“Please!” she shouted as loudly as she could when the Executioner picked up the huge, deadly looking axe. He turned, smiled at her again, and then with an effortless stroke, he cut her father’s head from his body. Samantha’s eyes were open, but she did not see the blood, did not see as the Executioner pulled her father’s body until it lay next to Arabelle’s, nor did she noticed as he placed the head so that her father too, was staring at her.
Samantha was no longer crying when she felt the Executioner grab her by the hair and begin to pull her to the block. He jerked her roughly from her knees and her body dropped violently down and she blinked from the pain in her scalp. Her face was just inches from the ground so that when she began screaming her breath blew up small puffs of dirt. She began to fight and squirm but no matter which way she turned the pain continued to grow. She felt certain her scalp would give away, but as suddenly as it had started the pain was gone. A strong hand gripped her by the neck and lifted her head and torso. When she saw the block beneath her she panicked again and kicked out, fighting now in earnest, but with her hands tied it was futile. As her head was forced down, Samantha screamed again, rage suddenly filling her. She could see and smell the blood left by her father and sister, but nothing she did seemed to matter and her head was soon in place. The dark wood of the block was cooler than she expected and actually felt good against the heat of her skin. She dimly felt the Executioner place a knee in the center of her back, holding her still as he tied the leather thong about her head, securing her in place. Once in position, Samantha felt truly helpless. Her head was held tightly, and she found herself focusing on the feel of the wet, warm blood of her family on her cheek. Her breathing was coming in rapid little gasps, which made her think of Arabelle. She could not turn her head and could only look one way. Unable to move, she stared at Murl’s dangling feet. The cook’s left foot was bare. Somewhere along the line she must have lost a shoe, and Samantha found her attention riveted by the toes of her former friend.
A noise behind her suddenly grabbed her attention. She strained against the leather thong but her head was fixed in place, her eyes darted down, but she still could not see the Executioner. He would have to come to the side to kill her and fear swelled in her that he was already in position on the opposite side. She closed her eyes waiting for the blow, but then she felt his hands on her legs, felt her skirts being lifted up.
“No!” she yelled and tried to kick out, but he was already positioned safely between her legs where she could not get at him. Her skirts came all the way up, and he piled the heavy fabric up on her back and atop of her tied hands, then she felt him ripping at her undergarments. They pulled away very easily, and suddenly she could feel the cool air of the day on her upper thighs and buttocks.
“No!” she yelled again as his hands ran over her bare legs, touching her everywhere at will. She squirmed and felt the skirts fall back down, but they were quickly yanked up once more, and with a shock as great as any she felt that day, one of his fingers entered her.
Samantha gasped as the Executioner leaned his face very close to her ear and laughed quietly. “You are ready,” he said as he moved his finger in and out of her painfully. “I knew you were like me.”
“Stop,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse, and she began squirming once more.
“Yes, I like it when you move,” he whispered and then his finger was out of her. She could hear him fumbling with his clothes, and she panicked once more.
“Please,” she begged, but he just chuckled. She bucked as hard as she could and felt her skirts fall back down, but they were hoisted up and then she felt him trying to enter her. It was all so quick she didn’t have time to register what was happening. She felt him thrust against her…close, and then with a sharp pain he was deep inside her.
She screamed, but he ignored her and began the rhythmic pumping of rape. She began to cry, but he did not stop until her skirts fell back once more. She heard him curse and withdraw, tugging at her clothes. They came up quickly enough and once more he was in her. She stopped fighting, and just cried her sobs keeping time with the incessant pounding and then her skirts fell again. He growled in frustration, and to Samantha’s surprise she felt the bonds at her wrists cut. Her hands instantly fell to her side and began to tingle as blood rushed back into them. She moved them to the block, using her arms to take some weight from her neck and shoulders. Once again her skirts were lifted, this time farther up nearly over her head, and then he was in her again, moving frantically now. He continued for a few minutes more, though for both of them it felt like much longer and then she felt his hot seed as it was released deep inside her. He collapsed down on her back, his weight hurting her neck, but she forced herself to make no sound. He remained where he was for several long moments, breathing heavily into her ear.
