The Bronze Blade

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Tshhh,” he hissed, putting his finger over her mouth. He wanted her to be silent. He lifted a brow, looking at her as if she was dumb livestock, then he said it again. “Tsh.”

  She gave him no response, purposely making her eyes as dead as possible. He scowled at her, but the girl didn’t care. Then he turned and continued walking toward the large fire in the middle of the tents.

  The camp was not large, she saw no more than a dozen tents. There were no houses like the mud and thatch roof huts her people had built by the river, but a few of the tents were larger and sat higher off the ground. She saw a grouping of ponies near the largest tent. The animals were decorated with bright cloth saddles and beads in their manes. The girl had only ever seen ponies from a distance and had always wondered how the nomads rode them. But the one who had grabbed her had come from the sky.

  Perhaps these monsters also rode some monstrous birds, as well as the four-footed, stomping beasts.

  Her captor had hooked an arm around her neck as they walked. A few men parted before him. She saw two more raiders nodding at him with respect. Whatever he was, the demon that held her was a being of some importance.

  The girl ignored all of them, until she saw a metal blade at the waist of a man nearby. It was not unlike the scooped stone knives she’d used to clean animal hides with her mother. Her hands were no longer bound. She watched as the knife came closer. Her fingers trembled.

  As she passed the man, her hand darted out, yanking the knife from his waist as she twisted her thin frame from under her captor’s arm. There were a few wretched laughs around her as some of them noticed.

  Before the monster could grab her again, she fell to her knees, bringing the sharp edge of the blade up to her throat and pressing in. She felt it bite, and her mouth spread into a relieved smile, but before she could drag the knife deeper, her hand was yanked back and the snickers turned into roars of laughter around her.

  Her captor knocked her to the ground with a cuff to her temple, but the girl didn’t go down quietly. She screamed and clawed to her hands and knees, scrambling toward the knife that had fallen into the dirt. Her captor kicked her stomach, but she kept going. Her only thought was the sweet relief of death that waited on the edge of the bronze blade.

  He yanked her up by the hair, and the knife fell from her fingers. Her dark eyes followed it down to the dirt where it landed, blade dug into the earth, out of her reach as he lifted her up by the neck. Then he tossed her toward the fire with inhuman strength as the men around him laughed and hooted.

  The girl tumbled to the ground, rolling into a ball to avoid the flames. Flames would not be enough. They would only bring her pain that might weaken her from cheating Fate’s plan. She let out a low grunt when she hit a pair of leather wrapped legs. Her tumble halted, she looked up into the eyes of the most fearsome creature she’d ever seen, all the more terrifying, because he looked nothing like a monster.

  His eyes were cold and beautifully sloped; his long hair was pulled back into a neat topknot. His face was severe, as if sculpted from rock, and his skin was the soft brown of newly dried clay. From the length of his beard, he was old, but not a single grey hair touched his temples.

  He looked at her for a long moment, then he looked up and the other men fell silent. The girl understood immediately. He was their chief. Or god. Perhaps the beautiful monster was a god come to earth, though his legs certainly felt solid. The chief said something to her captor in a low voice. He responded in the same mysterious language. They went back and forth for some time, with another voice—a younger one—occasionally sounding between them.

  The chief did not sound pleased. After a few more heated moments, the girl felt herself yanked up by the hair again, then she hung in front of the god-like creature as he peered into her eyes. She did not break her stare, but met his eyes boldly. After all, she didn’t want to show respect; she was hoping the monster would kill her. Quickly.

  There was a faint lift at the corner of his eyebrow, then he said something to the girl she didn’t understand. She didn’t know how she was so certain he was speaking to her, but there was not a doubt in her mind that it was so. He put a hand to her jaw, then gripped her neck, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her head swam and her eyes closed. The raucous sounds of the monsters’ camp picked up again, and she thought she heard more cackling laughter. Or perhaps it was only the fire popping. As the wave of numbness swept over her, the voices drifted to the back of her mind.

  She didn’t know, and for the first time, she didn’t care. She was peaceful. Swimming in oblivion. The last thing she remembered was a sharp pop at her neck, and then she knew nothing else.

  As she woke, she curled around him. Her child’s little warm body was wrapped in her arms, and he clung to her. She was warm, and morning thirst pressed against the back of her throat. Her boy smelled sweet, as if he’d spent the day playing at the edge of the river in the sun while she washed their clothes. She pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his neck to nuzzle his skin.

  But as she drew closer, the burning in the back of her throat became a fire. She clutched the child when he began to struggle in her arms. The girl felt an aching in her jaw, and she stretched her mouth open as her teeth lengthened. Long. Longer. Her mouth dropped open in pain, her nerves woke, and then everything—

  EVERYTHING woke.

  Pain.

  Like a crackling fire along her skin, spreading and digging into her as she curled her shoulders, no longer aware of the body in her arms. No longer aware of her own breath. Her body was an open wound.

  Worse than the fever. Worse than giving birth. Like nothing she could have imagined.

  She knew she was dying. Her eyes closed against the agony, she threw her head back and howled. Her mind was consumed by the burning in her throat. Her belly. She opened her eyes, but there was only blackness around her when she heard it.

