Seeing her beaten, bruised body through the magic of the looking glass, Riken’s blood sizzled in his veins, burning the shelter of skin outside them.
As Riken seethed, beyond needing to prepare himself for the first stage of his plan, the large wild-haired man stood and began to speak. Riken didn’t understand the language, which was different even from the hunting party they’d tussled with before, but he didn’t need an interpreter to grasp the meaning.
The leader of the Black Earth tribe called for one of the girls to be brought to the table. A guard wearing grey wolfskin over wide shoulders jabbed at the trembling child on the far right with his spear. She squawked and almost tripped over her feet. One of the females at the table squeaked a high, mocking laugh.
If it comes to that, she dies first, Riken thought, trying to burn the woman crisp with his glare.
The guard prodding the summoned girl dropped his spear and seized her by the shoulders. Riken saw that she had a plain yet comely face. Her hair – shorter than the rest of the girls – was the color of an autumn sunrise. The guard plopped her atop the table ceremoniously, then stepped back in line with his brethren. The girl stood shivering on the wide table, staring in innocent horror at the plates surrounding her feet, filled full with the remains of her less fortunate friend.
With a booming voice, the leader addressed his kinsmen. He would shout a sentence, then the entire tent would roar it back to him in kind. The diners banged their flagons on the tabletops like drumsticks. Those of lesser standing, relegated to the floor, stomped their feet and struck the ground with their weapons.
This enthusiastic demonstration went on for quite some time.
Riken waited.
The leader jumped to his feet, pounced atop the table, and gripped the frightened child by her waist. He howled like a wild beast, and lifted her flimsy body over his head, pumping her up and down. The crowd erupted again, filling the tent with their raging cries. Every soul in attendance soared to their feet, screaming, chanting.
All but one…
“By the Father,” Riken breathed, disbelieving his eyes.
His eyes didn’t lie, though. Directly to the left of the rampaging leader, sitting despite the fanatical jubilation of the crowd, sat a tall, lean man with a short crop of clean, white hair.
“Sefen,” Riken said, grasping for meaning.
Beside him, Illter heard his soft utterance, and asked, “Where?”
Riken pointed the little bastard out, and Illter nodded his head with mild interest.
The scrawny man sat in his high seat as if bored out of his mind, sharp shoulders slumped low, arms crossed, eyes on the ceiling. He wore the garb of the tribe, a thick bearskin of brown and white that swallowed his sinewy frame, giving an air of absurdity to his prim, polished appearance. Even if he hadn’t been the only one sitting amidst the ongoing commotion, he still would’ve looked wholly out-of-place amongst the savages.
What in the name of the Father was Sefen doing here? Why does he sit next to the leader? What did this mean? A multitude of like questions sparked in Riken’s head, but there was no time to ponder them. The leader was commencing with his speech.
The child was still held aloft over the giant man’s head, but the shouting had ceased. Whatever was going to happen next, it would happen soon.
The leader bent to one knee, and from the table, took up the largest sword Riken had ever seen. The vicious, razor-sharp weapon glistened in the light of the bonfire. A slowly-drying stream of blood marred its otherwise pristine steel. By its size, Riken would’ve thought it would take two men to bear it, but the giant savage lifted it and held it sure in one massive hand. With the other hand, he lowered the now bawling girl to the table. He straddled her, towering over the helpless child like a mountain to an arid creek and raised the sword high.
“Now,” Riken said, and latched onto the edge of the ridge. He pulled himself through fast, hearing the bodies of two of his companions follow, landing on the lip of the second ridge with synchronized grunts.
A pair of confused calls went up the moment three of the guards witnessed the intruders. Riken whipped his head to the side as the three guards to his left came rushing. Illter’s sheath whined as he freed his great sword from his back. Payton slung his bow around his shoulder with finesse, retrieved an arrow, notched, and ended one of the guards’ pursuits before it had chance to begin.