“I’m not through with you yet,” he whispered and suddenly the weight of him was off of her. She dared not move and strained to hear his movements. Unbelievably she heard his steps receding. Hope flared in her. Was it possible that he had forgotten about her hands? Surely not. He’d just cut her bonds a few minutes prior, but then she heard the telltale squeak of the front door to the house and knew he’d gone inside. Frantically she reached up and felt around the block for the leather thong. It was wrapped about a hook of sorts and it took her several long moments to unwind it and free her head. As she worked, her ears strained against the sound of his return, but the door had not open by the time she was free. She immediately came up on her knees, pushed her skirts down and glanced at the house. The Executioner was nowhere in sight, so Samantha stood and looked about for a weapon, any weapon. Her eyes fell on his axe, but she knew instantly that she would not be able to lift it, let alone swing it with any force. She took a few steps to the right, then turned and moved a few steps back the other way. She was beginning to panic all over again, when she spotted the wooden handle Wellman had been working on for a smaller, much lighter axe. She ran to it. The handle was about three feet long, but when she lifted it she knew it would have to serve. Even though it had no head on it, it was heavy, made of strong wood, oak probably. She lifted it, then moved to the far side of the main door and waited, standing just as close as she could to the house. He would have to come out the door for her to have any chance. If he went out the back and walked around the house, she knew she was lost.
She stood very quietly, her body shaking slightly, but her arms were cocked and waiting…and still waiting, but he did not emerge. She was about to move when she heard the creak of the door. She swung just before she saw him, estimating where his head would be. She was not wrong. Even though he jerked at the last moment out of reflex, the handle struck him directly across the bridge of the nose. He staggered, but did not fall back into the house as she expected, instead he took a few staggering steps out in front of her. She swung again, hitting him on the back of the head this time and finally he went down. He lay at her feet unconscious, but she swung three more times, big overhead swings like when she’d killed the bull snake in the garden. Blood was coming from the Executioner’s nose and from behind his right ear. She started to turn away but then swung two more times, hard blows but poorly aimed, striking the downed man once on the top of the head and again on the right shoulder. She immediately dropped the ax handle and considered finding a knife to make sure the Executioner was truly dead. But she was afraid to get to close to him, afraid to touch him and then her hands started to shake uncontrollably and her mind began to shut down.
She turned, refusing to look at the body at her feet and entered the house. She moved mechanically without real thought and retrieved her father’s bow, all the arrows, which amounted to three sheathes of twelve, and his hunting knife. She then bolted up the stairs to where she and Arabelle shared a room and threw as many of her clothes as she could manage onto her bed, making sure to include the heavy workpants her father allowed her to wear while working with the animals in the winter. She wrapped them all up in one of her blankets a
nd quickly tied off the ends and hauled them all downstairs, feeling slightly ridiculous carrying such a large bundle. Next she went to the kitchen and quickly packed all the bread and salted meat she could.
When she was finished, she took a quick peek outside, but the Executioner still lay unmoving.
‘He’s dead,’ she thought with disbelief but couldn’t make herself check, couldn’t make herself go near him.
Her arms full, she moved to the barn and saddled Bane, their big roan. Then she threw a pair of saddlebags on Nancy, their mule, also tying the clothes and food onto the mule’s back. She quietly led them out of the barn, grabbing several canteens as she went. She filled them with water from the trough, not wanting to waste the time to pump fresh water, and glanced at the Executioner but then her eyes found her father, and sisters and began to fill with tears. She shook them clear; saddened that she would not be able to bury her family. Then her eyes fell on the large black horse nibbling at the grass which grew under the oak.
