Ferro waded on against the current, up to her waist in fast-flowing water, teeth gritted against the gripping cold, Ninefingers sloshing and gasping behind her. She could just see an archway up ahead, faint light from beyond glinting on the water. It was blocked with iron bars, but as she forced her way close she could see they were rusted through, thin and flaking. She pressed herself up against them. Beyond she could see the stream flowing down towards her between banks of rock and bare mud. Above was the evening sky, stars just starting to show themselves.
Freedom.
Ferro fumbled at the old iron, air hissing between her teeth, fingers slow and weak from the cold. Ninefingers came up beside her and planted his hands next to hers—four hands in a row, two dark and two pale, clamped tight and straining. They were pressed against each other in the narrow space and she heard him grunting with effort, heard the rushing of her own breath, felt the ancient metal beginning to bend, squealing softly.
Far enough for her to slither between.
She pushed her bow, and quiver, and sword through first, holding them up in one hand. She hooked her head between the bars, turning sideways, sucking in her stomach and holding her breath, wriggling her shoulders, then her chest, then her hips through the narrow gap, feeling the rough metal scraping at her skin through her wet clothes.
She dragged herself onto the other side, tossing her weapons onto the bank. She braced her shoulders in the archway and planted her boots against the next bar, every muscle straining while Ninefingers dragged on it from the other side. It gave all of a sudden, snapping in half and showering flakes of rust into the stream, dumping her on her back, over her head in the freezing water.
Ninefingers started to haul himself through, face twisted with effort. Ferro floundered up, gasping with the cold, grabbed him under the arms and started pulling, felt his hands grip round her back. She grunted and wrestled and finally dragged him out. They flopped together onto the muddy bank and lay there, side by side. Ferro stared up at the crumbling walls of the ruined city rising sheer above her in the grey dusk, breathing hard and listening to Ninefingers do the same. She had not expected to get out of that place alive.
But they were not away quite yet.
She rolled and clambered up, dripping wet and trying to stop herself shivering. She wondered if she had ever been so cold in her whole life.
“That’s it,” she heard Ninefingers muttering. “By the fucking dead, that’s it. I’m done. I’m not moving another stride.”
Ferro shook her head. “We need to make some distance while we still have light.” She snatched up her weapons from the dirt.
“You call this light? Are you fucking crazy, woman?”
“You know I am. Let’s go, pink.” And she poked him in the ribs with her wet boot.
“Alright, damn it! Alright!” He stumbled reluctantly up, swaying, and she turned, started to walk up the bank through the twilight, away from the walls.
“What did I do?” She turned and looked at him, standing there, wet hair dripping round his face. “What did I do, back there?”
“You got us through.”
“I meant—”
“You got us through. That’s all.” And she slogged off up the bank. After a moment she heard Ninefingers following.
It was so dark, and Logen was so tired, that he barely even saw the ruin until they were almost inside it. It must have been a mill, he reckoned. It was built out right next to the stream, though he guessed the wheel had been missing for a few hundred years or more.
“We’ll stop here,” hissed Ferro, ducking through the crumbling doorway. Logen was too tired to do anything but nod and shamble after her. Thin moonlight washed down into the empty shell, picking out the edges of stones, the shapes of old windows, the hard-packed dirt of the ground. He stumbled to the nearest wall and sagged against it, sliding slowly down until his arse hit the mud.
“Still alive,” he mouthed silently, and grinned to himself. A hundred cuts and scrapes and bruises clamoured for attention, but he was still alive. He sat motionless—damp and aching and utterly spent, let his eyes close, and enjoyed the feeling of not having to move.
He frowned. There was a strange sound in the darkness, over the trickling of the stream. A tapping, clicking sound. It took him a moment to realise what it was. Ferro’s teeth. He dragged his coat off, wincing as he pulled it over his torn elbow, and held it out to her in the dark.
“What’s this?”
“A coat.”
“I see it’s a coat. What for?”
