“They’re refugees,” Raisa said, “from Potamis.”
“What happened in Potamis?”
“Gods, you have been living under a rock,” Raisa said. “It was raided last year, nearly burned to the ground. People are rebuilding it, but those who couldn’t help, or just didn’t want to, stayed here. They probably thought things would be easier.”
“It’s hardly easier,” Pen said.
“It wasn’t always like this, and the queen is doing what she can to keep everyone fed, but with people living here like this, sickness was bound to spread.”
Raisa sidestepped around a very skinny woman carrying a basket of bread.
Pen noted how frightened she looked. She clung to the bread like it was gold.
Her boot sunk ankle deep into another puddle as she trudged after Raisa. She shook the mud off and continued on, but a shriek caught her attention. Glancing towards it, Pen stopped walking. Between a few tents, they weren’t even houses at this point, a man was on the muddy ground with two others standing over him.
Pen practically felt the strike herself as the downed man was kicked in the gut. Pen saw he was lunched over a bundle in his arms, as if protecting it from the other men.
“Just give us the damn food!” the taller attacker shouted.
She glanced back to Raisa, but she had kept going. Pen could see her red hair in the crowd and knew she should catch up. Pen was still, listening to the downed man cough.
Swallowing back the panic and apprehension, Pen left the crowd and darted between the tents. The downed man was on his knees now as one of the muggers pulled him up by his hair. The other, a tall man with a mangled beard, went to strike him again, shouting something about food.
Pen darted forward and grabbed the bearded man’s wrist before his next blow could land. She snapped it and punched his throat before he could react. He went down with a choking wheeze.
As she turned to the other man, she saw the glint of the sun on a knife. The flash blinded her, but she ducked before it could be buried into her throat. Instead, she felt the blade cut through her raised arm.
She gritted her teeth against the pain and smiled.
Before he could regain his balance, Pen drew a small trickle of blood under the sleeve into her hand and formed her own blade. She dug it into his chest just under his ribcage.
He froze and coughed blood onto her shoulder.
She shoved him away and melted her own blood into her sleeve again. She hoped neither of the others saw her blood, assuming it was just a hidden steel blade.
The stabbed man kept to his feet but staggered. Both hands pressed to the open stomach wound.
The bearded man with the broken wrist had risen and now pulled at his friend’s arm. Both took off, one supporting the other.
Pen kept her blood wrapped around her wrist under the sleeve. She’d taken too many chances now cleaning it before withdrawing it completely.
“Are you okay?” Pen asked the beaten man.
He was on his hands and knees now, but regained his breath.
“I’m all right,” he croaked as Pen knelt beside him. “I don’t even know what those bastards wanted.”
He sat back and pushed mud caked blond hair out of his eyes. To her surprise his eyes were amber, a rare color, like her purple hair.
Something struck her familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She wondered if she had passed him earlier in the crowd, or another city, but she usually avoided people. This feeling was stronger than a passing glance too.
“I’m sorry,” Pen said, “do we know each other?”
He looked at her perplexed but considered the idea. He was probably thinking the same thing.
He glanced down to her arm where it was cut and bloodstained. He couldn’t see the band of crimson, Pen made sure of that, but his eyes widened. He stared back up to her eyes terrified and shifted away.
“No,” he moaned.
He looked more scared now than he did being mugged.
“What?” Pen asked confused.
“You don’t remember?” he asked still horrified.
“At the moment, no. Some indication of what I need to remember would help,” she said.
He scrambled to his feet, not taking his amber eyes off her.
Pen got to her feet too, giving him space.
“You murdered them,” he whispered. “You murdered them all and got away with it!”
He was shouting by the end, as well as trembling with rage.
Resentment built up then. She had just saved him, and now she was a murderer. She had taken lives, but only to preserve her own.
“Hold up, who am I supposed to have killed?” she demanded.
“All of them, the entire caravan, my family, my father! You made your blood move!”
Her heart plummeted to the mud.
“You’re that kid,” she breathed.
The kid from the caravan of bandits she had robbed so many years ago. The bandits who had caught her, who’s leader had that giant ax. She had slaughtered them all, and the kid had run off. She thought he had just gone, but he was smart, apparently, having run to the closest city, Stymphalia.
That boy had been ten, maybe twelve, and the young man now had to be at least in his twenties. She really remembered those eyes now. Those scared amber eyes watching her from behind the trees.
She didn’t know what to do or say.
Neither did he apparently. He just shook and stared at her.
“I-I’m sorry?” she tried.
She wasn’t really. Those bandits had her tied up and were ready to kill or rape her, but that kid had nothing to do with it.
His horror turned to insult.
“Sorry?” he gasped.
“In my defense, they were going to kill me, or worse, and you got justice anyway, right, when they cut off my head for that?”
His anger snapped then. His fist flew up and connected with her nose. It was surprisingly fast, fueled by his rage.
It didn’t break her nose, but it still hurt. She took the blow and stepped back for balance. Blood ran down her face and tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away, more in anger then anything.
