by Jasmine Walt
"How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough."
"What does that mean?" She wasn't sure anymore what to make of him. Was he still angry at her for killing his sister, for mentioning the unborn child?
He let one foot slide off the rock, and then the other until he stood and stretched. His rib cage lifted and Alaysha could see the way the ribbon of tattaus actually went up underneath his armpit and onto the fleshy, tender spot of his tricep.
"Do all our tribe have these tattaus?"
He shook his head and some of his hair stuck to his cheek and left strands of black beneath the faint glow of green. "Did you see tattaus on all the people you killed back there?" He jerked his head in the direction of the arid piece of land.
She thought about it. The first man had the markings, yes. And a few of the others. The crones did: theirs were identical in placement as her own. The children were clean, though. And most of the women.
"Your sister was marked."
He nodded warily, but it looked like he was trying to keep the wariness from his eyes. They still looked like benign, sweet honey.
"But hers were just open symbols." Alaysha had to think back, let her memory recall the flesh path the power had taken when it had crept over the village. She'd overlooked the detail before because it was insignificant at the time.
"Across her chin," he said.
Alaysha's fingers went involuntarily to her face, wanting to touch the narrow ribbon of ink snaking from earlobe to earlobe and across her chin. She remembered her nohma putting the marks there. It had hurt, but since Nohma had the odd tattaus too, she'd wanted them and put up with the pain. She wanted hers to be exactly the same, but Nohma wouldn't have it.
"Nohma wouldn't put mine on my back where hers were. She told me mine must be on my face."
Yenic stepped closer, as though he were testing the temperature of the water. As he came around the fire pit he lifted his arm and with the fingers of his other hand traced the tattau's path from tricep to hip. When he got close enough that Alaysha could touch him, he took her hand and placed it in the middle of his markings—near the first rib. She felt his skin pimple and laid her palm flat against it.
"I got the first mark when I was four," he told her.
"I was young too," she said.
"The Arms of the Witch are tattaued like this because we are her reach. Her protection. Our arms are in service to her." He met her eyes and held them with his own so intensely, she could barely swallow.
"How many?"
"One for each witch."
"And my Nohma?"
"She shoulders the burden of caring for the witch."
Alaysha nodded. The symbolism made sense. She let her hands search the markings while he stood, silently letting her trace one to the next. They were quite beautiful up close, the way the skin showed through against the black band surrounding them. It must have taken hours to craft such a long line with such intricate detail and symbols. Her fingers reached the base of his armpit and she felt him shudder.
"I'm sorry. That spot tickles, doesn't it?"
His voice sounded as though it came from a dark pit when he answered. "No. Not ticklish at all." He let his arm fall and reached to touch the corner of her mouth, then his fingers trailed the length of her tattau, stopping at her ear. He cupped the back of her head and she thought for a second that the clump of air that had somehow lodged in her chest would keep her from speaking.
"Why are mine on my chin?"
He smiled and leaned forward. The feel of his lips against her forehead made her chest tight.
"Because yours is the burden of swallowing our sins." His hand left her nape and traveled down her back. She felt herself begin to mold against him almost as though she were made of oil and was finding the curves of his body like she was meant to. When his palm pulled her hips closer to his, she let herself step into the embrace and enjoy the warmth of his body against hers.
"It's a difficult burden, Alaysha," he said into her hair. "But you don't have to suffer it alone."
She felt the tension leave at his words and hadn't realized her muscles had been coiled and ready to run. If they'd ever felt relaxed, she was sure it had been during childhood, before her first battle, and it felt good to let them ease into each other, one fiber connecting to the next without worry that they'd need to fight or run. Without thinking, she put her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his bare chest. She could hear his heart beating within like a happy fire sending flames roaring over thick logs.
"I've been alone for so long," she said. "Ever since Nohma…" She didn't want to say it. She couldn't.
He pulled away just enough that he could peer down at her and searched her eyes with his own. "What about your nohma?"
