In the morning the two people stood with their meager belongings and faced east. “You sure you won’t come with us, Tender?” the woman said. Neither she nor the man had offered names and Netra had not offered hers either. “Qarath is the only safety. Stories say her king topples walls with a glance and eats fire for breakfast.” The smile she gave was humorless. “Half true would be good.”
“We will,” Netra assured her. “But first I have to gather my family.”
“Might be they’re already there. That’s the smart walking.”
“We shouldn’t have stayed this long,” the man said abruptly.
She spun on him. “I know. I know! But we had to know for sure about our boys, didn’t we? Had to know for sure.” Her shoulders dropped. “We stayed too long.”
Without another word she and the man walked out of the tiny clearing and disappeared into the shreds of gray.
When they were gone, Netra turned to Shorn. “Still planning on following me? Or have you changed your mind?”
He simply stared at her impassively, giving no indication of how he felt either way. But neither did it appear that he’d changed his mind.
Netra was surprised at how relieved she felt about that. The thought of being alone again was unbearable. Though he barely talked and showed about as much emotion as a stone, she’d already come to depend on his presence. There was something very solid and reassuring about him. Despite knowing almost nothing about him, she realized she was starting to trust him.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. “I guess you’d like to know where we’re going though, right?”
No response. Netra shrugged and continued.
“We’re going south, around the eastern side of those mountains there. My family lives there, the women who raised me. We’ll meet up with them and then head to Qarath.” He didn’t turn to see where she pointed, nor did his expression betray the slightest interest. His amber eyes remained fixed steadily on her. She realized that he really didn’t care where they went. It was all the same to him. She remembered what he said: I have nothing else, and felt a pang of sympathy for him.
What manner of creature was he? Where did he come from? How did he end up here?
All these questions she wanted to ask and more, but she knew he wouldn’t answer her. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps in time.
Even the Song coming off him was different, unlike any person she’d ever met. From it she could pick up very little about his emotions other than a bright, hot rage that overshadowed everything else. But she had a feeling that the rage was only a cover, that underneath it was a terrible pain, one he could not risk touching. She guessed that pain was connected to his being here, isolated from his people.
Had he been exiled? Had his people been destroyed?
Too many questions and no answers.
Twenty-eight
It was late afternoon a few days later when Netra realized they were not alone. She was paying attention this time, and she heard their Songs before she could see any sign of them.
She held up one hand and came to a stop in the trail. Shorn paused behind her. Closing her eyes, she concentrated, trying to learn more. It was not hard to figure out that these were people she did not want to deal with. Their Songs had that same burned feel that she remembered all too well from her encounter at the burned farmhouse, and the days of flight from Bloodhound and the others. The four men who approached had been marked by Kasai.
“Four of them,” she said softly to Shorn. “Just over that low ridge there.” She looked around. “We need to hide.”
They were on a small game trail, still hugging the side of the high ridge leading off the Firkath Mountains, which were beginning to rear up toward their full height. Pines and firs dominated the slopes, with patches of aspen here and there. They were in a wide, grassy meadow. The best thing to do would be to backtrack, hide in the trees until the men had gone by. She was hurrying back the way they had come when she realized that Shorn wasn’t following and she turned.
Shorn was still on the trail, and he was walking toward the men. They appeared over the top of the ridge and started down. Because of the trees, it didn’t look like they had seen him yet, but they would soon. She ran back towards him, calling as loudly as she dared, her heart hammering. Catching up to him, she grabbed his arm, trying to pull him off the trail. But he simply ignored her and continued striding forward.
She froze there, uncertain whether to run or stay. As if she was no more than a ghost, she could do nothing but watch as events unfolded.
The men broke out of the trees and saw Shorn. They stopped, uncertain what it was they were seeing, not realizing that it was already too late for them.
As soon as they saw him, Shorn broke into a run. His speed was stunning, much greater than anything his size should have been able to achieve. The men were still drawing their weapons when he hit them. He had two swords and a long dagger hanging from his belt, but he didn’t draw them. He just waded into the men, swinging.
His first punch caught the lead man square in the face. There was a loud crack as the man’s neck broke and he was flung backwards, knocking one of the other men down.
The next man got his sword out and raised it before his face, trying to stop Shorn’s next hammer blow. Shorn’s fist smashed through the blade like it was a twig, driving it back into the man’s face. As the man started to crumple, Shorn drove his other fist into his body, shattering his ribs and driving the pieces into his heart and lungs.
Shorn grabbed the third man’s neck with one hand, his leg with the other. Lifting him into the air, he snapped him across his knee, like someone breaking kindling for a fire.
The last man, the one who had been knocked down, scrambled to his feet and started to run. Shorn caught him with two long strides, then swung him in one fist and smashed him into a tree, the impact cracking his skull open.
