Abner did not believe her at first, but she reminded him she was stuck in this hole for being a spy, and his demeanor changed instantly. The potential of winning the war for the East was a disease worming its way through his veins until it reached his brain, his eyes burning again with Covenant fervor. He wanted to tell Reid, Rupert, and the others in their troop, but Marta was unsure. Then she remembered Carmichael’s cryptic comparison of her to a mudbird. He had told her the clan needed her to use her voice, and so she decided to sing a lovely tune.
That night they all huddled in their tent, Rupert, Gonzalo, Tollie, Reid, and Ida sharing Abner and Marta’s paltry store of rations like an early Yuletide feast. As they split the meager meal, Marta put her voice to use, convincing them to accept the Western deal so as to assist the East. The grim Gonzalo was the most difficult to convince, peeling back the flap of the tent to ascertain his choice from the stars.
But the blizzard had finally begun, obscuring any view of the skies. Gonzalo declared this an ill omen, though he too finally fell under Marta’s sway. And as the winter wind buffeted their tiny tent, they were at least happy, the knowledge that they had the chance to still be of use to their distant homeland warming them against the cold.
***
Yuletide came and went with the blizzard, the New Year looming when Marta was again called to Kearney’s tent. She was not the first one summoned, all those that refused returning to say that the Renders were offering a deal: if the Eastern Shapers would fight for the West, they would be released, their sentences commuted after the war was won. Many refused the chance, but Kearney was wholeheartedly for it and promised of a full meal to any takers. Those who accepted the food never returned, the prisoners’ ranks winnowed significantly by the time Marta was finally brought before him. She readily accepted the deal before Kearney even offered it, her suffering stomach awakened and restive by the promise of food. But the first sustenance they offered was another vial of ekesh. Marta swallowed it down, intent on doing her duty to the East as well as her clan.
The daughter of Norwood Childress, Marta tried to comport herself with dignity under the drug’s influence as they winched her up the wall. Even here her behavior reflected upon her father and she had no intention of disappointing him as they hauled her to the wooden mess hall with the delicious smells issuing from within. When they threw open the door, she was so hungry her stomach openly revolted against her senses, the scent of roasting meat so strong it was all Marta could do to not break away and hobble towards the glorious smell. Her mouth watered to such a shameful degree she could not help the drool dribbling down her chin.
They roughly heaved her into the room, shoving her into the chair and binding her wrists. Marta’s eyes affixed on the smoking stove, craving the beef they would soon produce. For a moment the small part of her mind wondered how she would be able to eat with her hands tied, but such thoughts as dignity were exiled, Marta happy to lap food like a dog from a bowl so long as she was fed.
It was only when they removed the glowing branding iron from the stove that Marta realized where the smell of searing meat was coming from. With the realization came her rage as she desperately tried to summon her Breath. But she was too weak from hunger, too inebriated on ekesh to do more than feebly turn her head. So they grasped her about the ears, holding her face steady as they pressed the red iron hard into her forehead.
The pain was blinding, the agony all-encompassing as the smoke of her seared flesh scorched her nostrils. But despite the pain and her horror, Marta’s mouth watered all the more at the scent. She smelled like meat.
She smelled delicious.
Chapter 16
Winterfylled 21, 567
Meat would be all the horses would be good for if they kept their pace up much longer, Marta finally relenting and allowing a rest around midnight. After caring for the horses, Luca and Isabelle sought solace in their bedrolls. Marta retired to her own, Caddie in tow. The girl still refused to sleep despite Marta’s numerous orders to do so, so Marta again grasped the girl’s wrist and instructed her to shake her awake if either of their traveling companions approached.
In spite of the weariness seeped down all the way into her bones, Marta still could not succumb to sleep as she chewed on her pipe. Although the girl confounded her and the presence of Graff flat out terrified her, Marta’s mind kept returning to Luca and the lockblade he carried. It actually cut the ghuls, separating their Breath to rejoin the flow. That was something only glass was able to do, and Marta suspected there was more to his weapon other than the claim he could not be defeated so long as he held it. Though he should have proven his intentions true by saving her life, Marta found herself wishing she could test his claim firsthand. Even if he was right and it cost Marta her life, at least she would finally be free of him.