She moved to Bane and pulled out the bow. She fought the urge to kill the animal but in the end her body moved as if it had detached itself from her mind and senses. She notched an arrow, pulled it back as far as she was able, and aimed at the horse’s chest, just where it joined with the neck. Her arms were still shaking uncontrollably and she fought against the involuntary movement…wanting a clean kill.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, feeling slightly guilty though days later she would not remember anything from this morning clearly. After several seconds she finally let the arrow fly. She’d always been good with the bow, a natural shot, her father repeatedly told her, and on this occasion it was no different, despite the tremors in her arms. The arrow struck true, and the horse bolted and screamed in pain. It ran off shaking its head as it went. Samantha glanced at the Executioner. He was lying prone, still bleeding and without thinking she notched another arrow but suddenly her shaking increased.
‘He’s dead,’ she thought, and was suddenly overwhelmed with fear that the Executioner would suddenly stand and chase after her and she would be unable to do anything but shake. In a daze, she removed the arrow and placed it back with the others.
Her mind went blank. She did not see the Executioner, did not see her dead family and without knowing how, she swung herself up on Bane and headed down the lane. Once moving she had no conscious thoughts of where she would go, her body just acted and guided the animals of its own accord.
When she got to the end of the lane, she did not use the road that led to Millvale; instead she crossed it and moved out into the field. She headed south first, before moving west toward Koshka. She was only dimly aware that she needed to avoid the Sergeant and all those men ahead of her. She had not ridden even a quarter of a mile before she was sobbing uncontrollably. Her grief was so complete that she neither knew nor cared which direction Bane headed.
XII
Gwaynn walked slowly with Elise back from the Observatory to their rooms. His leg was feeling much better and with the exercise he was getting with Nev most afternoons he felt sure it would be back to normal shortly. The night was clear and cool, perfect for viewing the distant stars and galaxies. Gwaynn was fast becoming as enthusiastic about the night sky as his small female companion. Kent and a few other students had joined them, but they’d all departed together around midnight, leaving him and Elise alone to wait for Orion to move higher into the night sky. Gwaynn was eager to see the Orion Nebula, and Elise was eager to show it to him. They studied it for almost an hour until the moon rose over the horizon and though it was far from full it shone brightly, as if competing for attention.
“Oh, I’m so tired,” Elise said stifling a yawn, though the truth was her nerves were buzzing, very aware of the young man walking beside her. Her interest in Gwaynn had grown steadily over the past week, though from the very first she’d found him very easy to look at. It was his natural intellect, calm demeanor and the fact that his interests somewhat mirrored her own that seemed to steadily draw her closer and closer to him. And, of course it didn’t hurt that he was mysterious and strong. The only thing she disliked about him was his constant need to carry about those barbaric kali. No matter how she tried to persuade him to leave them behind, insisting that Lato Island was safe, he’d always nod to her in agreement, but then bring them along anyway. The weapons bothered her but they also made him stand out against the rest of the Scholars.
It did not discourage her in the least that, as yet, he had given no sign of interest in her. She could change that; after all she had with Kent, who was her on again off again lover. Gwaynn was tall and well built though Elise could tell he was young for his size. Young and shy, she liked her men like that; it gave her a bit more control.
Gwaynn made no reply in return just mumbled an agreement, obviously distracted by something.
“I hope you are not too tired,” she said, a little too coyly, hoping to at least hold his hand a bit.
Gwaynn again made no answer just continued to walk.
“Gwaynn!” Elise said, not accustomed to being ignored when she was alone with a boy.
Gwaynn turned to her and frowned. “Keep walking,” he said in a low voice.
“Of course,” she replied. “I’m not that tired.”
“Keep walking and talking,” Gwaynn said, and suddenly Elise could tell he was a bit tense. She smiled, thinking she was the cause of his nervousness. Well, she would give him something to be nervous about.
“Act normal,” he added.
“I certainly will,” she replied and slipped her arm through his. Surprisingly he didn’t act attracted or repelled.
