Just then, the barmaid returns with a couple of dark ales. I share a gratuitous smile and nod. Goose returns the favor and kicks me under the table. The barmaid gives me a funny look as I cringe, then she goes about her business.
“So, what’s our plan, fearless leader?” Goose taunts.
“Shut up. You know I hate that. I’m nobody’s leader.” We do need a plan, though. If the Taoiseach knows of our whereabouts, we must run again. It’s the only way. But where too? The Thunder Bluffs? We could live with the mountain goats. It wouldn’t be ideal, but we did survive the Cryptids. The Thunder Bluffs couldn’t be much worse. Simply different. Or do we test our fate beyond the Ceruleans with the outcasts? None have wandered back, so there must be a life worth living in the arid desert. There could even be a grand civilization down there for all we know. Or…they could all be dead.
“Whatever we do, we need to keep running. Our home is no longer safe.”
“Run? That’s your plan?” Goose purses his lips and shakes his head. “What am I saying, that’s always your plan. Aren’t your legs tired of running?”
“Of course. But what else can we do? Oust the immortal Taoiseach?”
“Precisely.” Goose smiles. “Nobody is immortal. We find his weakness, whatever it is, and shove it up his ass! He’s ruined my father, and he’s taken both your mother and father from you. We stop running and start fighting. Stone. It’s the right thing to do.”
“He could take my sister, too, if we march right into the lion’s den. No. Goose, I cannot. Jay is all I have left, and I must protect her. Even if that means we’re on the run for eternity. I can’t, Goose.”
“Then, I will.”
The three less powerful races have submitted to the Dihkai. Not officially, but it is clear the Dihkai have the edge in the ongoing war of the people. I can only hope the deity I have implanted takes a firm hold. As the shadows grow darker, the light must shine brighter.
15 Ellia
“M
ay we stop please? We’ve been traveling night and day.” A somber request from Astor.
I ignore her but know a protest is inevitable.
She squats to the ground half crossing her legs, accompanied by squirming. “I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to relieve myself properly. Please, may we break? It’s unsanitary and may cause infection, which will only make matters worse. Please.”
It’s been hardly more than a day since Astor convinced me she’s a necessity to Jaymes’s survival. And I’m already regretting my decision to take her captive. The Taoiseach only requires the insolent Dihkai. Anything else is dead weight. But I will foster patience. Astor may prove to be valuable.
“You’re in a secluded forest and already squatting. Drop your undergarments. Have at it.”
“Right here?” She recoils, and her awkward stance causes her to fall over, nearly taking Jaymes with her. The ironroot fastening the two together holds strong as Jaymes catches her balance and, with scowling eyes, tugs back to get Astor on her feet.
“Yes. Be quick. We have much ground to cover today.” Astor’s lack of submission is going to be the cause of her death. And her need to control every situation. It could drive an Advocate to murder. “This is the last stop until we cross the Scarlet.”
“The Scarlet! But the nearest bridge is leagues from here. Far more than a days’ walk.”
There she goes again. Maybe she doesn’t understand how close she is to death. “Don’t worry about where we’ll be crossing. The Forest Road isn’t the only road.” I dismount Persia and retract the ironroot connected to their organic shackles. Both Astor and Jaymes start into the bush together. “Hold it! Are you two so simple you think I’d let you wander off into the dark wood? Right here. One at a time.”
“But we’re tied together at the wrists. Are we to rip off our arms?” Jaymes sasses. “Then we’d have no way to remove our undergarments. And, well… now we’re back to where we began, with soiled garments, and health problems and what not.”
I step closer and raise my arm to bloody her lip. Jaymes doesn’t flinch. I withhold. “No. I don’t expect you to rip off your own arms. I’ll help with that.” I draw my claymore from the sheath mounted to Persia’s harness. I walk closer and cut down toward Jaymes. The root sheers only a finger-width from Jaymes’s wrist. She remains motionless for a moment with her jaw hanging open but quickly feigns annoyance with my precision. The demonstration of my acuteness was necessary, but had she flinched the slightest, it would have caused a blunder. I’d prefer to deliver her to the Taoiseach in one piece, knowing the value she holds with him. The consequences of returning with half a body might be more than I desire.
