Fire Witch

by Thea Atkinson

  Next to her, the man looped a rope over the post and began repelling down the other side of the wall.

  "Good girl," he said with a thick, but acceptable accent when he noticed she was clinging to the post rather than falling to her death beneath. So these men had been in the territory long enough at least to communicate or they were from within the boundaries. She wondered how many villages they had pillaged already, how many towns they had burned to the ground before they reached this one.

  He reached out for her, trying with one arm to tow her toward him. He was so broad, so thick and so strong, she knew he'd be able to manage the both of them. She had no intention of being the good little lamb.

  She took one deep breath and held it, and then she let go, hoping that at least her neck would break and her end would be quick.

  Her first thought when she landed in a pile of it she straw instead of flat upon the ground was that she should have realized that this small band of invaders was different. They didn't even look the same as the others who had scrambled over the wall in different directions. Those invaders were filthy and cowardly, abandoning their booty when confronted by resistance; this group wore tanned leather boots and sported well-crafted metallic necklaces and armbands. Even their swords seemed broader and longer and made of sturdier metal.

  These invaders had thought ahead and left themselves a soft place to land should things go sour. She noticed a spindly lad holding onto the reins of four horses while two grazed on the plain nearby. No doubt they had taken advantage of the earlier marauders and thought to use the plunder of the village as an opportune time to do so themselves within the chaos.

  Her second thought was that if this band within a larger group of invaders was that smart, she was in deeper trouble than she thought.

  She was already rolling over in the straw of the wagon to throw herself from its side when another body hurtled down from the top of the wall at her. It landed next to her with a grunt, and before she could fling herself over the edge and find footing, a face popped up from the straw to look at her. Its face was tanned from the sun, making the green eyes stand out like bits of crystal in a gray water lake.

  "You," he said in a voice that reminded her of burnt honey, taking a few moments to search the hay for his sword, which had obviously dislodged itself from his grasp as he struck the hay. Then, suitably re-armed, he dug his fingers into her elbow, pulling her with him from the wagon. "You're the reason we're in this mess."

  He had one leg over the edge and was tugging her with him when his foot caught on the edge and he lost his grip. She didn't have to think twice before realizing this was her chance. The first man was already clambering down the last few feet of the wall and would land in a stuttering heartbeat. A moment more and she'd lose her chance. She bolted for the woods, lifting her shift as high as she could to free her legs. Her bare feet since jolts of pain up her shins as she sped over grass and pebbles alike.

  She knew there was a good chance that many of the invaders had already fled in the same direction, but she also knew of a small copse at least three cubits inside where a vixen had littered pups earlier in the year. She'd found it went she'd been foraging for the shaman's herbs and she knew it would be a tight fit if she could get into it at all.

  Still, it was her best chance of escape.

  She fled for the trees with her heart racing in her chest, her limbs burning as though they were on fire. She just needed the shelter of the trees, and then the horses would be slowed enough that she could get to the den. Just a few cubits more.

  The thunder of hooves behind her nearly made her stumble, but she propelled herself on, hurtling toward the tree line with singular focus. Get moving, she told herself. Keep moving. The sounds behind her didn't matter.

  She could see the thickets and bracken that perimetered the treeline. It was close. Each burning step she took made escape that much more possible. Just a few more staggering steps. It didn't matter if her lungs felt like they would collapse, it would be far better than the alternative. She dared cast a look over her shoulder, checking to see how far she came, to see if her pursuer had gained on her. With horror, she noted that the brutish man from earlier had picked up the chase on horseback and had dismounted, pushing his sword into its sheath at the back of his shoulders.

  The sight renewed her panic and she began to pump her arms harder and faster, trying to add some additional thrust to her stride. She needed to make it. There simply was no other option.

  She gained the bushes just ahead of the woods and was picking her way in when she felt the hot breath of the man behind her. He grabbed into the thicket of her hair and held fast. Even though a hank of hair must have broken free of her scalp, she could move no further. She felt herself being hauled backwards and lost her footing. The burning of her scalp intensified, forcing tears to pool in the corners of her eyes.

  Her pursuer offered just enough slack that she could fall to her knees, spent of energy. She couldn't get enough air into her lungs no matter how hard her chest heaved, doing its level best to force the inhalations. When her stomach began its rebellion at the exertion, forcing nausea to rise into her throat, she felt her palms in the grass and vomited strings of bile. He gave her a shake by the hair and she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and peered up.

  Her gaze traveled the length of a black haired arm covered in metallic bands from elbow to bicep. The muscles strained over the top of the metal in a way that made Aislin think they snaked beneath the surface and writhed like living things.

  "All you did was whet my appetite, girlie."

  The man who held her fast had a dark plait that hung below his shoulder and disappeared beneath the leather vest that left his arms bare. His throat, a thick trunk of tissue, spread into that mass of muscle at his shoulders that made her wonder where neck began and chest ended. Even so, she twisted in his grip.

  "Let go of me," she said.

  He yanked, pulling her against his thigh and digging his free hand down into her bodice. She gasped when sweaty fingers pinched her nipple and his mouth landed on her neck.

