by Tia Reed
“No,” Vinsant said, toppling back.
The boat rocked. The Majoria flinched. He snatched Vinsant’s shoulder and yanked his hood off, glaring deep into his eyes. In its hood, the Majoria’s shadowed face was hard. “What did you see?”
“You looked like you were working magic,” Vinsant said, which was not a lie. His darting eyes had to be giving him away, but the water was churning blue. Kordahla was left to face her fate alone.
“What magic?” Levi persisted. “What magic did you see?”
“See?” Vinsant improvised, for now one thing was sure: Levi did not want him know he could scry Kordahla. Unfortunately, discovering why was going to be near impossible when he was not allowed to speak. He held out the dagger. “Were you helping me steer the boat? Shall I do the lesson again?”
“Not today.”
Vinsant’s mouth opened in dismay as the shore sped by, the current bearing the boat back to their starting position.
“Your punishment for this morning’s disrespect,” Levi said, bringing the boat to the bank in sight of Lake Sheraz. “Now don your hood and draw your sword.”
This time Vinsant cussed under his breath. Forget the eight-day his punishment was supposed to span. At this rate, it was going to take a year Just to reach the Crystalite Mines.
* * *
They veered west under hot, clear skies, Erok saying they needed to cross the river.
“After that?” Sian asked.
He shrugged.
They slept in the open the next two nights, nestled in the tall grass after Erok assured them ogres did not venture onto the plain. It was just as well; there was no shelter in sight. Little food either. The hare Erok managed to snare left them hungry. It was funny how tasty the stale grain cakes they had carried from the village became.
On the third evening, they sighted the broad river. The sound of a strange animal carried across the plain. Sian jumped. A whinny, Erok named it, and told her of the large, gentle beast men called the horse. Kordahla wanted to go to it, but Erok made them bed down in the tall grass well away from the stone bridge. He left them to stalk across it and scout the land. When he returned, he unrolled his blanket but remained sitting a long time.
“What’s wrong?” Sian asked, raising herself onto her forearm.
“The Myklaani send frequent border patrols.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“Don’t worry. They’re no match for a hunter who can fend off six ogres.” He winked at her and she fell asleep with a warm feeling inside.
Dindarin and Daesoa were sailing high when she woke, he waxing towards full and she at her first quarter. Not sure why, she stood. The others tossed in fitful sleep. Erok’s grunts clashed with the click of insects and rush of water, drowning Timak’s whimpers. Their faces were shadowed by the grass, but a yellow moonbeam danced by the river. It drifted west, lighting the bridge. Gingerly, she slid Erok’s bone knife from beneath his arm. It was a cruel thing that felt wrong in her hand, but she could not cut fur without it. She walked towards the light, drawn by the same call that had brought her to all the bones. There were five now sitting in her pouch, each carved with a symbol she had dreamt. They would make a fine gift for Ishoa when she got home.
The river was wider than any she had seen, the stone bridge sturdy, unlike the fallen logs and stepping stones the Akerin used to cross their narrow streams. The moonbeam drew her to the other side. The plain was threatening in its openness, the moons so large above it. From somewhere to the west came the nicker of a strange animal. Perhaps predators were prowling. She needed to be hunter brave, because Daesoa called her on.
She found it in a camp, two tents and the horses Erok had told of, tethered a little distant to iron stakes. A magnificent wolf in his prime, his thick fur a tribute to his kind, strung over poles, lifeless, forgotten. Daesoa’s gentle beam caressed his face. Dindarin’s green light shone a halo around him. Nobody had mourned for him. Nobody had thanked the spirits for his life. A useless death, she sensed. His meat would not nourish his killer’s bellies, his furs not warm their skin. Shedding a tear, she crept towards him, buried her face in his fur.
Take him, she pleaded with the spirits. Let him roam free once more.
The moonbeams drifted to his paw. Begging forgiveness, singing praise beneath her breath, she knelt by him and cut his flesh to take the bone that glowed brighter than the rest.
There was a snort and a whinny. Unnerved by the strange sounds, she twisted to check where the horses were, overbalanced and toppled against the poles. They clanked as they tumbled one on the other and she was unable to stifle the cry of pain as her raw arm rubbed wood.