“You got away with it!” he shouted. “You just went off on some … some trek, while I was just left in an orphanage. I was never adopted, and they kicked me out when I was thirteen!”
“Can you lower your voice?” Pen asked. “People are starting to look.”
They were and she didn’t need the attention.
The insult deepened, and he grit his teeth, but he seemed to agree. “Aye, shouting never did much anyway. If I knew how to wield a blade, I would end you here, but my father was never able to teach me.”
The hatred in his eyes made her feel small, and she didn’t need that right now.
“Look, I—”
“Don’t you fucking apologize again!”
“I know that’s pointless,” Pen snapped back. “I lost my family too, I know how hard that is.”
He just glared at her.
“Is … is there anything I can do to … I don’t know, help?” she tried.
She didn’t know what she was bloody doing here, let alone what she was offering, but she was tired of hurting people. She remembered chasing after that little boy before, not knowing what she would do if she caught him. She had been the cause of so much pain for that boy, and she saw it in the man now.
She had abandoned the Followers, and they had been slaughtered. She had taken Milanos’s brother, her own husband and son. She was sick of hurting people just by existing.
“What’s your name?” Pen asked him.
“Erenos,” he said, “and I know yours. Pen, the Undying Blood Warrior. You haven’t even aged.”
She hadn’t heard the Undying part before.
“Cursed by the goddess of death,” Pen said as an explanation.
“How is immortality a curse?!”
Dark thoughts tried to flood in, but she held them at bay, for now at
least.
“I’ve hurt people before, and I’m sick of it,” Pen found herself admitting. “There must be something I can do to … I don’t know, make it a little easier?”
What the fuck was she saying? He clearly just wanted her to either die or vanish.
She was about to mutter something about leaving him alone when she noticed his expression then.
He was considering something.
Pen paused, waiting for him to speak first.
“There is something,” he said, “and you better fucking help. Come on.”
He turned his back on her and stalked off past several other tents. Pen hurried to catch up.
They didn’t have to go far. Erenos pulled the flap of a tent back and gestured for Pen to enter first. She was practically hugging herself as she entered.
A woman was pacing and didn’t notice Pen at first. When she did, she gasped and held the bundle of blankets closer to her chest. She looked haggard, with light blue hair tied back into a messy bun. She relaxed as Erenos followed behind Pen.
“Save him,” he said pointing to the bundle in the woman’s arms.
While her heart had dropped before, now it was outright being crushed.
At a closer glance, Pen saw the tiny pale baby in the bundle. He didn’t move but wheezed against his mother’s breast.
Chapter Eighteen
Pen
The baby coughed, sucked in a rattled breath, and settled into the blankets again. Lume gasped along with him and touched his little hand. It twitched a bit at the contact.
Pen remembered how strong Alard’s grip had been.
“What’s his name?” Pen asked Lume as she sat back against the cot.
They were both leaning back on the side of it, with the baby in a small fruit crate lined with cloth.
“He, um … doesn’t have one,” Lume said pushing blue hair from her eyes. The bloodshot look in them was a stark contrast. “We thought about dozens before he was born, but—”
“He was born like this?” Pen asked softly.
Lume nodded. “Two days ago.”
They sat in silence for a while. Pen could hear Erenos cursing outside while he tried to make stew over a meager fire.
“So, you’re really the one who killed his family?” Lume asked suddenly.
She may have looked exhausted, but Pen saw the fight in her eyes. Lume had been skeptical, and even angry while also frightened, when Erenos introduced them. It took a moment for him to explain things, and that didn’t completely help, but Lume did listen to Pen’s side.
“They had me tied up, about to kill me. I had to escape, and they fought back,” Pen said. “I chased after Erenos too, but he got away.”
“Were you going to kill him too?”
“I panicked,” Pen said, “but I wouldn’t have hurt him.”
Lume watched her, still untrusting.
“I wouldn’t have,” Pen insisted. “I’d never hurt a child.”
Little Alard’s pale ghost loomed in her thoughts.
“What about our child?”
“I don’t know what to do. I’m not a physician, but I have an idea.”
She didn’t want a repeat of the previous argument with Erenos. After he insisted she save his son for taking his family, she just froze. There had been plenty of cursing then.
“You’re the bloody Daughter of Maniodes, right?” Erenos shouted. “The fucking god of the underworld, so go convince him to not take my son.”
“Maniodes has no say in that. It’s Nyx who ferries their souls,” Pen said on instinct. She felt numb at this point, still hugging herself.
“I don’t care who you talk to or what magic you do, just save him!”
It had given her an idea at least. She and Nyx weren’t exactly on speaking terms, though.
She had convinced Erenos to let her stay for a while. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her with his wife and son, but he consented. Mainly because she nearly shrieked that she would never harm a child.
“I would instantly heal him if I could,” Pen told Lume. “I … I tried with my own son.”
“You had a child?” Lume asked, the fight was defused now.
Pen nodded and pressed her trembling hands into her stomach, hoping Lume wouldn’t notice her scratching.
Lume looked to her own babe again. Despair was settling into her shoulders again.
“You should get some rest,” Pen said. “If you want, since it will be a while before the food is done.”