"I killed her."
He looked truly perplexed. "But you couldn't."
She stepped back and leaned to pick up a stick to poke the fire. She'd admitted it, finally, but she didn't think she could take the admonishment. She hadn't meant to, after all. She stirred the ashes and lifted a charred blocks to allow it air so the fire could catch beneath it.
"Alaysha?"
She would answer, but she wouldn't look at him. "I did. I killed her."
"You couldn't." He grasped her by the shoulder and twisted her away from the fire. "Her tattaus, her blood, would have protected her."
Now it was her turn to be confused. "Her blood?"
"Yes. Alaysha. Didn't you know she was your mother's sister? She was your blood witch."
Alaysha ran her memory back as many paths as she could as she stood there. It didn't make sense. She'd killed her, she knew it. She remembered it.
"I don't understand," she said.
"You are young," he said and took the stick from her. In his hands the fire leapt to ready flame.
"How do you do that so easily?"
He grinned at her. "I can't tell you all my secrets."
"It seems you are keeping a good many." She held her hands out to the flame.
"I have a few, yes," he agreed.
There were so many questions already roiling around in her head, she barely knew what to ask. How would she ever find a way to sort them all out? Yet something was bothering her more than anything else. Something he'd said kept trying to creep back into her consciousness.
"Your sister had tattaus across her chin."
He nodded but he wouldn't look into her eyes. "She was being tattaued. We thought she had plenty of time to get them finished."
"I got to her before she could have the black filled in?"
"Yes."
"You said the symbols and their placement were relevant."
Again he nodded.
"So your sister was a witch."
He sighed as though he'd been holding his breath. "Yes. She would have been. But not nearly as powerful as you."
He looked at her so strangely she thought she must have said something wrong. He reached for her and she went to him without thinking and stepped into his embrace.
"You have more power than you can know. I don't blame you, Alaysha."
She thought she heard herself sob but knew it couldn't be true; she'd never once cried over all the lives she had taken. Not once. A warrior did not feel. A warrior did not allow emotion to keep her from her task.
She felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek before she felt his touch. He kissed her just at the rise of each cheek, where she knew tears had pooled, and then he brushed her eyes with his lips, capturing the fluid as it leaked out.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured.
His mouth claimed hers tentatively at first, then took it with such confidence, as if he owned her lips and already knew the way they curved, how they would move against his, when her mouth would gasp in release. She responded so similarly, she felt herself losing the will to stand and even as she thought she would let go, she felt his arms beneath her knees and around her waist and she was laid down, against the fur. His hand roamed her hips and legs, stroke
d her back. She couldn't stop herself from pressing against him and feeling every inch of his body against hers, and yet it still wasn't close enough.
Barruch made a sound somewhere between a whinny and a snort, and it was enough to remind Alaysha that they were not truly alone; the girl could have returned. She pulled away and scrabbled to her feet, breathless and feeling as though she'd narrowly escaped some danger. Yenic lay on his back with a short grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He put his hands behind his head and for a second, she wanted to strike him for his arrogance but remembered how badly she wanted to feel his mouth on hers again, and ended up scurrying away to hide the blush she knew had taken her cheeks.
Barruch stomped his front feet impatiently, thankfully giving her time to recover and digest all she now knew.
She moved to put her palm on his nose where a small spot of white showed, and he lowered it to avoid her touch. She went to pat his chest and he huffed away.
"Come now, old man, you can't say you're unhappy with me."
He merely blinked and swatted at her with his tail.
Spending time and attention on her horse gave Alaysha a few minutes to gather her thoughts. She'd never once questioned Nohma about her past. True, it was odd, now she thought it, that her nurse treated her so familiarly. But she'd never once indicated they were related. And if it was true that she was protected by blood from Alaysha's young powers, then how was Alaysha able to take her life?