The night passed slowly, Marta peering after each sound in the dark. Caddie remained stolidly beside her, staring either at something only her eyes could perceive or perhaps nothing at all. Dawn was just awakening when Marta saw Luca stir, she feigning sleep as he slunk off alone. It stood to reason he was out only to relieve himself, but Marta slipped after him nonetheless.
Luca never looked back as he crested a small ridge bathed in the sun’s first tentative rays. Reaching into his coat, he removed a small cloth roll, unfurling it to reveal several dozen small sticks. These Luca touched to his forehead before scattering them upon the ground. Without any sense of pride, he lay down in the dirt beside them and puzzled over their formation.
Marta knew bix sticks when she saw them and had seen enough. Between them and his mysterious lockblade, her suspicions were confirmed. She was ready to confront him when she felt the presence behind her, whirling to find Isabelle there, hatchet in hand.
Luca’s head snapped up from his sticks, Marta ready to summon her Breath and put the woman down before turning her wrath to Luca. But Isabelle simply pointed with her weapon. Marta’s eyes followed its arc to spot the Breath hovering there in the air above them.
The slight twinge of amethyst was still evident, even though it was fading in the morning light. It did not move, did not aimlessly follow the magnetic flow of Breath towards the ley. Instead it waited.
“He’s found us?” Luca asked.
Graff had, surely this being his Breath he kept contained in his glass eye. Like all powerful Renders, he was able to unweave his second Soul Breath and send it to search for prey at speeds no horse or even Tinker train could match.
“Not yet,” Marta answered. “It has to return to him before he knows what it’s seen. Get the horses. Quick, before it departs.”
Marta was surprised how rapidly the two she had been ready to kill obeyed, Luca gathering up his scattered bix sticks before hurrying to their horses. The exhausted animals were more sluggish, Marta leading hers on foot, her other hand grasping Caddie’s. They had been traveling east, and she had every intention of continuing that direction again. But while Graff’s Breath watched them, Marta headed south.
The Render’s Breath followed a good half hour, the sunlight fading it until it seemed nothing more than a simmering smudge on the air. Then suddenly it was gone, Marta not sure if it had departed or she simply lost sight of it. She was still considering this when Luca mounted up.
“It’s gone. Isabelle saw it go.”
Marta trusted the woman’s eyes over her companion’s, even more than her own in her haggard state. Setting Caddie upon their horse, Marta joined her.
“We look for settlements now. Fresh horses, even if we have to take them by force. Graff works alone, does not share his prey with others. He may have discovered us, but we may be able to outrun him if we’re lucky.”
Turning her horse east again, Marta urged it forward as fast as she dared. She cared little for the spent beast, but if it died under her, she would be forced to claim Luca and Isabelle’s mount, and she simply did not have the time to waste killing them for it.
***
Luca and Isabelle agai
n took the lead as they followed the flow of Sol. It was Luca who spotted the ley despite it being nearly invisible during the day. Under normal circumstances Marta believed she would have seen it first, but her sleepless nights had taken their toll. The people of Newfield instinctively stayed close to the ley, and this line’s presence greatly increased their chances of finding a settlement. It also made spotting Graff’s Render Breath more difficult, but in her current condition, spotting his Breath was the least of Marta’s troubles. What she needed more than anything was a fresh horse, preferably two, and a good night’s sleep. For those she would gladly give the entirety of her cash, would kill without hesitation. Their only chance now was to outrun the man, to travel faster than Graff could manage alone.
Marta spied the homestead peeking out among the woods as midday approached, her ley headache now the only thing keeping her awake. It relented somewhat as they turned away from the line to approach the settlement. She was glad to see the two buildings in the clearing, one the home and the other a barn. She was nearly overjoyed at the small stockade though, handing some of her cash to Luca with instructions to procure new mounts as she and Isabelle led their spent horses to the trough near the well. As the horses drank, Marta splashed the water on her face, her senses reviving somewhat.