“Right there. Behind that sword fern. If you try to run, I’ll cut your feet off.” I threaten the girl before she trots off in silence.
Astor glares at me. “She’s a child,” she whines.
“Not too far!” Jaymes flips a crude gesture in the air and ducks behind the brush. “A child with the impulses of a beast,” I reply to Astor. I’m going to have to tame her before I deliver her to the Taoiseach if she’s to be an ally.
Astor doesn’t comment. Instead, she waits patiently and continues to squirm.
“Your little friend only thinks of herself. She must have taken your nonsense about infections seriously. Your bladder will have to wait ‘til she returns.”
“I know what you’re doing,” she retorts.
“And what is that?” I reply.
“You’re carving a gap. She’s a mere child, and I will do what it takes to protect her. I am willing to travel to the capital and proclaim our innocence in front of the Taoiseach if that is where you are taking us. Plus, I’ve seen her naked, for goodness sake—our bond is strong.”
“Was it consensual? She’s only a child.” I look to her with a mocking grin. A cringe of disgust drapes over her, and she shuts her mouth. Thank Susy.
The sound of Astor’s voice is like nails in my skull after listening to her wail for a mere two days now. But the annoying bitch must stick around for Jaymes’s sake. Jaymes, a tough little spunk, can get around on her own sure enough, but her leg remains horrid. Astor is needed in case the infection spreads. However—I reflect on Astor’s comments—driving them apart will allow for me to get a bit more rest at night. I doubt Astor is capable of hatred. But—my gaze steers to the underbrush where Jaymes relieves herself—she might be willing to bash Astor’s face in with a blunt object. That little spunk might just have it in her. I let the indulgent thought flee my mind.
Jaymes meanders back through the bush, rubbing her ass. “Watch out for the cacti out there. The small ones can sneak up and bite before you realize it.”
Jaymes doesn’t realize the severity of the situation either. The constant immature jests. She acts as though I’m a childhood bully who will flee back home at the end of the day. I enjoy her style, but not directed at me. It’s time she learns what Ellia Rosewood is capable of. I can deliver her black and blue yet keep her in one piece. The Taoiseach will have no issue with that.
I slip the leather glove from my hand and grip the ironroot secured about my waist. A typical rope vine would have been my binding of choice. I can manipulate that material faster than a cobra strike, but only the strongest for this one. The tip of the ironroot grows in her direction as I walk closer. It curls around Jaymes’s midsection, tugging her closer to me. She staggers forward. The ironroot knots and proceeds to curl around her left wrist, then her right, binding them behind her back. To my surprise, this little shit gives full cooperation. Once secure, I pull on the root to ensure it’s fastened well enough. Jaymes stumbles, unable to keep her balance, and meets face-to-face with the jagged, stone-covered path.
“Astor, go! You have one click. Any longer and you’ll be lashed. Go.” She eagerly flees to the bush without hesitation.
Jaymes struggles back to her feet. Her once cute face, with her golden-amber eyes, petite nose, and full lips, just received a makeover. Her nose now has a
stream of blood pulsing from it. Her lips are swollen and bloody, and there’s a small cut across her left eyebrow. Tears spill onto her cheeks and mix with the blood, making for a steady red stream down her chin and onto her chest. She glares at me with ignorance.
“If you don’t already know why you’re being disciplined, then you’re too simple and juvenile to understand. You wouldn’t learn anything even if I explained the provocation. And by the way, there are no cacti in this wood. I need you alive for now, so whatever bit your ass, let’s hope it doesn’t put you flat on your face again—long term.”
“Why are you so mean? Did your father beat you as a child and constantly tell you how ugly you are?”
Without hesitation, I lay the back of my hand across her face and she crumbles to her knees. Her primary scar rips open. With all the grotesque moments I’ve experienced in my time, I still find it disturbing. Astor’s healing techniques have petrified the veins and nerve endings, so even though her flesh tears open, no blood pours from it. Loose flaps of skin dangle from her leg. Almost corpse-like.