The tent flapped opened. Jumping to her feet she tried to run, but he was on her, tackling her before she had passed the other tent. She landed hard, face down, pinned beneath his weight. He bashed her hand against the earth and she let go the knife. He grabbed it, sat atop her, held the blade to her neck.
She did not understand his words. Did not need to in order to know she need lie still. The man rolled her over, his blade still pressed to her skin. She was shaking with fear, barely able to breathe. Other figures were moving in the shadows. The man called out and one brought a lantern. They looked her over, then the one on top of her broke into a leer all the nastier for the skew of a jagged scar at his lip. The others offered a murmur of reservation, a mocking laugh, a lewd comment, then gestures that dripped with vulgarity. Sian struggled. The blade nicked her skin and she screamed. The man tossed the knife away. She fell quiet. His leer returned. Then he pressed his mouth against hers, hard. She squirmed but he pinned her down. Tore her blouse open and slid his hand onto her small breast. Pinched hard. One heavy hand flattened her to the ground as the other yanked her trousers down. She tried to gouge his eyes, but he grabbed her arms and forced them down. She screamed again as his hand constricted around her scalded flesh. She struggled as he swelled against her. Screamed and screamed as he lowered himself onto her, into her, his thrusts searing as deeply as the burn.
* * *
Kordahla woke with a start. Timak was shaking her, though darkness yet shrouded the plain.
“Sian, Sian, Sian, Sian.”
The girl’s blanket was empty.
“Quick, quick, quick.”
She lunged to the hunter. “Erok,” she said, shaking him, “Erok.”
The hunter grabbed her wrist. She jolted back. He registered it was her and let go.
“Sian. Quick.”
He picked up on her urgency. His right hand leapt to his spear. His left fumbled for the knife he always slept with. It closed empty.
“Hurry,” Timak said, backing away. When he saw they were up and following, he broke into a run, heading straight for the moonlit bridge. He looked up as he stepped upon it, and pointed, so sure of the direction that the genie had to be leading him on.
On the other side of the river, they heard the screams. Erok charged toward the two tents looming on the grassy plain. A sob curdled and died. Figures moved around a prostrate body. Rough voices barked.
“Vae’oeldin’s rot. The whore’s possessed.” A bearded man with a lip-twisting scar rose from the ground. Sweet Sian lay sprawled beneath him, her clothes ripped to shreds. “What stinking curse’s that bitch given me?”
Erok threw his spear. It punctured the man through the chest. His wide eyes looked down in disbelief before he dropped his knife and crumpled to the ground. He landed atop Sian. Spittle frothed at her mouth, but she did not stir.
“Attack!”
A horse neighed. Three more of the brutes surrounded Erok. Half-dressed and aroused, they were still trained fighters. He snatched up the knife, adopted a fighting stance, turning about, slashing while they laughed and closed in. A knife was no match for one sword, let alone three. Kordahla had no weapon but the rocks. She picked one up and hurled it with all her might. It struck the closest of their assailants, a hefty red-headed brute, in the head.
“Ow!” he yelled, stag
gering. His hand went to his temple as he dropped to one knee.
“Sian!” The girl, pinned beneath the dead thug, did not rouse. Kordahla reached for another rock, but the man she had assaulted was up, striding towards her. Her hasty throw clipped him in the shoulder. He growled as his body tensed with a rage that looked set to explode in unchecked violence. She backed off. The man kept coming. She ran.
An indigo face protruded from the ground. “Cowardly flight? I had expected a little more entertainment than that.”
She twisted – a reflex to avoid landing on the djinn – and tripped. She spurred herself on, straight into the indigo body rising from the ground in front of her. The djinn grabbed her, pulled her up and kissed her. His fishy breath nauseated her. She retched as he released her.
“Looking forward to it?” he said, and disappeared.
Her shock cost her the lead. The bearded man grabbed her from behind and tugged. Her feet went out from under her. Uncaring, he dragged her back to camp. Her captor dumped her near the tent, pinning her with his booted foot as he untied his kamarband. “Don’t kill him yet. Make him watch.”