She was about to wash the girl’s dusty face when she heard Luca’s yell from the house.
“Murder!”
Grabbing Caddie’s hand, Marta hurried to the homestead, Isabelle beside her with hatchet at the ready. The air was warm inside, an iron stove still emitting heat as Luca led them to a small bedroom. In her haste Marta almost pulled Caddie inside with her, but Luca stopped her at the door.
“The girl doesn’t need to see this.”
Marta left the motionless girl in the hallway and stepped inside. The man in the bed was stout, bearded, and probably quite strong if the size of his arms were any indication. But his strength had not availed him in the least, his head twisted at an unnatural angle and his neck clearly snapped. From the position of his body, Marta did not believe he had been asleep during his attack. No, he fought valiantly and had died for his troubles.
“Where’s his wife?” Marta asked, her eyes on the mirrored brush on the nightstand.
Luca shrugged his reply, unable to take his eyes off the dead man. “Who could have done that? The strength it must take to twist his neck like that, Isabelle and I probably don’t have it between us.”
“It’s easier than it looks,” Marta offered in reply.
Reclaiming Caddie in the hallway, they made their way to the kitchen, the pantry wide and yawning. Marta was not fast enough to turn Caddie’s head and keep her from seeing the dead boy. He was probably not more than six, his head twisted the same unnatural angle as his father’s.
Caddie stared straight at him, her countenance not changing to show any apparent interest in the body. At this Isabelle softly tapped her fist to her chest three times then touched it to her forehead in a gesture that reminded Marta of her mother’s motion to ward off evil.
“To kill a child,” Luca whispered as he shut the boy’s dead eyes. “What kind of monster could kill a child?”
Marta knew many from the war, had readily served beside more than one, her voice flat as Caddie’s affect. “Gather any supplies we can carry. I’ll see if they have any horses.” She considered the dead boy again, making mental measurements before examining Caddie’s dress. “And see if they had any clothes that might fit her. It would be better if we traveled with a boy instead of a girl.”
Marta hauled Caddie after her and away before Luca could respond, happy that there were no more questions from the man.
When they reached the barn, Marta released Caddie, the girl falling still as a rundown wind-up toy. Plans for her phantom blade at the ready, Marta threw the door open to hear the snort of a horse. There was only the one, but he looked to be of good breeding, Marta scanning the room for anywhere an attacker could lie in wait. Finally sure she was alone, she grabbed the saddle from the wall.
The others would be on their own now, she and Caddie hopefully far from the homestead when Luca and Isabelle discovered their flight. She would be forgoing any found supplies and the possibility of any boy’s clothes to disguise the girl, but Marta knew it was the right decision. She would at least be able to sleep again and not worry about one of the freebooters slitting her throat.
The horse saddled and following her, she joined Caddie outside. Marta was reaching for her hand when she heard the girl faintly say, “Help.”
It was an odd voice, somehow resonant despite the child’s slight frame. Marta pondered the implications of the girl’s first word when the cry for help came again. Caddie’s lips did not move during the utterance, because the voice came from the nearby well.
Marta knew she should follow her plan, should collect Caddie and gallop away while she still had the chance. Instead she looked down the hole to see the woman floating in the water, her lips blue from the cold.
To save her would steal more of Marta’s dwindling time, would ensure Graff would be even closer, and would mean she might not be able to quit Luca and Isabelle as easily as she could moments before. The woman’s fate was surely already sealed from the cold water. And even if she did survive, she would discover her whole family murdered. To let her remain in the well would soon provide her sweet oblivion, a salve against the pain of existence. To let her die would be a mercy.
Marta grabbed the bucket beside the well though, its rope firmly suspended by the crossbeam, and dropped it down to her. That was all the time Marta would allow herself to squander, again grabbing Caddie’s hand. She had just hoisted the girl up when Marta heard the piteous voice again.