  She stomped on his instep and ground her heel in.

  He laughed at her, nipping her neck where the cords were the most tender. "You're barefoot, girlie. How much harm can you do?"

  "Enough," she said. "Whatever I can."

  His response was to hoist her onto his hip like a bag of grain as he strode to a small clearing of grass. In frustration, she tried to focus on her spark of life, through ball of fire into the grass his feet. Still nothing. She was just reaching for the sword on his back when he wrenched her to his front and threw her to the ground. She bit her tongue when she landed. She could taste blood as the pain streaked down her throat, making her mouth water. She flipped over onto her hands and knees, crawling with desperation to her feet. She managed to get three steps before he hooked her back with a meaty arm. His lips roamed the back of her neck, pushing aside her braid, his hands traveling to the front of her hips and pulling her shift up.

  She screamed even though she knew it would do no good, and then she struggled in earnest.

  "You'll pay for this," she finally managed to rasp out. "My mother will have your eyes boiling in their sockets before the night is out."

  "I have no worry for my eyes," he said. "Right now, it's my balls that are burning."

  The brute grunted and twisted her hair into a knot as he shoved her toward a stand of trees surrounded by gooseberry bushes. She staggered repeatedly with each shove he gave to her back. Once, she fell and thought that perhaps he wouldn't wait any longer. Her fingers clutched at moss, thinking she would throw handfuls of it in his eyes if he pinned her to the forest floor. Instead, he grabbed her foot and dragged her the rest of the way. She dug her fingers into the ground, trying to resist but he was too strong and she was far too tired. Her arms ended up flung awkwardly ahead of her until he flipped her over with the toe of his boot.

  "On your knees," he said.

  "Y
ou want to take me like a dog, is that it?" she said with disgust.

  "And you a bitch, yes," he said, chortling.

  She tried to crab away but he was fast for a large man and his hands gripped her by the hips and pulled her toward him. He wasn't gentle when he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her torso to the forest floor. The heel of his palm pressed into her voicebox, cutting off her air and her ability to scream. She bucked upwards, hoping to knee him in the back or kick him with her heel in the kidneys as she squirmed.

  He only laughed. "You're as fiery as a badger," he said. "Maybe I won't share you after all."

  A thick hand crammed itself beneath her shift and probed between her legs. She gasped when he pushed his finger inside and then withdrew so quickly she thought perhaps he had decided to rethink his intent.

  No such luck. She felt the air assault her bare bottom as he yanked her shift up above her hips.

  "My mother will kill you," she said. "Or what's left of you when I'm done," she growled.

  "There'll be about two ounces less of me at any rate," he said.

  His member pushed against her inner thigh, seeking entrance, but she managed to squirm away just enough that it missed its mark. His other hand went down upon her thigh, pressing her legs wider. She managed a weak cuff against the side of his head, but the lack of air was making her head swim. She thought she heard a rustle in the bushes, but the bastard was so obviously still intent on his task that she didn't dare crane her neck to see if someone else had entered the copse. In the next instant, she saw a blur of black curls and the butt of a sword crashing into the brute's cheekbone.

  He fell off her, holding his hand to his face. Two heartbeats later, he was on his feet, facing his green-eyed comrade. She scrambled backwards, trying to get to the underbrush before either one made a grab for her, but coming up against a man-sized boulder.

  "What the devil, Chelan?" He growled at the younger. "You can have her when I'm done."

  "You won't have her at all," Chelan said.

  The older man faced off against Chelan unarmed, and yet Aislin believed he was not unmatched. This Chelan might be quicker, but the older marauder was broad enough to be climbed by a mountain goat.

  "She's mine," the older man said. "I was willing to share. Now, not so much."

  "That's not why we're here," Chelan said.

  Blood seemed to remember how to make its journey back through Aislin's limbs now that her throat was free of the captor's grip. She didn't care what happened between the two of them, who won, or what the victor decided to do with the loser. This was her chance to get away and she didn't intend to waste it.

  She inched her way sideways, thinking that all she had to do was get far enough away while they were occupied that she could scrabble to her feet and bolt through the bushes.

  "It's not why we're here, but a man doesn't thumb his nose at the gods of Fortune."

  "Then I claim first rights," Chelan said.

  "First rights are for the captor, you fool, which I am. Or for the leige, which you aren't," the brute said. "Here you are just another warrior. A disgraced warrior at that."

  Chelan grinned, flashing teeth so white Aislin believed he painted them with limestone. "You forget why."

  "What does it matter here?" the brute said. "You'll be dead." At that he lunged for Chelan but found empty air at the end of his leap. He shook his head like a wet dog and Aislin inched at least three handspans backwards.

  "You're quick," he said. "I'll give you that."

  Aislin pushed another hand span toward the trees as the two men made for each other in one great launch. The younger swung his sword with expert skill, but the second managed to duck low enough to leave Aislin wondering how such a boorish physique could manage such dexterity. In the next second, he was out of sword's reach. She pushed on, her left hand reaching behind her and feeling something cold and round. A stone that fit perfectly into her palm. She wrapped her fingers around it, not willing to let it go just yet. Another few paces, and then she would spring to her feet and run. Only then would she give up the weapon.

