by Watson Davis
My mind froze, all the things I wanted to say colliding in my thoughts leaving nothing for me to say, nothing I trusted myself to say, so I nodded, feeling like the worst kind of snow-drunk idiot.
She stood and circled around Cole to kneel in the straw before me. “Rucker said you’ve survived horrible, infernal rituals when others have died.”
“Yes.” I sighed, looking away from her, fearing she’d see the guilt in my eyes. What could I tell her? My legs tired from kneeling so long, my muscles burned, so I let myself fall backward and sit down. “I survive.”
She watched me, not pressing me, not demanding me to speak. Rucker now stood behind her, staring, not blinking; a few of the braver children crept closer, as well. Even Cole turned slightly to hear better.
I said, “Silverhewer slew my tribe, all my friends and family, but I was in training to be a shaman.” I looked past her, at Rucker, and the children behind him, all listening, all wanting a glimpse of their fate, a hint at how to fight what was coming. “I suspect something in my training protects me. Perhaps yours will protect you.”
“And these?” She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the exposed skin of my forearm, tracing the intricate patterns of the runes and mystical symbols etched there, burned in my flesh like tattoos.
“Diyune’s spells?” I peeked down, pulling my sleeve back, showing the outer portion of my forearm, turning it around to show the other.
She leaned in closer, her warm fingers wrapping around my wrist, twisting my arm to follow the incantations inscribed in my flesh, the air around her smelling of fresh breezes and roses. I gulped, looking away.
“We should let Mistress Pleshe inspect these,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t understand a tenth of the symbols.”
Lord Silmon coughed, grimacing, holding his chest.
“Oh?” Aissal dropped my arm, spinning to go to him. When she touched him, her collar sparked, green bolts of lightning shooting out, striking her throat and shoulders. She flinched, reaching up to claw at the collar.
I looked up to find Cole sneering down at me. “We Summoned her people, asking for their aid against the empire. Now they’re all dead except for her and the rest of their useless healers.” He turned away from me, back toward Lord Silmon.
Leaning back against the stone, I slipped my fingers into my waistband, just touching the thin iron rods I’d taken from the work yard.
Tonight, I escape.
The Escape
Lenya Brightfox sat cross-legged on the dirt floor in the workroom, a bowl of glue in her lap, the heat of a fire coming from the brazier before her to the left, newly-made shafts on the ground to the right, the arrowheads from the castle’s blacksmiths piled to the left. Her hands reaching out to either side, she picked up a shaft and an arrowhead, a long bodkin arrowhead by the feel of it, the mage-forged steel light, cold, the point deadly sharp. A dip of the shaft into the glue, twirling it to remove any streamers that might exist, she slid the arrowhead into the shaft, guiding the iron piece in place, setting it down before her.
The door to the workroom, directly before her, creaked, an icy breeze creeping in, swirling around carrying with it the scent of a human male, unwashed, reeking of alcohol and old fish. He entered, slowly, each step carefully placed until he was well within the room, with the door still open behind him.
“The cold outside is too much for my poor fire,” she said in Nayen, the language they spoke in the fortress, the language of the empire, tilting her head, smiling. “Please, be a gentleman and close it behind you.”
He gulped, swallowing, shuffling back, slamming the door closed. “Sorry, Mum. How’d you know I was here?”
She sighed. “Doors rarely open themselves.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled, an ugly sound, the sound of a brute, of a bully. “Guess that’s right.”
He stayed by the door not moving, and she waited for him to say something, reaching out her hand to grab a shaft, an arrowhead, dipping the shaft in the glue, sliding the arrowhead onto the shaft.
He coughed, and said, “I’m still here. Ain’t gone nowheres.”
“I know,” she said, picking up another shaft and another arrowhead. “So am I. Do you have some business with me? Have you come from Arcled for his refill of arrows? If so, I am working on that even as we speak.”
“Um, no,” he said. “I’m here about another matter.”
