader robe. It could be anyone. A guardsman waiting to kill me!

  “Arammu?” the man asked hoarsely.

  Dagan. I ran with wild abandon toward his voice. He was sitting in the grass near the Palace entrance, Shep’s bloody body in his arms. Marduk was nowhere to be found.

  “Selu save us,” I cried, running to them and throwing myself down. My hands fumbled in my healing satchel under my cloak for tinctures. Threads. Anything. “What happened?”

  “A guardsman surprised us at the corner. He was lying in wait, prepared when we walked in. Shep was first inside, and the guardsman caught him in the neck with his sword.”

  His voice broke and great sobs racked his body, his shoulders shaking. “I couldn’t stop him!”

  “Let me see him, Dagan. Let me see him. I can do something to help. Where is he hurt?”

  Dagan pulled Shep away from my fumbling hands. “No! He’s gone, Kammani. Don’t you see that? You’re the A-zu!” His words lashed out like a horse whip against hide.

  “Look at him!” he moaned.

  He held his body up for me to see, and sobs immediately flooded over me, too. Because his life’s artery in his neck had been severed. His face pale. Slack. Amber eyes, so much like Dagan’s, wide open to the Netherworld. I gently prodded along his neck for his pulse, pressing and pressing to see if there was any chance of life inside, but Dagan was right. He was gone, gone, gone. Gone like my abum and ummum. Gone like my baby sister. Gone like Irra and Warad. Probably like half the Manzazu warriors right now.

  “And Marduk?”

  He wiped a hand down his face. “He saw Shep die, Kammani. He saw him die. And he ran to the farm to be with Qishti, who they said was hiding in my chamber under some of my ummum’s quilts. I didn’t stop him. I wanted him safe. The guardsman ran off, but for how long?”

  “Let’s go. Higal has called for retreat, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to give up. We need to leave so we can intercept whatever her plans are next and figure out what to do. This cannot happen again. We must stop this!”

  “I’m not leaving him for the dogs. I’m not.”

  “We’ll bring him! And bury him in Laraak.”

  His face shattered with grief, Dagan picked up his younger brother’s broken body, grunting, and we crept around the side of the Libbu toward the west gate, where we could flee to Laraak.

  As we passed the overturned cart where I’d tended the warrior, I gasped because I’d forgotten her when I’d found Dagan. But she was not there. There were smudges in the dirt—drag marks—as if she’d been pulled to safety by someone else.

  But not sixty handsbreadths away, at the end of the trail, she lay in a pool of black blood with eyes that stared into the Netherworld, the tunic I’d given her to stem the flow of blood abandoned nearby.

  How tenuous was the thread that bound us to life. How easily it could be severed.

  As we ran toward an abandoned cart outside the Libbu and hoisted Shep’s body into the back, I wondered if she, Shep, and the young guardsman on the other side of the war were on the same boat to the Netherworld together.

  DUSK BURNED WITH the heat of a thousand fires, and most of it radiated from Dagan’s skin. We stood at the outskirts of Laraak’s encampment, Dagan and Nasu shouting at one another. The eight Koru brides, including Ummi and Humusi, sat with various degrees of injury on pallets inside my healing tent. Though they’d lived, many of those who’d chosen to follow Higal had not. After stitching and slinging as many of her warriors as I could, I healed these eight in my tent, with Nanaea, Arwia, and Kasha acting as my aids.

  The rest of the Manzazu warriors who’d come to Laraak with us, who still stood with us, had made their camp closer to the river. They hadn’t even known of the bloodshed until Ummi, a vicious laceration across her back, had ridden out to tell them. A small faction of warriors still believed in Higal and had made camp with her down the river. Ummi had tried to unite them, but for now, they were broken into two.

  The fight outside intensified, Dagan yelling and Nasu replying sharply, “It was the better way.”

  “You’re obviously wrong or we wouldn’t be standing here right now!” Dagan connected his huge fist solidly with Nasu’s jaw, sending Nasu’s lanky body sprawling into the sand. He sprang up to his feet, his face twisted in rage, bumping up against Dagan’s chest.

  “I will not fight you, Farmer.” Nasu jabbed his finger into Dagan’s face, a trickle of blood from a split lip trailing down his chin. “In honor of your brother who had no business in battle, but if you hit me again, I will be forced. Do not test me.”

  Dagan shoved him backward. “He fought for me! And for his mother!”

  “He should’ve never been in there! It isn’t our fault!” Nasu threw up his hands.

  “It is!” Dagan growled, throwing Nasu back down into the sand.

  “Stop it!” I screamed. I yanked on Dagan’s arm, but he was a man filled with Alani’s fire. His eyes were wide with mournful anger, dark and menacing, and he shook me off him as if I were a fly.

  This isn’t him. This isn’t my Dagan!