She ran her hand down Barruch's neck, letting her memory take her places she had never forgotten, but had chosen to bury. That night when she was just six, her name day, actually, she'd been allowed to feed her new colt and was so excited she couldn't stop talking. She'd wanted to run to her father and thank him, but Nohma held her back. He wouldn't be interested in gratitude, Nohma told her. He was only interested in getting his own mount back—and safely out of killing distance. She'd already destroyed several of his horses.
That too, was true. Forced to ride in a basket slung off the side of his mount for years, she'd killed plenty, not the least the horse upon which she was saddled when she unleashed her thirst.
"He was tired of walking back to camp with you on his back," Nohma told her. And so in the last battles, she'd been pitched forward with Nohma in the saddle, armed scouts to the left and right, a full armament in the back. Only Nohma, Alaysha, and the poor sacrificial beast riding forward to greet the opposition.
In those days, her power was unpredictable, yes, and far from the mature ability to kill at long distances. She was deprived of food and water for days before battle and sent, afraid, into the perimeter to let loose her primal fear of thirsting to death.
And men fell.
And the horse beneath her fell.
And usually Nohma was left standing to carry her back to the camp while the warriors went in to gather the slaves. But that last time, that last battle when they'd learned to leave the horse far behind the battle lines, with Nohma standing beside her, confident in the history that proved she was the only one capable of living in proximity with the witch, that last battle Nohma fell. And no matter how long Alaysha stood in the rain in the aftermath, the seeds of her eyes never took root and grew back into the woman who loved her.
So the blood hadn't protected her. And the symbols were not strong enough.
She turned to Yenic, wanting to tell him he was wrong, but standing next to him was the girl; she'd come back from her foraging, obviously.
But she was not alone.
9
"This is my brother," the girl said. She looked up to the swarthy man at her side. He was tall, much taller than Yenic and several inches thicker. His hair was matted in mud so that it was all back off his face and temples. His eyes were as green as a wolf pup's and looked to be about as predictable. His arm wasn't slung over the girl's shoulder so much as it was clenching her bicep in a meaty hand.
Yenic looked as though he was about to hurl himself across the few feet and use his own shoulder as a battering ram to the solid wall of stomach that was the brother, and looking at the way the interloper was holding onto the girl, Alaysha couldn't say she blamed him.
"Welcome," she said, not sure what else she should say; after all, the man was this girl's kin.
Rather than act pleased over the hospitality, he sneered at her and pushed the girl forward.
"Tell her," he said.
Alaysha noticed the skinny legs trembling, the furtive way the girl kept looking into the trees. She suspected there was more to the visitor's party than what the youth was letting on.
"Edulph wants to know what you are."
Alaysha had to tear her gaze from the girl's trembling shoulders. "If you've hurt her…"
The boy spat. "Aedus doesn't need pain to be reminded where she comes from."
"Aedus?" So that was the girl's name. Alaysha caught and held the girl's eye. Yes. It was true.
"Where'd you come from?" she asked Aedus.
The girl started to speak, but got shoved from behind. She stumbled forward and had to catch herself from falling. Edulph spoke for her instead.
"Doesn't matter. What does matter is how you're going to help us kill your father."
It would be laughable if he didn't seem so earnest. Alaysha sensed Yenic taking subtle steps toward her and Barruch's breathing had shifted. It was shallower, ready to bolt if need be.
"You want to kill Yuri." Even speaking it didn't make it sound more sensible.
"I want to kill Yuri and enslave his people like he did mine."
"You'll never manage it. Yuri's people would never serve." She didn't think she'd have to add how difficult it would be to assassinate the conqueror of the hordes. He'd not got that way through being a docile man, and did not manage to lead for so long by being accessible. Alaysha thought of Bodicca and the men whose teeth circled her forearms.