“Please… not strong enough to… please…”
Marta wanted to ignore the plea, to let the freebooters discover the woman and slow their pursuit of her and Caddie further. But they might not hear the woman, and Marta found herself staring into Caddie’s blue eyes. She had failed from keeping the girl from seeing the dead boy, and now she was going to show her how she intended to leave his mother to her sodden fate. Even though the child was a simpleton, this was still too much to foist upon her.
Cursing the girl who made her doubt her first instinct, Marta returned to the well, turning the crank and hauling the bucket back up. The woman clung to it, rising into the air until she had almost reached the well’s lip. Holding tight to the bucket with one hand, she reached for Marta, water cascading down her arm to return to the depths below. Setting her shoulder to the crank, Marta reached out for the woman, about to make contact when she heard Luca’s bellow.
“Glassman!”
At his pronouncement the woman dropped the guise of victim, her face twisting into a malevolent sneer. Marta leapt away, the bucket released and plummeting back into the well.
The glassman was faster yet, her hand catching the lip and hauling herself over the side in one fluid motion. She was close, too close, as she hissed at the retreating Marta. One lunge and Marta would be dead, but Luca called out before the glassman had the chance.
“We don’t want any trouble, and you want none of the trouble we’ve brought here with us today. You’ve already fed, no reason for you to get hurt.”
Marta could not believe the gall it took to threaten a glassman as Luca strode toward the monster with his open lockblade. But Luca’s ever-present grin was on full display as he spoke. “If this turns to blood, it will be your Breath that rejoins the flow today.”
The malevolent woman did not seem to know what to make of his confidence either, confusion evident on her face as he reached them. Too late did Luca realize this too was a ploy as she lunged for him.
Isabelle was not taken off guard though, the metal bearing launched from her sling striking the glassman’s skull with a sickening crack. Such a blow would cripple a normal person, if not outright kill, but the woman hardly stumbled as she again aimed at Luca. She moved impossibly fast, a speed Marta had only seen in
striking snakes.
Somehow Luca evaded the serpent’s strike, sidestepping and delivering a slice to her attacking arm. His blade bit deep, the glassman recoiling even as Luca launched a new series of strikes. Seeing him in action, Marta recognized both training and experience there as he mixed in feints as he sliced with his lockblade. He caught her again with a superficial wound on the other arm, an act that was extraordinary considering his adversary.
The glassman must have thought so as well as she stepped outside his range to examine her wounds. With a quick flick of his wrist, Luca slung her blood from his blade to water the grass. “It’s come to blood after all. Still intent on joining the flow or will you now run?”
Only now did the glassman notice Isabelle circling to her rear, her hatchet in hand. In the mute woman’s eyes, Marta saw a burning hatred she recognized well.
Marta knew she should add her strength to theirs, the three of them able to offer an offence even an elder glassman would not withstand. Instead she leapt atop the horse to join Caddie, turning its head and kicking it hard. She was leaving them to their messy fates, but Marta did not care. They were just freebooters after all, and she was a traitor.
But the glassman was faster than Marta’s horse, faster than either Luca or Isabelle as she snatched a stone the size of her skull from the well. Its bonding gave way like paper as she sent it sailing at Marta’s horse.
The bones of the horse’s legs snapped with brittle cracks as it fell. Marta put her arms around Caddie, cocooning the child and hoping to shield the girl as they were thrown. They hit hard enough to rattle Marta’s teeth and make her senses swim. Her haversack took much of the blow, but the tin cup inside was driven painfully into her spine. It hurt badly, Marta barely opening her eyes in time to see the glassman racing in their direction.
The sight awakened Marta’s anger, the milieu slowing as her mind raced. She knew glassmen to be innate Listeners, and so set a refrain that she was terrified. Though she had both the plans for her phantom blade and gauntlet at the ready, Marta kept her hands empty, hoping her apparent helplessness would lure the woman close enough to be taken by surprise.
The Woven Ring (Sol's Harvest Book 1) Page 17