“Now, Tawny,” Riken yelled, but when he spun his head back around, he found Tawny absent. He looked to Payton and Illter, both preparing themselves for the closing guards. Payton’s eyes grew as wide as Riken was sure his own were. Illter didn’t look concerned, but he should’ve. Riken yelled again. “Tawny.”
A pebble falling from the ridge they’d stood on moments before grazed Riken’s cheek, and he looked up. The faces of four Black Earthers poked out from the loose tent flap.
Riken’s heart sank.
“They got Tawny,” he said.
“They got us,” Illter said, drawing his body into attack position.
As if to give credence to the statement, a spear whizzed through the air and stuck itself into Riken’s left thigh. He went down wailing, but not for long. Something heavy and hard cracked his temple, and his vision swirled into black.
The clearing was dark. Always before, there had been light.
Riken could just barely hear voices around him, speaking softly, muffled as if he wore something covering his head. Blinking his eyes, still getting nothing out of the total darkness, he strained to hear.
“Told you.”
“My apologies.”
“For?”
“Doubting you.”
“Ah. Worry not. How could you have known?”
“I should have.”
“Why?”
“He’s my brother,” Amana said meekly. “My own flesh.”
“That is why you couldn’t have known,” Abby said. “Family isn’t supposed to fail.”
“But he did. He failed me. He failed all of us.”
“That he did,” Abby said as if she’d never had any doubt. “It’s in his nature.”
“Aye,” Amana said, her voice so sad. “It’s in his nature.
Riken tried to defend himself, but he couldn’t. Something was lodged in his mouth, forbidding speech.
Father be good. What have I done?
Voices conversed in fervent discussion around him. As in the fleeting dream, he couldn’t see a thing but black. His first thought? They’ve taken my eyes. But, nay. He realized from the itching around his ears that they’d placed a shroud over his head.
Fitting, Riken said as he tried to hear the words from the speakers around him.
His mouth ached. Something was wedged deep inside it. He tried to spit it out, but that only induced a fit a gagging that reddened his throat. An attempt to move his arms and legs proved fruitless, as well. He was bound to something hard and flat jutting into his spine. As his senses lethargically began to return, the voices around him gained clarity.
“How was I to know, Father?” a familiar, high-pitched voice whined. “I paid the man to sound an alarm, to warn us. Is it my fault he’s a simpleton? Is it my fault he waited too long?”
Sefen.
“Do not call me father,” a grievous, penetrating voice said. Riken was too downtrodden to be impressed that the man spoke Common.
“You are my father,” Sefen said, bewildered. “I’m your son.”
The man slammed his fist hard on the table. Riken didn’t need to see it to know. The force of the action rumbled the plates atop the surface, shattering a few.
“I have no son,” the man bellowed. Somewhere a few of the dogs scurrying about whined.
“Father?”
“No son of mine would bring such distress down on his own people. No son of mine would put his faith in others, when he should have seen to the task himself.”
“I paid him well, Father…”
“Do not address me so again,” the man growle
d, sending an errant shiver down Riken’s spine. “Do so again and I’ll have your tongue.”
“Temok,” Sefen said with some difficulty. “I paid the man to do the job. Paid him well. He did it. We have the intruders confined.”
Damnit, Dexter,” Riken thought. He’d sent the man with Uther, knowing Uther could handle him if the need arose. Riken had known for some time of Dexter’s plan for betrayal – his absences from camp, his love of coin over all else. Why in the name of the Father hadn’t he handled the matter himself earlier? Why had he let Dexter come this far with them? He should’ve known better, but a part of him, the part that saw Dexter as a friend, hadn’t wanted to believe it. Like so many times in his life, Riken had been wrong. And now they would all pay the cost. Most likely, Uther and Abby were already gone. There was no other way Dexter’s treachery could’ve succeeded.