  Chelan had found a way to corner the bigger man against a tree, but he had several bruises already rising on his cheek and eye; Aislin could even see them from her distance. That would be sore come morning. Not that she cared. She'd be long gone.

  "Walk away, Feran," he said.

  Feran snorted. "So you'll have her to yourself, then?"

  Chelan said nothing, only pressed the point of his sword into the older man's belly. "Half a hundred times if I so please."

  Sweet goddess. It was an exaggeration, surely. Even so, the thought struck horror into her belly. She'd be damned by the goddess if she went calmly into that dark cavern. She was close enough now to the brush that she felt she could ease to her feet and sprint off into the trees. Even as she uncoiled her legs beneath her and made ready to swing her entire body towards the woods, the brute realized she was on her feet.

  "Looks like once is too many for that fox." She heard him say with a chuckle just as she made a break for the bushes.

  She pushed through the branches, not caring when they scraped at her skin or whipped her legs as she ran. She only cared that she put as much of her energy into each pace as she could, that she pumped her arms to add speed when the trees grew sparser. It would be foolish to run back towards the grassland and the village, she be far too vulnerable then as she ran in the open, and a quick jump on a horse would run her down in no time. But she knew the woods, had played there, hunted there, searched out wild herbs there her entire life. All she needed was a landmark to tell her where she was. All she needed was for her mind to stop racing long enough that she could concentrate on what she was seeing.

  It was impossible; panic had spread through her limbs, soaking them so thoroughly that they pumped on, oblivious to the commands her mind tried to send them: to slow down, to take in her surroundings, to make and take decided action.

  She might have gotten far enough into the woods that she could lose them, and she began to think she might actually make it when she didn't duck in time to avoid an overhanging tree branch. She collided hard enough into it that it took her legs out from under her and dropped her to the moss. The stone rolled from her hand. There wasn't even time to get to her feet before Chelan was on her, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her to her feet.

  He shook her as he searched her face.

  "You fool," he said. "Where do you think you'll go?" He gripped her by both shoulders and squeezed.

  "Home," she shouted. "The woods. Anywhere."

  "Anywhere isn't exactly safe."

  "And I'm safe with you?" She gathered up enough spit that she could hock it at his feet.

  He looked down at it but said nothing. Like Feran, his arms were bare but for the metallic bands wrapping his arm and a thick torque collar that rested on his breastbone. His leathers looked more oiled, as though his own skin had become part of the well-worn vest. She had the feeling he slept in them, ran in them, fought in them until they had become like his own skin.

  She was still trying to catch her breath beneath his mossy and unflinching gaze when Feran sidled into view. He was panting, as though winded, but a few moments later, Aislin realized it was something else. He was clutching his side, where blood leaked from between his fingers.

  "Well, " He demanded. "What are you waiting for?" His black gaze pinned itself to her hips in a revolting stare.

  She fought, then, letting her hands and feet do what they would to her captor. She felt the young warrior's skin beneath her nails as she raked down his neck, felt the suppleness of his boot beneath her sole as she tried to kick his legs out from under him. He shook her still with both hands, and her teeth clacked together.

  "She's fiery, that one," Feran said. "Shall I call the lads over to help you tame her?"

  Aislin could swear her heart stopped as she saw Chelan go rigid. His fingers convulsed into hooks on her skin.

  "Lift your shift," he
hissed.

  She shook her head. She'd be damned if she'd be compliant.

  He pushed her against a wide-trunked tree so forcefully the bark bit into her shoulder. Instinct would have sent her hand to soothe it, but she wouldn't let him see her weakened by his brutality. She clamped her lips closed tightly enough that she wouldn't be able to give in to the primal instinct to beg. He wrestled her so that they were both fully behind the tree trunk. She could barely see around the breadth of it to Feran's beastly face and when she did peek, what she saw horrified her. He had lifted his leathers in curious inquiry and was inspecting the gash on his side with filthy fingers, peeling aside the skin and poking his finger inside to test the depth of the wound. He grunted with satisfaction but not with pain, and then set to winding a strip of leather around his torso, effectively tourniquetting the wound. She had the feeling that if he had fire nearby, he would have seared the wound shut.

  The man was an animal. They all were, obviously.

  "Do as I say," Chelan said, tearing her attention away from the grizzled man. Something odd in his voice made her stomach clench and she stiffened her own spine as she looked at him.

  "The Goddess take you," she bit out, and he shook her again until she thought her head would fall off her shoulders. When he stopped, she couldn't tell whether the trembling that had taken over her body was an echo of his aggression or her own fear.

  "Damn you," he said. "Just do it." He ran a hand through his bushy curls and she could see that his fingers were bloodstained and calloused.

  She realized this was the last moment she would ever feel unspoiled. A different kind of panic bloomed in her throat, nearly choking off her air.

  "Just you, " she begged, hating to hear the beseeching tone in her voice, but hoping that at least she would be spared the humiliation of having to take on the entire group of men.