Just like that it was over. It all happened so fast that Netra almost couldn’t believe what she’d seen. The sheer violence of it was horrifying, beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Not only that, but Shorn did it so methodically, so impersonally. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look upset. He showed less emotion than a butcher would after slaughtering chickens.
Netra was suddenly furious. “You didn’t have to do that!” she yelled, running over to him. “We could have hidden, waited until they were gone.”
In answer, Shorn knelt and rolled the closest one onto his back, then pointed at the black mark on his forehead.
“I know what they are,” Netra snapped. How could he be so calm? Her heart was racing and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. “I still don’t think you had to kill them.”
“They would bring more,” he said simply. He made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. In war, one killed one’s enemies. What else was there? What else could there be?
She stood there staring at him, her chest heaving as the adrenaline slowly faded. Why couldn’t he at least show something? Was he that inhuman? Was he as much a monster as the things she was fighting against?
Then she slumped, and wiped one hand weakly across her face. “Maybe you’re right. I just wish…I used to think there was another way.” Maybe there wasn’t. What else could one do against an enemy that offered no mercy, that burned children alive? She looked down on the bodies, thinking that she should offer a prayer for them or bury them or something. But she found no prayer inside her, only a relief to be alive while they were dead.
If only they were all dead.
Two at a time Shorn picked up the bodies and tossed them into the undergrowth, making sure he removed their dropped weapons as well, though not before examining them, presumably to see if they were worth keeping. When he was done there was no trace of the brief, deadly battle, except for some crushed grass. Any others passing this way would probably not know anything had happened here.
As they walked away Netra looked inside herself and wondered if there was anything left of the woma
n she had thought she was. She’d been so confident, so sure of her beliefs, of what was right and wrong. Now she no longer knew. Death crowded her on every side and more and more it seemed pointless to resist. Maybe she would have to be harder to survive in this new world she found herself in. Maybe there was no place left for softness or compassion.
Twenty-nine
Several days later Netra climbed up on a rocky outcropping to look around. From there she could see over the thick trees and down into the valley below. Not too far away was a town. She stared at it awhile. It looked like the abandoned town where she tried to save the little girl and had been captured by the old woman. She wondered what had happened to the girl. Did the burned man catch her and force the question on her? Did the crazy old woman catch her?
She decided on the spot that they were going to go down to the town. She told herself it was the sensible thing to do. Once again she was nearly out of food and she should be able to scavenge some there. But the truth was more than that. She wanted to know about the girl. If she was still there, if she was still unmarked, she would make the girl come with them. By now she should realize that her father was never returning.
In a world of death, Netra could save at least one life. She would have this one small victory.
Climbing down off the rocks, she told Shorn, “There’s a town down below us. We’re going to go see if we can find some food.” She hesitated, then decided she needed to tell him her whole reason for going. “There might also be a little girl down there who can use our help. If there’s any way we can save her, I want to do it.”
Shorn’s face betrayed nothing. Whether he thought her plan noble or foolish he gave no sign. Perhaps he simply didn’t care either way. Probably he saw his debt to her as no more than a task his honor required him to fulfill. His complete impassivity frustrated her suddenly.
“You could say something once in a while, you know. Like, ‘I think that’s a great plan, Netra!’ Or how about, ‘That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. You’re going to get us both killed.’”
Her sarcasm had no effect on him either. He just stood there, waiting.
“Fine. Have it your way. I’ll just keep talking to myself. You cut in whenever you feel like it.”
She stomped off down the slope and he followed. Pretty soon her fears started to rear up and she began to question her decision. The thought of encountering Bloodhound and the others again terrified her. She should stay as far from them as possible. She tried to remind herself that a little girl’s life could be at stake, but that didn’t really help. She told herself that she no longer needed to fear Bloodhound because of Shorn, but that didn’t help much either. With every step she became more frightened.
Because of her fear, she stuck to the thickest parts of the forest and stayed as quiet as she could. But it was pointless because Shorn stomped through the forest like an enraged bull shatren, breaking off limbs as he went. Over and over she whispered at him to be quiet, but her pleas made no difference. He either could not or would not move quietly and there was nothing she could do about it. She thought about telling him to wait while she went on ahead, but decided she felt safer this way and finally gave up saying anything to him.
Every few minutes she stopped and tested the currents of Song, listening for any trace of Kasai’s men. Each time she found nothing and gradually some of the tension left her.
At the last of the cover she stopped and peeked out. The ground was flatter here and just a bowshot away stood the wall surrounding the town. For a long time she crouched there, listening to her inner senses, but she could find nothing.
“I think it’s safe. Let’s go.”
They circled around the town until they came to the gate she’d left through. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the gate, Shorn beside her, his head turning as he scanned the town for danger. But nothing moved within the town. There was no sign of life at all.