“Fool. Useless fool. One of theirs took out seven good Black Earth warriors before going down. Any one of those fine warriors, you are not fit to hold the sandals of. How you came from the fruit of my loins is a mystery the Fires themselves could not decipher.”
“Have I not done well, Fa…Temok?” Sefen asked. “Have I not kept the tribe fresh with sacrifices for cycles? Was it not I who seized upon the notion of claiming those mines? Did I not leave my own home to ensure the continued existence of Black Earth?”
Temok laughed angrily. “You merely found a credible excuse to flee. You could never wield a weapon. You added nothing to the tribe in your useless life. You would never have been heir to my place as leader of this great clan. You, and that head of yours which you value so, snatched on to a means to escape me and your duties. You fled your responsibilities like a craven snake.”
“I did it for the tribe,” Sefen protested, though with little fervor. “Everything for the tribe.”
“For you,” his father said. “Always you think of yourself first. You wanted away from this place, and you went. And rightfully so. I would have been ashamed to pass my torch to you, such a scrawny, pathetic man. You could never have led Black Earth. You embarrass me. As ever.”
Foolhardy, Sefen seemed to find his nerve. “Embarrass? I’ve sustained this tribe for over a cent. Who’s supplied the sacrifices? Who’s kept the Fires satisfied? Who’s broken his damned back and risked his fucking neck to guarantee the constitution and fertility of Black Earth? Me. Me, Father. Sefen.”
“Oto menee,” Temok called.
Sounds of resistance registered from Sefen’s position.
“By the Fires, Father,” he cried. “What are you doing?”
Temok barked something else in his native tongue.
“You can’t do this,” Sefen said, reeling. “I deserve better. I demand your respect. You’d all be dead without me, choking long ago on the dust of this abysmal land you so love. You can’t…”
Riken heard a crack, then Sefen’s rant fell silent.
Thank the Father for small favors.
A man in grey wolfskin with a black mole the size of a coin on his cheek jerked the shroud from Riken’s head.
Riken spat the obstruction – a wadded cloth – from his mouth.
Squeezing his eyes tight until they adapted to the influx of light, Riken regarded the blurry figures before him. The wild-haired man, Temok, was seated at the table, staring at Riken with calm hate. His thick sausage fingers drummed impatiently on the cracked wood. Around his bulky neck, he wore a necklace akin to the one the leader of the hunting party back on Pristinus had. It was strewn of small, human teeth. It took a man of more resolve than Riken felt like wasting to hold that sinister, pondering gaze. He looked away, then to his sides to see who’d survived long enough to stand trial with him.
To his left, Payton and Illter hung limp on x-shaped beams similar to his own. Frayed rope constricted their splayed legs and arms. The skin directly afflicted by the binds was both red and pale white. Both men sported the same black shroud Riken had only recently been deprived of. Payton looked well, considering. Illter, though, looked like he’d been dragged beneath a dull plow. Most disturbing was the grooved wing of skin hanging loose on his leg. Riken could see the wound beneath a patch of fabric that had ripped away from Illter’s pants.
Behind him, he heard one of the dogs bark meekly. Riken closed his eyes and searched out the animal’s mind. What he found wasn’t worth his trouble. These beasts, along with the wolves, would be of no use to him – if even he could’ve summoned the vigor to utilize them – so haggard and malnourished were they. Plus, there were only about two dozen of them in total, at least that he’d seen, plus one half-dead black bear. The might of Black Earth would quash any such attempt on his part like a giant redwood falling atop a family of gnats.
Riken hung his head, sighing out his disgust. He would’ve shaken it, reproaching himself, but even thinking about doing it made the knot on his temple throb and his vision swim. Recouping his strength, he turned to his right, apprehensive of what his eyes would feast upon there.
Despite the portentous nature of the situation, seeing Sefen’s fuming yet defeated body hanging next to him warranted a painful, awkward laugh.
“Almost makes this worthwhile,” Riken said.
Sefen lifted his head and sneered.