  “Leave me, Kammani. I will deal with this guardsman who has killed my brother!”

  Assata stepped in between Nasu and Dagan, one finger in Dagan’s face. “If there is anyone who should be angry, it is me. My son is dead because you sat on your hands and waited to act.”

  “No,” Dagan told her, his hands in fists. “Shep is dead because you and Higal and Nasu wrecked our plan. We could have gotten Uruku. We were at the Libbu. All we had to do is get inside.” He pointed at her chest. “And because you were too impatient—”

  “Too foolish,” Arwia filled in from near the fire, her hands folded neatly in fro
nt of her, head held regally as if it already wore a crown.

  “You didn’t act as a head guardsman, Nasu. And you didn’t act as a skilled warrior, Assata. Both of you plunged in thoughtlessly. And now we have dead Manzazu and dead family members. Neither of you considered the consequences of your actions. Your decisions were muddled by emotion—your loyalty to me, Nasu, and your grief, Assata. They distracted you from working together with Kammani and Dagan to come to the best solution. And now we all suffer.”

  Dagan clenched his fists at his sides. “Stand, Nasu! Your choice cost me my brother.” His voice cracked on the last word. “And your actions could have cost me everything in this life, do you hear me?” He looked at Assata. “Kammani was in the Libbu in harm’s way, and I couldn’t protect her.”

  His shoulders heaved and he fought back tears. My big, steady Dagan was falling apart.

  Assata pounded her fist into the palm of her hand. “I tried to save your ummum, Dagan. Do you not see that? I wasn’t acting simply out of grief!”

  Dagan’s rage softened, fading to a quiet bleakness. His voice was a whisper as his fists unclenched. “She is as good as dead anyway. She’s likely already dead. There isn’t a point to any of this. Rish is broken and Shep is gone, and I need to accept that my ummum is, too.”

  At that, he stalked toward his tent, shoulders bowed, and my heart went with him.

  I peeked into my tent, where Ummi had lit several candles to brighten the twilight. Nanaea was crouched near the pallet, stitching a bloody slash across one of Humusi’s knees.

  “This laceration split back open, Kammani, so I’m fixing it.” Nanaea poked the needle steadily into her skin and pulled the thread through, while Humusi sucked in a breath.

  “Please tell me you took care to—”

  “—sterilize the threads and the needle? I burned the needle and rubbed the threads in myrrh as you showed me. But I didn’t believe it was clean, so I did it all again and scrubbed my hands with soap and doused them with sikaru to be sure.” She pointed at her neat stitches, running perfectly in line. Better than my own.

  My heart squeezed. So calm, so efficient. Who was this young woman she had suddenly become? She’d been busy costuming Arwia while we were gone. She said her idea would ensure the nin would be taken seriously when she made her claim to the ensis, but neither of them would tell me how they were going to make her appear to be a warrior when she was so small. According to Nanaea, I had to see it to believe it.

  I glanced past Humusi and Nanaea to Rish where he lay on one of my pallets, sleeping soundly, his silky curls spilled across his forehead. He clutched his stump to his chest in his sleep, but the bandage was clean. No blood. No seepage. He was healing.

  And now to tend to Dagan.

  Kasha squatted, grinding pokeroot into aloe with the mortar and pestle near the tent flap for someone who’d been burned with pitch. “Will you hand me my healing satchel? I want to give Dagan something to calm him.”

  “Sure.” He reached behind him and pulled it up by the strap, then handed it to me. “I accidentally knocked into it and some of the bottles fell out, but I put them all back in and the rest of the ones in that bag over there, too.” He pointed to a small sack that lay near my healing table, hidden underneath a pile of blankets. It was the sack that had held the gochala and the rest of the tinctures that Iltani had stolen from the merchant. I’d forgotten all about it!

  “My thanks, Brother. Now focus on your task. I’ll be back soon.”

  He bobbed his head and I left the tent, striding purposefully around Nasu and Arwia, who were both staring stonily at the fire. But I slowed my pace as I walked past Assata, gently squeezing her shoulder. She flinched, her eyes haunted by ghosts.

  Dagan sat on a quilt in the corner of the tent in darkness, his head in his hands. His big shoulders shook with grief. Tears filled my eyes and love blazed through my chest as he sobbed. Quickly, I lit several candles, and knelt by him.

  “Arammu, look at me. Look at me, at your Kammani. Please, my love.”

  I took his face in between my hands, but he was inconsolable, his grief cracking his spirit in half. “First Rish was hurt and now Shep is dead. He can’t be.”

  Sitting next to him, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he wept, and tried to pour comfort from my heart to his, but nothing would give him solace. Eventually, though, he lay down on his side, and I stroked his hair, murmuring in his ear, found the chamomile oil in my healing satchel, and dabbed several drops on his tongue. Before long, his thick black lashes fluttered closed, and his even breathing told me he’d fallen into a fitful sleep.