“No. My father constantly raped me while he told me I was ugly,” I reply coldly. It isn’t true. I don’t even know my real father. It shuts her up, though.
Astor returns. I wasn’t keeping time, but she is diligent enough to make haste, so I signal for us to continue without another word. She glances at Jaymes and instead drops to inspect her leg, unable to conceal the shock. Once she realizes her work is holding up, she rises back to her feet.
I bind Astor in the same manner and ensure the two are secured together. I step in front of Jaymes and eye her bloodied face with a callous glare. The ironroot ought to keep her in line. I can’t imagine she’d be stupid enough to try and get out, but if the thought does cross her mind, it will at least act as a deterrent.
“Jaymes, have you had much practice with degeneration?” I ask after a long silence. I don’t know what plans the Taoiseach has for this young Dihkai, but regardless, if she ends up an ally or foe, I would like to find out whether her escape many seasons ago was a fluke. I wonder if she remembers me from that day.
“Huh? De-jen-ray-shun?”
She’s absolutely clueless. Unless…it’s an act. I suppose simpletons, or those who haven’t experienced the curriculum of the Academy, might not refer to their talents the same. If she truly is clueless, why is the Taoiseach interested in her? She presents no threat.
“Your decaying talent. That thing you do when objects deteriorate beneath your fingertips.”
“My rot? It’s a useless survival skill. What do you care, anyhow? Are you afraid I’m going to sneak up behind you and…getchya?”
I admire her audacity. She would make a good ally if her immaturity were tamable.
“So, what you’re saying is, you can’t degenerate that ironroot binding your hands behind your back, if your simple mind had thought of it?”
She scowls at me. “What’s ironroot?”
I give the root a violent tug. Astor falls to her knees. Jaymes remains upright with her arms spread wide to balance herself. Her ironroot bindings are nowhere to be seen. The bitch deteriorated my strongest bindings. She steps backward, raising her hands as shields. “I didn’t mean… It just happens—”
My hand slaps her face. She falls to her knees next to Astor.
“Bitch,” she mutters and cowers preemptively. But I don’t attempt another strike.
I might bring her back to the Taoiseach in pieces if this wasn’t a sign of her value. I sneer at her before turning to the annoying bitch. “What about you, Astor? How long have you been suspending? You obviously know what you’re doing. Self-taught? Or did you have the privilege of the Academy?”
Her eyes meet mine, but she keeps her head down, still on her hands and knees. I can see what she wants to say, but she doesn’t. She rises to her feet, wiping her hands and brushing her knees—trying to keep her dignity. She doesn’t answer.
“Very well then. We’re losing time anyhow. No time for gossip.” I scowl at Astor and turn back to Jay. “Get up.” Jaymes obeys without sass. A subtle improvement.
Her face contorts when I grab a fist of her short, dark hair, but she submits. I yank it to a workable level, careless whether I tear it from her scalp. “What’d you do, cut your hair with sharp stones? It’s a mess. And too short to work with.” I enhance its length a bit to tie it to the ironroot leash, ensuring I’m not delicate. Jaymes takes the abuse without a fight. A quick learner. Or maybe she’s just weak.
Astor hides beneath her soiled, light-grey cloak. “Coward,” I taunt. I tear a sleeve from her cloak, nearly forcing her to the ground again. I use the fabric to fasten Jaymes’s arms behind her back.
“Ready?” I mount Persia and nudge the cat to a trotting pace. I don’t bother looking back to see if the bitches are keeping up or being dragged.
We continue with this steady pace for a short while before the novelty wears off and I lose interest in forcing them to jog. I bring it back down to a steady stroll.
“Astor, explain why you have so much knowledge of suspension when you’ve been raised in a small fishing village a hundred leagues from the Academy.”
She remains silent. I look over my shoulder casually. It’s enough to get her talking.