A clean-shaven man was pulling Erok’s knife from his shoulder, leaving the hunter to face the last man unarmed. The hunter had a nasty gash on his arm. At the edge of the camp, Timak stood immobile. His face was a frozen mask of shock.
“No,” she said. “Stop.”
“The hill rat speaks Laanan.”
“I’m Terlaani. We are here as guests of Shah Ordosteen.”
He laughed as he came down on top of her. Blood was caking around his temple where she had hit him with the rock. “And I’m carrying out the Shah’s orders protecting our border. Whose story’s got the ring of truth?” He turned to see what his comrades were up to.
They had Erok on his knees at sword point, blood flowing from his wound. A quiet rage simmered in the hunter’s eyes.
“I’ll kill him real slow, for this,” the one with the shoulder injury said, checking his wound.
“Bind him. I don’t want any surprises from behind,” her assailant said, his hand worming inside her blouse. Her struggles only seemed to excite him further. “And check those horses,” he added. They were trotting back and forth along the length of their tethers, as undisciplined as the men.
She caught a whiff of a fish. An icy breath tickled her cheek. The indigo djinn’s shimmery face poked out from the dirt, locks of his black hair crossing his forehead like blades. “Too proud to admit you need help?”
“Leave,” she sobbed, when what she wanted to do was beg him to get them out of this.
“And miss all the fun?” He drifted to his full height.
“Djinn!” the man on top of her called, scampering back.
All three thugs cursed as they made the warding sign.
Kordahla wriggled to the back of a tent, toward the closest horse a few paces away.
“Dung beetles. Pox-ridden imbeciles. You’re letting that hill rat escape.”
It took two heartbeats for the brute to comprehend, two heartbeats in which she kicked one tethering stake from the ground and bolted. Of course the horse would shy, skittish creatures that they were. She slowed and held out her hand, speaking gentle reassurance she had no time to give. It let her approach. Another step, and she might get close enough to mount.
“Not so fast,” the thug said, grabbing her hair and slapping her on the face before shoving her back to the tents. He turned to the djinn who, arms folded and ankles crossed, regarded them through narrowed vermillion eyes. “Do you want to deal for the girl?”
A chill, deathly still, banished the mildness from the night, bringing an unnatural mist to dim the light of the moons. Their captors shuddered.
“You don’t go dealing with djinn,” said the one who had bested Erok.
“They’ve got to pay for Hilm’s life,” the injured one said.
Her bearded captor smiled. “She’ll pay all right if the djinn takes her. And with the riches he grants us, we’ll buy us a virgin every night for the rest of our lives.” He let go and stepped aside as the djinn floated prone above her body.
“The only one I want to deal with is her,” the foul beast said. He lowered his foul-smelling mouth to her ear. “Do you think any Myklaani will take a dishonoured woman for his wife? Do you think them so liberal?” he whispered.
She shivered, with the cold and her fear. “My child,” she said. “You want my flesh and blood. Nothing you can spare me is worth that price.”
“Not even to help your friends?”
She looked at Erok, arms tied behind his back, a sword at his neck. There was no incrimination as he looked back. It gave her the strength to refuse to answer.
With a roar of frustration, the djinn twirled high above the camp. “The wretch refuses my aid. Enjoy her. And be sure to taste her sweet lips.” The light in his crystal joints pulsed. The thinning mist dissolved.
Laughing, the bearded man stood over her. Stark moonlight illuminated an ugly cruelty. “You’re going to wish you had taken whatever perverted bargain the djinn offered.”
He broke off as Timak rushed at him, ineffectual fists beating. “Stop it. Stop it. Don’t hurt her,” he yelled.
The man shoved him away. “I’ll deal with you later, brat. You’ll make a nice diversion when the wenches are too bloodied to entertain. Now let’s see how satisfying this piece of flesh is.” He dropped his shalvar as the third man, dark shaggy hair falling over his hunched shoulders, advanced on Timak.
“Boy!” the djinn said, holding out a hand. The crystals in his knuckles had dulled to a seductive glow. “Boy, come with me.”