Damn it but she was stubborn. Logen almost laughed out loud. “I may not have your eyes, but I can still hear your teeth rattling.” He held the coat out again. “Wish I had more to offer you, but this is all I’ve got. You need it more ’n me, and there it is. No shame in that. Take it.”
There was a pause, then he felt it pulled out of his hand, heard her wrapping it round herself. “Thanks,” she grunted.
He raised his eyebrows, wondering if he could have heard that right. Seemed there was a first time for everything. “Alright. And to you.”
“Uh?”
“For the help. Under the city, and on the hill with the stones, and up on the roofs, and all the rest.” He thought about it for a moment. “That’s a lot of help. More than I deserve, most likely, but, well, I’m still good and grateful for it.” He waited for her to say something, but nothing came. Only the sound of the stream gurgling under the walls of the building, the sound of the wind hissing through the empty windows, the sound of his own rough breathing. “You’re alright,” he said. “That’s all I’m saying. Whatever you try to make out, you’re alright.”
More silence. He could see her outline in the moonlight, sitting near the wall, his coat wrapped round her shoulders, damp hair sticking spiky from her head, perhaps the slightest gleam of a yellow eye, watching him. He cursed to himself under his breath. He was no good at talking, never had been. Probably none of that meant anything to her. Still, at least he’d tried.
“You want to fuck?”
He looked up, mouth hanging open, not sure if he could’ve heard right. “Eh?”
“What, pink, you gone deaf on me?”
“Have I what?”
“Alright! Forget it!” She turned away from him, pulling the coat angrily round her hunched shoulders.
“Hold on, though.” He was starting to catch up. “I mean… I just wasn’t expecting you to ask is all. I’m not saying no… I reckon… if you’re asking.” He swallowed, his mouth dry. “Are you asking?”
He saw her head turn back towards him. “You’re not saying no, or you’re saying yes?”
“Well, er…” He puffed his cheeks out in the dark, tried to make his head work. He’d never thought to be asked that question again in all his days, and least of all by her. Now it had been asked, he was scared to answer. He couldn’t deny it was somewhat of a daunting prospect, but it was better to do it, than to live in fear of it. A lot better. “Yes, then. I think. I mean, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I? I’m saying yes.”
“Uh.” He saw the outline of her face frowning down at the ground, thin lips pressed angrily together, like she’d been hoping for a different answer and wasn’t quite sure what to do with the one he’d given. He wasn’t either, if it came to that. “How do you want to get it done?” Matter of fact, as if it was a job they had to get through, like cutting a tree down or digging a hole.
“Er… well, you’ll have to get a bit closer, I reckon. I mean, I hope my cock ain’t that disappointing, but it won’t reach you over there.” He half smiled, then cursed to himself when she didn’t. He knew she wasn’t much for jokes.
“Right then.” She came at him so quick and businesslike he half backed off, and that made her falter.
“Sorry,” he said. “Haven’t done this in a while.”
“No.” She squatted down next to him, lifted her arm, paused as if she was wondering what to do with it. “Nor me.” He felt her fingertips on the back o
f his hand—gentle, cautious. It almost tickled, her touch was so light. Her thumb rubbed at the stump of his middle finger, and he watched her do it, grey shapes moving in the shadows, awkward as a pair who’d never touched another person in their lives. Strange feeling, having a woman so close to him. Brought back all kind of memories.
Logen reached up slowly, feeling like he was about to put his hand in the fire, and touched Ferro’s face. It didn’t burn. Her skin was smooth and cool, just like anyone’s would have been. He pushed his hand into her hair, felt it tickling the webs between his fingers. He found the scar on her forehead with the very tip of his thumb, traced the line of it down her cheek to the corner of her mouth, tugging at her lip, his skin brushing rough against hers.
There was a strange set to her face, he could tell it even in the dark. It was one he wasn’t used to seeing on her, but there was no mistaking it. He could feel the muscles tense under her skin, see the moonlight on the cords standing from her scrawny neck. She was scared. She could laugh while she kicked a man in the face, smile at cuts and punches, treat an arrow through her flesh like it was nothing, but it seemed a gentle touch could put the fear in her. Would’ve seemed pretty strange to Logen, if he hadn’t been so damn frightened himself. Frightened and excited all at once.