She stopped inside the gate and looked around, getting her bearings. The partially-burned house where she’d seen the girl wasn’t too far from there. She led Shorn down a street, then turned onto another one. A few minutes later they came to the house. It was a sprawling one-story building of stone and wood, with a large, fenced-in garden. Part of it had collapsed in the fire.
She opened the gate and walked up to the front door, Shorn close behind. The front door had burned completely away and she stuck her head inside the house. She could hear no Selfsong, but maybe the girl had grown weak from hunger or was injured and dying. She had to rack her brain for a moment before she could remember the girl’s name.
“Alissa!” she called out in a loud whisper. When there was no answer she called louder. Then she looked at Shorn. “What do you think?” To her surprise, he answered.
“I think there is no one here.”
“She might be out back.” She entered the house and he followed.
But there was no sign of the girl anywhere, even out back. She and Shorn returned to the street.
“I want to look around some more. She might be in another part of town, searching for food.”
The two of them walked down several streets. Every now and then Netra called out the girl’s name, but there was only silence.
After a half hour of this, Netra suddenly sensed another Song for the first time. Woven into it was the ancient, burning hatred that she’d become all too familiar with. Motioning Shorn to be quiet, she moved to the next corner and peeked around it.
Standing a few feet away, looking like she was waiting for Netra, was the old woman who had captured her. She had a rope in her hand. Netra’s hand went involuntarily to her neck. The abrasions had healed, but she still remembered how it felt, choking on that rope.
“You’re back!” the old woman cackled. “You won’t get away so easy this time, you’ll see!”
She was raising the rope when Shorn came around the corner. Her eyes grew very large and she stopped. “Oh,” she said, “you’re a big one.”
She tried to run, but Shorn caught her easily. Before he could do anything to her, Netra yelled, “Don’t hurt her! I want to talk to her!”
Shorn turned around and dragged the old woman back to Netra. She tried to fight him, but nothing she did made the slightest difference. He was holding her by the upper arm, lifting her up enough that her toes just barely touched the ground, and she couldn’t do much besides spit at him in impotent rage, which he completely ignored.
“Tell me where the girl is and I’ll tell him to let you go,” Netra said. “You won’t be harmed.”
“You mean Alissa?” The woman’s eyes lit up as she spoke and a dark smile came onto her face. “That’s what you came back for?” The old woman began laughing. “Oh, that’s too funny, really it is.”
“Just tell me where she is,” Netra snapped. “I won’t ask you again.”
“In the bellies of the buzzards, that’s where she is!” the old woman crowed. “I finally caught the little brat, snared her with this rope right here. She’ll never throw rocks at me again.”
“You…killed her?” Even though it shouldn’t have been a surprise, still the news staggered Netra.
“Wrung her neck like a rat, I did! You should have seen her eyes bulge out!”
Horror and grief battled with rage inside her. “Why? She was just a little girl. How could you do that to her?”
“What do you care? You didn’t know her.” She turned her head to look at Shorn, then back to Netra. “Tell him to let me go now. I kept up my end. You gave me your word.”
Shorn gave Netra a questioning look. More than anything she wanted to tell him to snap the old crone’s neck. She hated this woman. She wanted to see her dead, to repay her for her evil. The words were on her lips.
But would it bring Alissa back? Would it change anything? There was no one else here for the old woman to harm.
With great difficulty she said, “Let her go, Shorn.”
Shorn released the old woman and she stood there, rubbing
her arm where he’d held her. “I hope the burned man catches you soon,” she spat. “I hope you scream for hours before you die.”
“Come on, Shorn,” Netra said, turning away.
She’d only taken two steps when she heard a sickening crunch behind her. She spun in time to see the woman collapse on the street, her head flopping bonelessly. Shorn was looking at her expressionlessly.
“Did you…? Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”
Then she spun and hurried away from him, unable to look at him any longer.
Netra set a fast pace back up the slopes of the Firkath Mountains, almost as if she were running away from Shorn. Her thoughts were confused and she wanted to get away from them as much as him. She was torn in her feelings about him. On the one hand she was beginning to trust him. She felt safer around him. She was starting to depend on him and his solid presence.
But at the same time he horrified her. The brutal, callous way he killed frightened her. Not because she was afraid he would harm her. No, what frightened her was the fact that despite what she said to the contrary, she was grateful for his ruthlessness. Those four men in the clearing would have chased her if it wasn’t for Shorn. They would have dragged her back to be burned. The old woman had killed a helpless child and laughed about it. She could not deny that she was glad they were all dead.
And what did that say about her? Was she becoming a monster too? What had become of the young woman who’d sworn to nurture and protect all life?
It wasn’t until it was almost dark that she stopped. Shorn had fallen behind and she could hear him crashing around in the bushes below her. It sounded like he was going the wrong way. She felt guilty for leaving him behind like that. What had he done to deserve such treatment except try to help her? Why was she always so hard on those who reached out to her?
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