There was no captive next to Sefen. Riken’s momentary, small victory flittered away.
“I’m so sorry,” he said to three friends who would never hear.
“Quiet,” Temok said from behind the table. Again in his own tongue, he gave instructions to his men. Payton and Illter’s shrouds were removed. Payton was unconscious. A shallow wound bled from his forehead. Illter’s eyes were open, cool to the point of indifference. When Temok spoke again, he stared directly at Riken. “I will speak in your Common. I want you to understand the consequences of your actions against Black Earth completely. There will be no misinterpreting of my motives.”
“Thank the Father for that,” Riken said. “Wouldn’t want to die with any misinterpretations hanging over my head.”
“Your false god will give you no solace this day.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Your false god will give you no solace this day,” Temok said, then motioned to one of the guards closest to the prisoners.
The guard stepped forward and clocked the skinny man in the gut with the blunt end of his spear. The skinny man gagged, then fought for air in hoarse retches.
Sage cringed, but refused to look away. She had to be strong, for the sake of the rest of the girls. She looked to them. All four were huddled on the ground around her feet. Tessa’s head was on Sage’s foot. She could fill the little girl’s tears spilling on it. Renna had curled herself into as tight a ball as her restraints would permit, her knees tucked snug beneath her sharp chin. Wilma and Gabby were on their knees and crying, staring terrified at the plates on the table in front of them.
Sage couldn’t make herself look. She didn’t want to see her precious Brook that way again. Not that way. Never. Forced to attend the Black Earth tribe’s ritual the previous night, Sage had involuntarily forfeited a portion of her soul. It would never be returned. In its place, the grisly, torturous ruination of a beautiful innocent’s life would forever reside.
When Temok had called for Tessa only moments ago and brought out that terrible sword, she’d felt her last hard-fought vestige of hope ripped away. Even after Brook, Sage had tried so very hard to keep that hope beating alive and intact. Seeing the terrible brute raise Tessa over his head to the ecstasy of his horde, her prayers had been pulverized beneath the tyrannical heels of inevitability.
Then he had come. The skinny one and his friends.
But, Sage now had to admit as her eyes lingered over their bound bodies, their valiant effort had only managed to stay fate briefly. After they were done away with, the ceremony would commence. If no further dispute was waged…
Sage Ullimar wasn’t letting that happen.
“What is your name?” Temok asked the skinny man.
When he rece
ived no answer, the savage nodded to one of his men. The man knocked his bumpy club across the skinny man’s jaw.
“Your name?” Temok repeated, his words steeped in threat.
“My close, personal friends call me Temok,” the skinny man said, spitting a gooey wad of blood on the ground.
The Black Earther struck him again, and the skinny man’s head lulled. At first, Sage didn’t think he would raise it again, but he did.
“Would you believe Osysis?” the skinny man asked, and Sage simultaneously admired and pitied him.
The man who’d already struck him twice made a move to raise his club.
“It’s Riken,” the skinny man said, trying to flinch away from the coming blow. “Riken Snowtear.”
“A sad name,” Temok said.
“For a sad man,” Riken Snowtear said. “Nothing so illuminating about that.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I heard the beaches were glorious this time of cycle.”
“You try my patience, little man.”
“I try,” Riken said.
“How many are you?”
“Usually just one, but sometimes when I stare in the mirror after a hardy night of drink, I see two or three. But just the one for the most part.”
That drew another crack to his jaw. This time, he spit out more than blood.
“How many?” Temok asked.
“They don’t teach counting to Black Earth youth? Let me help you. I’m one. The man to my left makes two. The one next to him makes three. You keep up with that, or should I start over and go slower?”
“Do I look dim?”
“Should I answer that?”
“We know you are at least four.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“Your death will be a joyous one to me.”
“Think that’s the first time I’ve heard that?” Riken asked. “I would’ve expected a tad more originality from the glorious leader of such a great tribe.”
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