They started pulling at each other’s clothes together, as if someone had given the signal for the charge and they were keen to get it over with. He struggled with the buttons on her shirt in the darkness, hands trembling, chewing at his lip, as clumsy as if he’d had gauntlets on. She had his open before he’d even done one of hers.
“Shit!” he hissed. She slapped his hands away and undid the buttons herself, pulled her shirt off and dropped it beside her. He couldn’t see much in the moonlight, only the gleaming of her eyes, the dark outline of her bony shoulders and her bony waist, splashes of faint light between her ribs and the curve underneath one tit, a bit of rough skin round a nipple, maybe.
He felt her pull his belt open, felt her cool fingers sliding into his trousers, felt her—
“Ah! Shit! You don’t have to lift me up by it!”
“Alright.”
“Ah.”
“Better?”
“Ah.” He dragged at her belt and fumbled it open, dug his hand down inside. Hardly subtle, maybe, but then he’d never been known for subtlety. His fingertips made it more or less into hair before he got his wrist stuck tight. It wouldn’t go any further, for all his straining.
“Shit,” he muttered, heard Ferro suck her teeth, felt her shift and grab her trousers with her free hand, dragging them down over her arse. That was better. He slid his hand up her bare thigh. Good thing he still had one middle finger. They have their uses.
They stayed like that for a while, the pair of them kneeling in the dirt, nothing much moving apart from their two hands working back and forward, up and down, in and out, starting slow and gentle and getting quicker, silent except for Ferro’s breath hissing through her teeth, Logen’s rasping in his throat, the quiet suck and squelch of damp skin moving.
She pushed herself up against him, wriggling out of her trousers, shoving him back up against the wall. He cleared his throat, suddenly hoarse. “Should I—”
“Ssss.” She got up on one foot and one knee, squatting over him with her legs wide open, spat in one cupped hand and took hold of his cock with it. She muttered something, shifting her weight, easing herself down onto him, grunting softly. “Urrrr.”
“Ah.” He reached out and pulled her closer, one hand squeezing at the back of her thigh, feeling the muscles bunch and shift as she moved, the other tangled tight in her greasy hair, dragging her head down against his face. His trousers were screwed up tight round his ankles. He tried to kick them off and only got them tangled worse than ever, but he was damned if he was going to ask her to stop just for that.
“Urrrr,” she whispered at him, mouth open, lips sliding warm and soft against his cheek, breath hot and sour in his mouth, her skin rubbing against his, and sticking to it, and peeling away again.
“Ah,” he grunted back at her, and she rocked her hips against him, back and forward, back and forward, back and forward.
“Urrrr.” One of her hands was clamped round his jaw, her thumb in his mouth, the other was between her legs, sliding up and down, he could feel her wet fingers curling round his fruits, more than a bit painful, more than a bit pleasant.
“Ah.”
“Urrrr.”
“Ah.”
“Urrrr.”
“Ah—”
“What?”
“Er…”
“You’re joking!”
“Well…”
“I was just getting started!”
“I did say it’d been a long time—”
“Must’ve been years!” She slid off his wilting cock, wiped herself with one hand and smeared it angrily on the wall, dropped down on her side with her back to him, grabbed his coat and dragged it over her.
So that was an embarrassment, and no mistake.
Logen cursed silently to himself. All that time waiting and he hadn’t been able to keep the milk in the bucket. He scratched his face sadly, picked at his scabby chin. Say one thing for Logen Ninefingers, say he’s a lover.
He looked sideways at Ferro, at her faint outline in the darkness. Spiky hair, long neck stretched out, sharp shoulder, long arm pressed down against her side. Even with the coat over her he could see the rise of her hip, he could guess her shape underneath. He looked at her skin, knowing what it felt like—smooth, and sleek, and cool. He could hear her breathing. Soft, slow, warm breathing…
Hold on.