  Wearily, I eased away from him and returned the chamomile oil to my bag. As I tucked it into one of the pockets near the poppy, a strange red glass bottle nestled next to the laurel caught my eye. I pulled it out, and nearly burst from excitement.

  The red bottle the Boatman had taken from his satchel.

  It was nerium! My hands shook as I looked at it. Iltani must have picked it up when she’d knocked the merchant’s table over, and Kasha had put it inside when he’d cleaned up.

  I could use it! But how? I racked my brain, but Mudi’s voice rang in my head. Listen to your instincts. Trust. I sat, thinking for a moment, trying to stay calm and let my gut take over, and an idea flickered to life.

  Maybe we could make the guardsmen fall asleep with it, then get to Uruku with a few members of the Koru. I chewed my lip. We likely would never be even able to get into the Libbu again. They certainly knew someone was fighting for the throne, though whether they knew we were here was anyone’s guess.

  But what about an ambush when he was outside the Palace walls?

  As I thought about it, running through the possibilities, my head swam, my eyes blurred, the sound of Dagan’s soft breaths melted into the background, and I was once again on a rocking boat in the center of the river Garadun. Terror filled me to the brim, but I forced myself to look at the shore. I would not back away from this gift. I would not shrink in fear.

  My hair whipping around my head, I searched the shoreline until I found him. The Boatman. He stood, dressed as a warrior that perhaps he once was, but in an explosion of light, he morphed. His sharp features broadened. His frame expanded into someone larger until the curve of his shoulder took on a shape I’d felt underneath my own hands. His face grew a short, scratchy beard I’d felt against my own neck. His eyes went from a black-brown to the amber color that reflected the love they held for me inside.

  He morphed into…Dagan.

  And beside him, at his elbow, someone who looked exactly like me stood, too. My healing satchel was at her waist. Her brown, curly hair blew in the breeze as she reached into her bag and pulled out a red glass bottle. The nerium! Her face grew delighted as if she’d made the most amazing discovery. But as she lifted her gaze to study me on the river, a line of worry grew in between her brows. Her hand went to her mouth, and she chewed her thumbnail like I did! She reached up and took Dagan’s arm in hers, but he frowned and walked twenty paces away, ferocity on his brow. The girl’s face twisted with terror as Dagan pulled his emerald dagger from its scabbard and aimed it at her. As fear squirmed inside my chest, I watched, horrified, as Dagan threw the blade with all of his might.

  At her.

  At me.

  The dagger plunged into my neck with shocking force, and blood spurted into my hands. I crumpled immediately on the shore, but felt my own knees giving way on the boat, too. Suddenly, my vision was blurred and something warm was pulsing down my neck onto my tunic, and when I looked down, Dagan’s dagger was sunk to the hilt in my throat.

  Dagan stood on the riverbank, anguish and horror scrawled across his face, but as the world went dark, he shifted back into the Boatman, and a single sentence exited the Boatman’s mouth in a cry that seemed to come from the depths of the watery graves over which I was floating:
<
br />   “Beware.”

  * * *

  “Kammani—wake. Arammu? Wake. Please.”

  Dagan’s tear-streaked face hovered over me as I spluttered out of my vision. As I pushed away, the horror that he’d thrown his dagger at me knocked the wind from my lungs, and the small red bottle fell from my hands.

  “Get away from me! Don’t hurt me!” I cried. Cowering, I crawled, knees, hands, knees—faster!—to the corner of the tent, my heart hammering as I got my bearings.

  “I never would! What do you mean?” He stretched one hand out to me. The other went over his heart. “I would never hurt you. I love you!”

  Clawing at my throat, I searched for the dagger that had been embedded, but it was nowhere near me. It was safe, in Dagan’s scabbard where it always was. My stomach churned, bile rising to my throat.

  “You fell,” Dagan said simply, letting his hands drop to his lap. “You fell over and woke me, but you were screaming and clutching your throat.” His anguished amber eyes searched my face. “Do you think I would ever hurt you? Because I would rather die than cause you pain.” He flexed his hands open and closed into fists.

  I felt my throat. I am safe. Nothing is wrong. It was a dream. A vivid one, yes. But a dream nevertheless.

  But what if it wasn’t?

  What if it was…a message?

  Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I calmed myself, considering the possibility. The distinct possibility.

  I hadn’t listened to my instincts before, and Warad had died and Iltani had been stolen. Rish’s arm severed. Maybe it was time to bear heed to my gut, no matter what my brain told me to do. My gut felt as if the message was clear. It felt true. Real. As real as the nose on my face. The digging of the blanket into my knees.

  My voice shaking, I held out my hand. “Give me your dagger.”

  “Why, Arammu?” His eyebrows came together in confusion.