  Th-thunk.

  Th-thunk.

  Th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk.

  The sound was the beating of a primal drum. The call of panicked prey. Her jaw ached, and hunger tore at her throat.

  Th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk.

  Her lips felt for the soft thrumming of the vein. Then her mouth dropped open, and she plunged her teeth into the flesh, biting down hard as her prey squealed. She rolled over it, trapping the creature under her as she drew even deeper, desperate for the relief the hot liquid splashed against her tongue.

  Sweet.

  The sweetest taste that had ever crossed her lips. Richer than honey from the hive. It splashed her lips and washed down her throat until the flesh ran dry. Then she sucked at the vein, licking her lips for the last precious drops.

  She rolled to her back, staring into the nothingness that surrounded her before her eyes closed again in relief.

  As the pain ebbed from her limbs and throat, the girl blinked back into awareness.

  She was still surrounded by the scent of animal skins and blood, only it smelled far, far worse. She wasn’t dead, but she was still in the monsters’ camp. Something heavy lay over her arm, but she couldn’t see.

  She pulled away and crawled to the edge of the tent until she came to a piece of animal skin that was not stretched as tightly as the others. She pushed the flap out until a low beam of light shone in. It was still blackest night, but even a sliver of light was enough. She could see perfectly in the darkness.

  She turned back to see what lay with her, and her mind seized.

  It was a child. No more than six or seven years, the small body lay crumbled in the center of the tent, his throat torn out, as if an animal had attacked it. Shaking, she crawled over to him, flipping him over with shaking hands until she could see the lifeless brown eyes.

  The girl lifted shaking fingers to her mouth and felt the long, curving fangs that pressed against her lips.

  Her mouth dropped open in a mindless roar.

  She screamed, and she didn’t stop.

>   Chapter Two: The Monster

  They called her Saaral. It was the word for woman in their language. She thought. She was the only female in the camp except for the human women they would occasionally capture and kill.

  Human women, she came to realize, were very breakable. If she’d wanted to live, she might have felt grateful to the solemn chief who had made her a monster.

  But Saaral didn’t want to live.

  She’d lain in the tent that first night, shaking and weeping as she held the cold body of the boy she’d drained of blood. She would not move until the hunger struck her again, and that was just before the dawn began to break. She fell into blackness with her stomach twisted in knots.

  And woke with another struggling victim. This time, it was an emaciated woman. Her hunger didn’t care. By the time she realized she’d killed again, the woman lay with dead eyes staring into the blackness of the small tent where they’d thrown her.

  The third night, it was a goat.

  Then another child.

  Then a pig.

  A man.

  She vomited up the blood from each kill, only to lap it from the dust when the hunger took her again.

  The fourth night she woke in darkness, Saaral tried to hang herself. But though the leather strips she twisted around her neck held and her body hung loose from the tent supports, she did not die. She did not even lose consciousness. And that was the way the girl learned that she no longer needed to breathe.

  A few nights later, she snuck out of the tent and found a dull blade stowed in a bedroll. She cut her neck from ear to ear, feeling every inch of the knife as she searched for death. She lost her vision at some point, but woke the next night with her captor grunting between her thighs, her healed throat was burning with hunger, but the flesh between her legs burned with pain. She raged and screamed, beating him with her fists, knowing it was useless. Then she turned her face to the side, and blood ran behind her eyes.

  She didn’t try to speak.

  The girl they called Saaral was passed from tent to tent after that. Mostly, it was her captor who fed her and raped her. Other times, it was one of the men who seemed to please him. She never saw the frighteningly beautiful chieftain again. Within the small camp, her captor led the men. Most of them were human, but they followed the monster’s every command.

  Saaral spent most of her first summer searching for death, only to be disappointed. Once she learned the sun could burn her, she tried to crawl outside, but exhaustion took her before she reached the searing rays. Her captor tied her from that night on.

  His name was Kuluun, and he was powerful. His fangs were thick and long. When they weren’t covered in blood, they glowed like small white blades in the night. Saaral tried to smother him once. He’d looked like he was sleeping. He wasn’t. Kuluun laughed and slapped her across the tent. Saaral felt her jaw unhinge, then slowly shift back into place. Then he tossed her to one of the humans who had pleased him by driving a small herd of ponies into the camp the night before.

  The human kept her for two nights. On the second one, Saaral snuck out of the tent, tying a rope from her neck to one pony’s saddle before she kicked it and hoped her head would pop from her body before anyone noticed she was gone.

  Kuluun caught her before she reached the edge of camp, dragging her back as the men laughed around her. Her rage-filled screams were shredded by the wind as Kuluun beat Saaral in front of the fire until the blood ran from her back and she fell silent. Then she felt her back knitting together as she lay in the dirt and he raped her again.

  By the time the leaves began to change, the hunger for blood had eased, and Saaral had stopped screaming.

  When the first snow fell, she gave up any hope of death.

  The monsters called themselves the Sida, and they could fly.