“No. Timak, no.” Kordahla said, struggling against her captor. He groped her and she screamed.
The third man leered. “Boy, you will do while I wait.”
Eyes wide, Timak shook his head, took a step towards the djinn. “Make them stop.”
“Timak, don’t,” she said.
The man’s rough hands were all over her. His beard prickled at her face. Humiliation exploded in every inch of her body. She would die from shame if he dishonoured her, and she was doubly shamed at that. They had shown poor Sian no mercy. She saw the horror on Timak’s face, the memory of Ahkdul’s torment. The boy would bargain, as much for her as for his own lost innocence. When had she come to feel so responsible for him? Oh Vae’oenka, she could not permit him to enter a pact that would annihilate any glimmer of hope in the ruins of his life. Not when she was the one the djinn desired.
“I’ll deal,” she whispered.
The djinn appeared next to her. “Your second and third born child,” he said.
She gritted her teeth, turned her head. The brute’s hand slid across her thigh. Self-loathing drowned the vestiges of her resistance. Agreement sprang to her tip of her lips, a single short word.
The thud of galloping hooves forestalled her. The men looked up at the sound. A small group of riders wheeled around the camp, swords drawn. The leader, a thin man with a straight back, dismounted and kicked the man from on top of her, ordering him up at swordpoint.
Kordahla gathered her torn shirt about her and crawled to Sian. Shoving the dead man off, she tried to arrange the tattered remnants of the girl’s clothing. The rags did not cover much. Blood trickled down Sian’s thighs, and red welts covered her face and limbs. Kordahla wiped away blood and spittle. The girl managed a tiny movement of her head, and moaned. Timak came over and stood looking down, an expression of such guilt on his face he must have believed he could have prevented this. She did not have the strength in her to comfort him.
Within minutes, the three renegades were disarmed and on their knees next to Erok. The leader, a lean, dark-haired man, walked her way. Roaring, Erok jumped to his feet. He was knocked down by a soldier, who kicked him in the back.
“Hold,” the leader said, and another man helped haul him back to his knees.
Kordahla planted herself in front of Sian. Timak kicked the man in the shin.
“You’re an honourable little fighter,” the man said, pushing Timak to arm’s length. His eyes were kind. “Did they hurt you?”
“The girl. They violated the girl.” She pulled the torn edges of her blouse tighter.
Surprise flitted across his face before his jaw set in anger. He took off his light cloak and covered Sian. “You’re not Hill Tribe.”
“The girl is, and the hunter. I’m Terlaani. The boy’s from Verdaan.”
His eyes betrayed his curiosity. He stood straight for one of his tall, slender build, and regarded the dead man. “Your work?”
She did not bother to answer. Another soldier brought over his cloak and gave it to her. She wrapped it tight around herself.
“I’m Captain Edard deq Lungo. You’re now in the custody of the Myklaani border patrol.”
He went to inspect the prisoners.
The brute who had attacked her spoke up. “We were protecting ourselves. The girl came at us with a knife, and that hill tribe scum killed Hilm.”
“Was that before or after you attacked the women?” deq Lungo said.
“The hill rat meant to murder us in our sleep, I tell you. She had a knife in her hand when I found her.”
“Tell it to the court. You’ll stand trial in Kaijoor. Until then, you are relieved from duty.”
These were soldiers who had attacked? Kordahla felt sick to the pit of her stomach. If this was what the liberty of Myklaan produced, her hopes were misplaced. Were they in Terlaan, their heads would be rolling. The mahktashaan she despised would have risked their lives to prevent this from happening to her. A sudden, overwhelming sense of homesickness made her sob.
Deq Lungo glanced her way. “Bind these worthless miscreants up, and let the Hill Tribe man free.” He turned back to Kordahla. “Tell your friend if he gives any hint of non-compliance, I’ll tie him so tight his hands and feet will fall off.”
She pushed her way to Erok and, gripping his arm, looked him in the eye. He held her gaze a moment, then pulled his arm free, pushed past and went to Sian. Gathering her into his arms, he started walking towards the bridge. Three soldiers used their swords to block his way. Erok barked at them but stood firm.