“Well?” Lenya asked, dipping the tip of the shaft into the glue. “I’m afraid I cannot read your mind, so if I am to know what this matter is, you’re going to have to tell me.”
“I’ve heard you want the general dead,” he said, pitching his voice low, shuffling forward.
Lenya fancied she could almost hear the sweat beading up on his forehead. She slid the arrowhead onto the end of the shaft. “I would be most pleased by General Silverhewer’s death. Even more pleased if she were to suffer great pain—I’ve considered a variety of tortures if you need any inspiration—but I’d take her being dead, and be happy enough.”
He cleared his throat, moving closer, kneeling just across the stack of arrows from her. He said, “I’ll kill her for you.”
“Oh?” Lenya set the arrow in her hands on the stack before her, and grabbed another shaft and another arrowhead. “So you’re an assassin, are you?”
“For the right price, if you get my meaning.”
“Ah.” She dipped the tip of the shaft into the glue, nodding. “What price would that be?”
“One hundred golden godlings,” he said, greed and lust dripping from his voice like a pig roasting over an open fire, the fat dribbling out, spattering on the fire below, popping and sizzling.
“I would be more than happy to pay one hundred gold for you to kill her,” she said, sliding the arrowhead onto the shaft, setting it down before her. “Your price seems a bit low, to tell the truth. How can I be sure you’re up to the job?”
“I’m a dangerous man,” he growled. “I’ve killed plenty.”
“Killing a giantess is not like slaughtering a reindeer or slitting a man’s throat.”
“Give me half up front,” he said, “and you’ll never have to worry about her again.”
“Half up front?” Lenya laughed, throwing her head back, slapping her palm on the ground beside her. “And then never smell the stench of you nor hear your voice ever again in my entire life? Almost worth the price, but no. Thank you for the offer.”
“You don’t have that much money?” He stood.
“I have it,” Lenya said, picking up an arrowhead and a shaft. “Kill her and I’ll pay you two hundred.”
He moved to one side of her workroom, to the other, stepping close to the pile of arrows on the floor. “Do you have it in here?”
“That,” she said, the beating of her heart slowing, “is none of your concern. Kill her and you will have your gold.”
“It is in here,” he said, his voice low, filled with a child-like glee. “You stupid Onei cunt.”
Lenya set the shaft back down in its pile, setting her hand in her lap beneath the bowl of glue. “I think you should leave now. Begin planning your attempt. Find me when you’re done.”
“Oh?” He stepped over the pile of shafts, past her, deeper into the workroom behind her. “I think not.”
Lenya stood, her back to him. “Please leave, or I fear things will be bad for you.”
“You just keep quiet and tell me where all your gold is.” He put his hand on Lenya’s shoulder, turning her to face him. “And maybe I won’t hurt you too bad.”
Lenya slammed the bowl of hot glue into the place where his voice came from, reaching up her hand, discovering a thick mass of hair, her fingers twining themselves in it, pulling him toward her. Lenya’s left hand rose, clutching the base of the arrowhead, jabbing the point of it into where his throat should be, feeling the satisfying slicing of soft flesh, the gurgle of his exposed esophagus, the point finally striking bone, his spine or possibly the base of his skull.
# # #
I woke up as I usually do, with my heart pounding, with sweat beading up on my brow, with a scream of terror bubbling up the back of my throat, burning like bile. Sitting up in the darkness, taking stock of the stink of unwashed bodies, of the snores and farts and moans and babbling child-talk of those asleep, I peered around with only the moonlight to see by, making sure everyone still slept, holding my breath now.
Time to leave, time to go home.
Doubts nagged at me, the thought that I should wait for a better time to come, a better opportunity, but I refused to be crippled by the fear of the unknown, of what waited beyond the walls of the monastery. I had been crippled for too long, by not knowing where I was, where home was.
My fingers slipped through the straw I’d piled up between myself and the wall until they found the rods of metal I’d stolen from the construction site, gifts from the gods of the Onei, my gods, gods of snow and forests and frozen lakes, not brick buildings and monks and slaves. I clutched the rods to my chest, closing my eyes, and giving thanks even though I knew they could not hear me, not here, not in this place, wincing as my collar popped and sizzled against my skin.