  Not like birds. They moved through the air as if they were swimming in invisible streams. They caught rivers of wind that carried them over the plains, often dropping from the sky to capture and kill the way that Kuluun had taken her that first night. There were only three of them. Kuluun, along with his brothers, Suk and Odval. Their chief, the monster who had bitten her neck, and another of their brothers were traveling on other parts of the plains. It was Kuluun who was in charge while they were gone. The others in the camp were humans who followed the Sida, hunting and offering up captives and animals to the monsters as if they were gods.

  Saaral knew they were not gods, for she was one of them now, though she could not fly and she barely held control of her body and senses.

  Why they had decided to keep her, instead of killing her like they did most women, was a mystery. Why was useless. She was one of the Sida, even if she was unwilling. She began to listen to the language, though she still spoke to no one. She listened when she washed clothes for the camp. She listened when they growled and grunted between her legs. She listened as she roasted the meat they ate and when she rode next to them as they moved south to warmer places. She listened to everything.

  The humans rode ponies, like all raiders did. The ponies also carried the tents and skins that they used to shelter themselves from the sun.

  The tents weren’t like the large dwellings made by the people of the plains, who moved from place to place with their families and animals. These tents were far smaller. For shelter, not living. Kuluun burrowed into the ground like an animal, then put the low tents over the opening, sometimes he buried himself completely with dirt before the sun rose. Saaral often woke to find herself buried next to him or one of his brothers, when Kuluun let them borrow her. It terrified her. But as winter grew more bitter, Saaral grew stronger and more coordinated. She watched how Kuluun moved. How he fought with Suk and Odval. She watched silently from the dust, though she still did not speak.

  Soon, there were more.

  Seasons passed. The band grew. Some of the humans who followed them, the strongest and most vicious, were turned into monsters as she had been. And though Saraal was raped nightly, she never grew heavy with child. Kuluun made children his own way, picking the humans who pleased him most to turn into Sida. The new Sida were given the fattest captives to drink while Saaral was fed just enough to keep her alive. This was the way she learned that the best blood made the Sida stronger. She was never given the best blood.

  As the new Sida were made, Saaral was given to each in turn. She was long past protesting their lust, even feebly. She lay nightly as the monsters took what they wanted of her body, then tossed her back to Kuluun’s tent like a dirty skin. If he had no other task for her, she was bound until the next night. Usually, she was put to work washing their blankets or cleaning their tents.

  Saaral no longer thought of herself as human. She didn’t remember the name her mother had given her. She didn’t recognize the land they passed through. One day, she looked into a river on a moonlit night, noticed her reflection, and realized that she still looked the same as she had the summer after her son was born, though she’d seen more than ten winters under Kuluun’s hand. The only difference was her eyes, which were some light color she barely recognized. She couldn’t see clearly in the moonlight, but they were not the rich brown her human husband had admired.

  Saaral was not surprised. She was no longer human. She was a monster, too.

  She looked over her shoulder at one of the humans near the fire, her eyes seeing clearly in the dark.

  Though she was thin and weak for a Sida, her senses had been honed. She no longer clenched hands over her ears when the animals were near. Her stomach did not turn at their scent. She had become accustomed to her new body, though Kuluun limited her to pony blood, keeping her just short of starving, so she did not become too strong.

  But though she wasn’t strong, her senses were as keen as any other Sida as she watched the human.

  Saaral remembered laying with him when he was only a young man, his black hair thick and shining in the lamplight. He had not been as cruel as some. Now, there was grey in his hair, and his shoulders were stoo
ped. Soon, she knew Kuluun would give him to one of the new Sida, who would drain his blood until he was only a husk.

  She put down the clay dish she was washing in the sand near the riverbank where they had camped.

  The man looked up. “Saaral?”

  She didn’t speak, but crouched down in front of him. She lifted a hand to his temple, tracing the silver she saw there as her eyes dipped to his neck.

  “What do you want, Saaral? You know that Kuluun told the men not to touch you without his permission.” A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

  Saaral still said nothing. She never did. As far as most of the men knew, she was mute. Kuluun was the only one who had heard her speak because he forced her to ask him for her nightly ration of pony blood. He liked to hear her beg, and blood was the only thing Saaral would beg for.

  But now, she wondered why.

  Why beg, when she could simply take it? She might not have been strong for a Sida, but she was still far stronger than the humans. There was no one around to see. Neither Kuluun nor his brothers was even close.

  She leaned forward in a crouch, letting her senses absorb the delicious scent of fresh human blood. Her fangs were already down, aching to bite.

  “Saaral?”

  She wished he would be quiet. She had no desire to hear him talk. Or cry. Slowly, she brought her eyes to his. Then she put a finger over his lips and whispered, “Tssssshhhh.”

  The rough sound left her mouth like a hiss. The human’s eyes widened for a moment, and he opened his mouth to speak. Saaral clenched her hand around the nape of the man’s neck, and she felt it.

  Like a current of air, her will caught his and held.

  Quiet.

  She thought it, and the man fell silent. His watery gaze was locked on hers.

  Interesting.

  Give me your neck.

  He leaned forward, offering up the wrinkled skin to her mouth. Saaral bent and took.