There was something stirring down below again, now. Sore, but definitely stiffening. The one advantage of having a long time without—the bucket fills up again quick. Logen licked his lips. It would be a shame to let the chance pass, just for a lack of nerve. He slid down beside her, shuffled up close, and cleared his throat.
“What?” Her voice was sharp, but not quite sharp enough to warn him off.
“Well, you know, give me a minute, and maybe…” He lifted the coat up and ran his hand up her side, skin hissing quietly against skin, nice and slow, so she had plenty of time to shove him off. It wouldn’t have surprised him any if she’d turned over and kneed him in the fruits. But she didn’t.
She shifted back against him, her bare arse pressing into his stomach, lifting one knee up. “Why should I be giving you another chance?”
“I don’t know…” he muttered, starting to grin. He slid his hand gently over her chest, across her belly, down between her legs. “Same reason you gave me the first one?”
Ferro woke with a sudden jolt, not knowing where she was, only that she was trapped. She snarled and thrashed and flailed out with her elbow, fought her way free and scrambled away, teeth gritted, fists clenched to fight. But there were no enemies. Only bare dirt and bleak rock in the pale grey morning.
That and the big pink.
Ninefingers stumbled up, grunting and spitting, staring wildly around. When he saw no Flatheads poised to kill him he turned slowly to look at Ferro, eyes blinking bleary with sleep. “Ah…” He winced and touched his fingertips to his bloody mouth. They glared at each other for a moment, both stark naked and silent in the cold shell of the ruined mill, the coat they had been lying under crumpled on the damp earth between them.
And that was when Ferro realised that she had made three serious mistakes.
She had let herself fall asleep, and nothing good ever happened when she did that. Then she had elbowed Ninefingers in the face. And what was much, much worse, so stupid she almost grimaced to think of it: she had fucked him the night before. Staring at him now in the harsh light of day, hair plastered against one side of his scarred and bloody face, a great smear of dirt down his pale side where he had been lying in the mud, she was not sure why. For some reason, cold and tired in the dark, she had wanted to touch someone, and be warm for just a moment, and she had let herself think�
��who would be worse off for it?
Madness.
They both were worse off, that was clear enough. Where things had been simple, now they were sure to be complicated. Where they had been getting an understanding, now there would be only confusion. She was confused already, and he was starting to look hurt, and angry, and what was the surprise? No one enjoys an elbow in the face while they sleep. She opened her mouth to say sorry, and it was then she realised. She did not even know the word. All she could do was say it in Kantic, but she was so angry with herself she growled it at him like an insult.
He certainly took it as one. His eyes narrowed and he snapped something at her in his own tongue, snatched his trousers up and shoved one leg in, muttering angrily under his breath.
“Fucking pink,” she hissed back, fists bunched with a surge of fury. She snatched up her torn shirt and turned her back on him. She must have left it in a wet patch. The ragged cloth stuck tight to her crawling skin like a layer of cold mud as she yanked it on.
Damn shirt. Damn pink.
She ground her teeth with frustration as she dragged her belt closed. Damn belt. If only she could have kept it closed. It was always the same. Nothing was easy with people, but she could always count on herself to make things more difficult than they had to be. She paused for a moment, with her head down, then she half turned towards him.
She was about to try and explain that she had not meant to smash his mouth, but that nothing good ever happened when she slept. She was about to try and tell him that she had made a mistake, that she had only wanted to be warm. She was about to ask him to wait.
But he was already stomping out of the broken doorway with the rest of his clothes clutched in one hand.
“Fuck him then,” she hissed as she sat down to pull her boots on.
But then that was the whole problem.
Jezal sat on the broken steps of the temple, picking sadly at the frayed stitches on the torn-off shoulder of his coat, and staring out across the limitless expanse of mud towards the ruins of Aulcus. Looking for nothing.
Before They Are Hanged tfl-2 Page 45