“Good,” was all he said. They moved down a hill and then around a slight bend. They were approaching their building. “Don’t look back,” he added, and it was Elise’s turn to frown.
She was about to ask why when two dark shapes appeared out of the bushes up ahead. Gwaynn slowed to a stop and she with him. Gwaynn looked back, and she followed his gaze. There were three more shapes moving quickly toward them from behind.
“Who are you?” Elise said loudly, somehow hoping that they were students or Masters, but instinctively knowing that they were not. No one answered, and her fears were confirmed when Gwaynn slowly drew his kali.
“Kneel down and move slowly to the other side of the bench behind you,” Gwaynn whispered in her ear like a lover. “Hide in the bushes if you must, but while I live; do not move.”
She couldn’t believe he sounded so calm, and began to wonder if perhaps she had misjudged his lack of interest. She did as he said without question, and gawked as the men slowly approached from both sides. Gwaynn stood unmoving between them, waiting for them with an apparent lack of concern.
The two groups of men, three from the rear and two from the front came to a stop about ten paces from Gwaynn. They said nothing. Three were holding their own kali, and two had long swords.
Gwaynn waited patiently, his breathing slow and easy. He was immensely thankful that the men had decided to corner him on such a narrow pathway. It would make it easier for him, especially when he had them both behind and in front of him. He studied the men as they approached, trying to read the nuances of their movements as Nev had taught him. One of the men in front, the one with a long sword, he was clearly the leader and the most aggressive. Gwaynn expected him to attack first, as did the other men, and after only a few seconds he complied.
Elise screamed, but Gwaynn did not hear it, instead he concentrated on the first attack. It was clumsier than he had expected, but he wasted no time to analyze it. He ducked under the stroke and dove past the leader, tucking into a roll as he went by. He struck out at the back of the leg of the man trailing the leader. The man yelled out and collapsed as Gwaynn smoothly continued to his feet, now facing four standing opponents all in front of him. He slowly backed up, getting some distance between him and the man on the ground. He did not want to worry about getting his tendons cut from someone who no longer posed any real danger.
/> The leader and his three companions followed, now moving after him with a bit more caution. Elise remained as quiet as possible as they approached her hiding spot; one of them glanced her way and she stifled another scream, then the man shifted and began moving her direction. Elise gave a squeak of terror but Gwaynn was already moving, blocking blows and racing quickly through the first two assailants and in a flash set about attacking the trailing pair. Though surprised, one of them managed to block Gwaynn’s blow, but the man who had moved on Elise lost his head. It fell and rolled under the bench she was hiding behind. Elise retched, her eyes locked on the blood draining from the stump of neck as the body fell to the ground.
Gwaynn, however, did not pause, but continued to press the attack. There were only three now, and they seemed very slow to Gwaynn. He blocked another blow from the leader, before slicing almost entirely through the right arm of another assailant. The arm hung from a thin sliver of meat and skin, and the hand attached to it popped open and dropped the kali it had held. The man screamed, and fell back holding his wound, blood pouring through the fingers of his good hand. He continued to scream until he too lost his head.
Elise cried out again and Gwaynn spun. The leader had suddenly changed tactics. He pulled back his sword and was attempting to grab a hold of Elise, who was desperately trying to keep the bench between them. Gwaynn rushed forward, though he instinctively knew that he would not get to Elise in time; the man was closing on her too fast. But without conscious thought, Gwaynn felt time slow around him. In a fraction of a second he tore forward, covering the entire distance in less than a heartbeat and without hesitation he thrust his blade into the exposed back of the leader. To Gwaynn the move occurred naturally; to Elise and her attacker, the movement was blindingly fast. The leader of the group crumpled and dropped to the ground, dead, his heart pierced. Gwaynn slowed and turned to face his lone opponent, but not before slicing open the throat of the wounded man on the ground after he made a pitiful lunge at Gwaynn’s right leg.
The Black Horseman (The Temple Islands Series) Page 22