“Meh… My father…” she starts, and stares at the ground while continuing her steady march. “I was fortunate enough to have one that loved me.” She looks up at me and quickly points her gaze back at her feet after seeing I’m still looking at her. A bold shot at me. She continues. “He spent his life working the Skooler—started as a deckhand and eventually worked his way toward master angler. When my mother passed, he didn’t know much about raising a child, spending his life on the Delta, so he sent me to the Academy. Cost him copper he earned on the boat and even then, it wasn’t enough. Now, Susy bless his soul, I’m doing my best to make use of it.”
“Was he the man I killed back at your house?” I ask nonchalantly. Part of me cares somewhere deep inside, but mostly I am numb to death and loss.
“No.”
No tears, anger, or sadness, so it seems. She’s probably had more loss in the past couple days than her entire life, which makes it probable all her emotions are boiling to the top and will soon explode, soaking us all in her misery.
“Nero Hawksfoot. He was as innocent a man as they come. He deserved more—”
I finish her thought for her. “And would have raised an alarm if I let him live.” I bring the caravan to a halt and turn to look her in the eyes. “They were necessary deaths. I should have killed you as well. But you fooled me. You told me Jaymes’s wounds were full of rot and contagion. You had me believing I needed you to prevent further infection, but she’s fine. Look at them. They don’t even bleed. She hasn’t needed you the slightest. So…I think it’s time for you to go.”
I pull my fukiya from its sleeve. She’s not worthy of dulling my blade. A lethal dart will suffice. Much cleaner. I put the blowgun to my mouth. Suddenly, a dull thud sounds, and Jaymes is no longer on her feet. I dismount Persia.
“Dammit, Jaymes! The first inclination of me offing your co-prisoner, and you faint. If this isn’t genuine, I will strap the end of your bindings to Persia and let her run amuck with both of you.”
Astor discounts my insensitivity and drops to Jaymes’s side. She places her hand firm against Jaymes’s chest, then shifts the back of her hand to her forehead. “You think this a coincidence?” She glowers at me. “She’s warm. And pale. Fever has taken her. We need water. Cold water. We also need a fire. I must sterilize some washcloths. These wounds need a cleansing. It seems my initial suspension of her lacerations isn’t complete. The infection must be deep.”
“No.” My response is flat.
Astor’s eyes flare. “No? She’ll die!” She tactically flinches without me even making a move to hit her.
“No,” I repeat. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“It’s obvious,” Astor replies and cowers again.
“Wh-what do we do?”
“Roll her over. I need to see the bite.”
“If she wakes…” Astor trails off and rolls Jaymes’s relaxed body onto her stomach with ease—she can’t weigh more than a small mutt.
“I thought you’ve already seen her naked. Don’t be shy. Just do it.”
Astor hesitantly tugs at Jay’s cutoff trousers, baring her cheeks to the world, and pierces my ears with an intense shriek.
“What is it?” I ask abruptly, more annoyed than startled.
She jumps away from Jaymes’s body, but with her legs tucked she falls backward instead, and shuffles away with haste. Her finger points at something. An arachnid the size of an outstretched hand falls out onto the ground. “Oh dear. It’s huge!”
“I bet the local fishermen hear that often from your tongue.”
“What?”
Dumb bitch. So innocent. “That’s the reason she’s unconscious. Likely got caught in her trousers as she was pulling them up. Squished, but not before its fangs got a taste of her flesh. It’s a sol spider.”
There are a couple small punctures finger-width apart on her right cheek. The flesh is rosy with dark veins sprouting from it like a tree root fortifying its hold.
“Well…I can put her out of her misery now,” I suggest.
“But you don’t know if it was the spider that bit her. You’re jumping to conclusions.” Astor gets back on her knees and leans in to inspect the punctures. She nods in agreement.
Everything about her annoys me. She is so passionate and opinionated and lets her emotions run wild. Does she not have any self-control?
“True,” I say coldly, implying I don’t care if she dies. But I do. The Taoiseach would turn me into a pile of rot the same as the General. And I’d like to uncover her potential. But if Jaymes does die, I can rid myself of this obnoxious blonde twat as well.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 16