I tiptoed through the sleeping bodies, balancing on one foot, my other foot testing the darkness of the floor for an empty place to set down, controlling my breathing, stopping when someone moved, turning in their sleep, mumbling, sobbing. I crossed the crowded cell to the door. My hands brushed along the bars, finding the square lock mechanism. With the rods between my fingers, I slipped my hands between the bars, placing my ear at the back of the lock, inserting the rods into the keyhole, finding the tumblers by feel, pressing one down, sliding the rod further in, pressing one up, sliding the other rod further in.
Sweat dripped down from my forehead, stinging at my eyes, rolling down my nose, my chin, tickling like a swarm of mosquitoes nibbling at my skin, like tiny demons armed with miniscule feathers brushing them against me. My forearms burned from the exertions but also from the abrasions as I pushed my arms into the bars, the rough pig iron scraping against me with each movement.
I extracted my left arm, leaving the rod in place, shaking my arm to get more blood into it, flexing my hand, my muscles aching.
I selected another gap between the bars, trying to push my arm further in, twisting myself this way and that, feeling the time rushing past. Pushing so hard, straining, I brushed against the rod, and it fell to the floor.
The rod hit the stone floor, producing an almost lyrical sound, a happy sound before bouncing away from the door, away from me.
I stared at it, betrayed, my fingers wrapped around the bars so tight I wondered why one or the other didn’t break. But I couldn’t give up.
The gods give us tests so we may discover the limits of our strength and weakness. Shaman Eddard told me that once. There had to be a way to fix this.
“What are you doing?” a voice said from directly behind me.
I jumped, but the bars held me in place. I peered back into the darkness, almost losing the other rod, recognizing the boy’s voice. “Rucker?”
“Yeah,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“I was trying to pick the lock,” I said. “But I dropped one of my tools.”
“You can pick locks?” he asked, his voice growing closer, the edge of him becoming visible in the moonlight.
“Shh. Keep it down.” I reached out with my hand, feeling for his arm, finding his shoulder. “Can you reach your arm through the bars and get the rod out there?”
“Where is it?” He moved forward and I guided him to where I thought the rod might be.
“Get down right there and reach out. It’s around there somewhere.”
He grunted, his hand sliding back and forth, swishing. He shifted to the next gap. “Ah. Got it.”
“Give it to me.”
He pushed it against me.
I took the rod from him. “Thank you.”
I returned to the lock, having to push aside some of the tumblers I’d already done, but making headway, until a little pressure and the internal locking mechanism rotated, the bar locking the door sliding back, the grinding of the iron-on-iron the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.
“That’s a neat trick!” Rucker whispered from the shadows. “You’ll have to teach that to me.”
“Right,” I said, wondering what to say to that.
Rucker stood in the shadows by the cell door. “Are we all free now? Should I start waking everyone?”
He said the words with an earnest, innocent joy.
“No.” I held out my hand, stopping him, silencing him. I swallowed, my throat dry, so close to freedom. “If we wake everyone up, the monks will catch us all and stick us right back in here. What will we have accomplished then?”
“But.” The joy melted from Rucker’s voice, replaced by confusion. “We can’t leave everybody. Archbishop Diyune is going to kill them, sacrifice them.”
“Shhh.” I motioned for him to keep his voice down. I stepped back to the cell door, taking the rods out of the lock. “There’s no way we can get this many people out past all the monks and soldiers, especially the younger ones. The fewer of us there are going through the gate, the better our chances.”
Rucker tilted his head at an angle. “You were going to leave me here, too, weren’t you?”
I looked down at the rods, hoping they would give me some lie to tell him, but finding only the truth, I nodded. “Yes. I had only planned on me getting out of here. But you’re here now, you’re part of the plan. You have to do exactly as I say, everything I say, and you have to be quiet. Deal?” I held out my hand to him.
“You have to promise me that we’ll come back and free everyone,” he said. “Deal?”