“I haven’t slept in days,” Lume said, and her voice showed it. “You’ll watch him like he was your own?”
“Yes.”
Lume moved to sit on the cot, and Pen stood. Lume stiffened as Pen picked up the fruit crate with the baby inside but settled when Pen put him down closer to the head of the bed.
Lume laid down facing her son, touching his hand again. The rattle in his breath was unnerving.
Pen sat against one of the tent poles only a few feet away. It was a small tent, hardly big enough for four people. She hugged her knees, still aware of her trembling hands, and watched the little babe’s chest rise and fall.
She wished Raisa was here, or at least knew where she was. Raisa was no doubt furious that Pen had slipped away, but Pen hoped she didn’t think she had vanished outright again.
She wanted to go and find Raisa, but she couldn’t leave Lume and the child. Her own memory of sitting by Alard’s side, listening to his breathing, swallowed her.
Sometime later, Erenos entered the tent balancing three bowls. Pen had no idea how much time had passed, but Lume was asleep.
Erenos set the bowls down on a small chest by the cot and knelt by her and the babe.
Lume didn’t stir, and the child was still as his father stroked his bald head.
Watching from the corner, Pen felt more than a little awkward and uncomfortable.
Erenos stood and picked up two of the bowls. Hardly meeting her eye, he handed one to her.
She took it silently, and he sat on the cot by Lume’s feet. They didn’t have spoons, so Pen started drinking the broth. It was mainly onion and other vegetables, but she hardly tasted it.
Pen drank it slowly, not trusting her stomach. She hadn’t eaten all day, and the sound of the baby’s breathing was enough to make anyone nauseous.
“I suppose it was foolish to ask a killer to save someone,” Erenos said, quiet enough to not wake Lume.
Nearly choking on the last piece of onion, Pen set the bowl down on the small chest. She didn’t reply and just leaned back on the pole, arms around her legs again.
The silence stretched, and Erenos just sat there, watching his wife and son.
It felt like a rock was stuck in her throat.
“I, um …” Pen tried to swallow around the rock. “I’m sorry I chased you in the woods.”
“Stop, just—” Erenos cut himself off and sighed. He looked to her, and she couldn’t read his expression. He wasn’t glaring this time.
“I had nightmares about you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not so much now, but I still remember them. Running through the trees with spikes or snakes or a wall of blood right behind me, with you in the center of it. Well, what I thought was you anyway. It was this tall, shadowed, bleeding beast stalking me. And now—”
Confusion deepened in his eyes as he gestured to her.
“You’re so small,” he finished.
Pen looked away, trying to be smaller.
“So, what did you do?” he asked. “When the king let you go?”
“I went south,” Pen said, “to Skiachora to break the undying curse everyone had.”
“I heard about that,” Erenos said shaking his head. “Everyone talking about the time they couldn’t die. Bullshit.”
“It was true,” Pen defended.
“Oh, people shared stories of the miraculous things they survived.”
“I had my head cut clean off,” she said a little stronger. “This scar goes around my entire nec
k.”
She pointed to the ring of scar tissue at her throat, feeling it like a sick necklace.
“Heard of that too,” he said, “along with your blood sprouting from your neck to reattach it.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, it didn’t work for my family,” he growled looking to his son.
That last comment didn’t sit right in her mind. She had found that bandit caravan after leaving her home, after she had killed Arch and Alard, and after she had sealed away Nyx.
“No, wait, it had to,” Pen said.
“It didn’t.”
“Sometimes it takes a while, even days to wake up. I don’t know how long I was unconscious when my head rolled.”
He stared and she saw him swallow several times, like he was trying to talk but couldn’t.
“You slaughtered them,” he growled again.
“Then you ran.” Anger sparked in his eyes, but she continued over it. “It was smart, but you didn’t see them wake up. Then they just lost you.
“They’re still out there,” Pen said. Her voice was stronger with the conviction, but she stayed in the tent corner.
“If you’re lying,” Erenos stood and towered over her. The rage was clear, but there was hope now too. “I’ll—”
The baby choked.
Erenos froze but Pen jumped to her feet. Lume woke too as the rattle in her son’s chest got worse.
“No, no, no,” she whispered as she picked him up.
She was stiff, as if afraid to move him too much, but she patted his back gently. Erenos stood next to them. The hope from before had vanished as he wove an arm around Lume.
Pen could only watch, hardly able to breathe herself.
The rattle calmed, and the baby was able to take one clear breath.
Lume gave a tearful sigh and kissed his forehead.
Nyx appeared then.
The goddess of death now stood at the entrance of the tent, watching them with her reverse black and white eyes. Her black cloak and hair swayed slightly in the wind. The thigh bone held in both hands before her.
Pen felt as if she’d been pushed into a lake of freezing water. She didn’t know if the others noticed, but the air in her lungs even hurt from it.
She had no plan. Pen didn’t know what to do in the first place, but she couldn’t just leave the family before. Now, though, that lack of an idea was apparent. Talking with the goddess of death hadn’t gone well last time.
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 10