She decided to wait out this strangely ambitious brother, reason with him somehow. She didn't care, in the end whether he made war on Yuri or whether he went his own way and forgot about his vengeance. It was no concern of hers. But for the girl. She couldn't stand the way this brother acted as though Aedus was a possession to be used. She glared at him. "I don't care what you do, but you will leave your sister to decide if she wants a part in it or not."
Edulph grabbed Aedus's scrawny arm and twisted her backwards, so she was pinioned next to him.
"Let her go." Heat flooded Alaysha's neck, the anger boiling in her chest and needing out. She took an angry stepped forward, intending to thrash the daylights from this insipid bastard once and for all. She would have stormed the fire's perimeter when she felt Yenic's hand on her shoulder. She gave him a questioning look.
He ignored it and addressed Edulph. "What is it you really want? We have no quarrel with you."
Edulph snorted. "You have a quarrel with Yuri, though."
Yenic nodded. "Maybe, but why do we care that you do? Go your way. Make your war. We have no stake in it."
Edulph inclined his head at Alaysha. "I've seen her. I've seen what she can do. Out there." He jerked his head towards the arid land that was once Yenic's village. "I've been with the scouts, with the warriors over the years. I've seen the desolation she's left behind. Not a single arrow shot. Not a torch put to grass."
Alaysha's stomach began to squirm. She'd been careful never to have anyone witness the things she'd done, but they had certainly witnessed the aftermath. It would be easy for someone to think, to believe, that the massacres were easy.
"You have no idea," she said.
"I have some idea. Enough idea to know you have magic. Aedus has said the same."
It was Yenic's turn to interrupt. "She told us there is no such thing as magic." He shot Aedus a scolding eye. "So why would you believe any exists?"
Alaysha had had enough of the diplomacy. She didn't care what the hooligans believed. "Just let the girl decide and be gone." She stomped over to Barruch to get her sword. A dozen men stepped from the shadows.
&nbs
p; "Careful, fools," she said. "I'm trained."
She heard a laugh come from Edulph and she whirled to face him. "It would not do to provoke me."
"Or what? You and your boy will fight my fifty men? Please do. Please show me."
Aedus spoke in a shaking voice. "Please, Edulph. You have no idea."
"Oh, I do have some idea, Aedus. And more since your little stories."
"How much did you tell, Aedus?" Alaysha asked. She traveled the days of memory to see how often and how much the girl might know of her power.
The girl shrugged helplessly, and Alaysha guessed that, excited to see the brother she'd been pining for, she told him everything she knew, never guessing or caring what Edulph's plans would be. And just what were those plans?
"What is it you want, then?" She demanded.
"You."
Yenic was there in a flash, holding his arm against her chest, and for a moment, Alaysha barely cared that his fingers were digging into her shoulder.
"You think I'll kill my entire tribe for you?" She wouldn't think about the irony of it. She just wouldn't.
Edulph grinned. "I don't think. I know." He tapped his temple and made a grab for Aedus's hand. Before Alaysha or Yenic could do anything, he had shoved the whole of her palm deep into the flames.
Alaysha wasn't sure if the piercing scream came from Aedus or not, but she was painfully aware that her own mouth was open wide and that her chest hurt. Her ears hurt. Her throat hurt. And just like that, she tasted the mold of the dampest parts of the ground, the copper tang of blood that she knew in the instant was from a squirrel in a tree nearest her. She felt the moss beneath her feet start to crackle. And then just as those things entered her consciousness, something covered her mouth and her tongue tasted the moistness of another's and she felt arms around her waist and the beat of a thudding heart against her chest.
And the thirst was gone.
Yenic pulled his lips from hers and searched her eyes. She took a deep breath, watched him do the same. She could only give the barest of nods.
He took her hand and turned to face Edulph. "We'll go with you."
Edulph nodded, and he let go of Aedus's arm. But Alaysha noticed he licked his lips, and that when he noticed no moisture could soften their cracked surface, he sent an inspecting glance around the rest of his party. One or two of the men reached for their water skins and couldn't conceal their surprise when they found them empty.