I took a deep breath, thinking I should just accept it and go, but no, I had to say something. “You realize that by the time we get to anyone who can help us, all these people will be dead, right?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “But there will be new people here. Promise me we’ll come back and put a stop to this so they don’t do it to anyone else.”
I had to shut him up, and we had to get going. “Fine. Deal?”
He stared at my hand. A moment stretched into an eternity until he blinked, reached out, and put his hand in mine. “I still think we should be taking some other people with us.”
“We’re going to have enough problems.” With Rucker’s hand still in mine, I drew him out of the cell and eased the door shut. “Come on.”
# # #
“I thought we were going to get out of here?” Rucker whispered, his feet slapping against the stone path, each step an alert to anyone listening.
“Shh,” I said, not looking back, already given up motioning with my hands. “Don’t walk so loud.”
His body shaking and shivering in the cool wind, teeth chattering like the igidi gourds the bards shake to keep the rhythm of their ballads, he asked, “Aren’t the gates back the other way?”
“Shh.” Passing the gnarled pear tree, I pulled Rucker in behind me, crossing the dirt to a side door in a brick wall in the shadow of the moonlight.
“What?” He stumbled along behind me. “Where are you going?”
The door opened at my touch, the hinges creaking, the stink of bleach and the harsh mixtures the Nayen used to wash their textiles burning my nose and eyes.
I darted into the room, lit by the moonlight slinking in through the windows. I slipped my shirt off, tossing it aside, removed my pants, kicking them in the general direction of the dirty clothes. Stacks of neatly folded pants glittered in the moonlight, red and black silk, with more stacks of tunics, embroidered with dragons and scenes of the empress’ mythology, and boots and sashes. I searched t
hrough them all, finding the longest ones, the biggest ones, slipping into them, ill-fitting though they were, hoping they wouldn’t rip. I stood up, looking at Rucker, holding my arms out. “Well? What do you think?”
He shrugged. “I think it’s dark, and I can’t see anything.”
“Here.” I pulled out a tunic, a jacket, a cloak with a hood, some pants, all small, hopefully the right size, and tossed them to Rucker. “Put those on. They should keep you warmer.”
“Are these monks’ clothes?” he asked, holding up the shirt, the rest of the clothes falling to the floor.
“Yes,” I said. “We’ve got to—”
A door creaked.
I darted forward, slapping my hand over Rucker’s mouth, picking him up, carrying him to a spot shielded from the door, putting my back against the wall, holding my breath.
A man’s voice said, “Huber? Is that you skulking about in here?”
I set Rucker to the side, removing my hand from his mouth, moving toward the corner of the wall.
Magelights sprang to life, so bright I squeezed my eyes shut, blinded by the sudden change from darkness to light. Rucker gasped.
“Hah!” the man said. “I knew you were cheating on me. Come out and show yourself.”
My vision returning, I blinked and squinted, tensing my body.
The man’s boots clicked on the tile. “Don’t play this game. Come on out and it will be better than if you hide like a coward.
“Ah, ha!” He jumped to a spot before me, landing with his hands out as though expecting to catch someone trying to run around him.
I threw myself into him, driving my elbow into his nose with a satisfying crunch, knocking him to the ground. His head smacked against the floor, leaving a red, bloody smudge on the white tiles, and although I raised my fist to strike him once more, the magelight flickering out, I stopped myself, seeing him unconscious, defenseless.
I turned to Rucker, who still stood beside a washing tub and a vat of bleach with his hands covering his mouth, his mouth as wide open as his eyes. I said, “Get dressed.”
# # #
Two monks ran by like ghosts, without a sound, katanas and staves in their hands, their boots silent as they hit the ground. I leaned forward over the bushes, watching their backs as they ran toward the laundry building. Beyond them, at the building itself, lights sprang to life, monks holding their fists aloft, their hands glowing with magelight, no doubt searching for tracks to follow. If they had been Onei, I would have been worried; if they had been Onei, we’d already have been caught.