Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  He regretted leaving Uences out there. Once Vulture had left, she had been quite civil. But he had no choice. He could keep working until he was so exhausted he was of no use to anyone, or he could take the pouches himself, go inside, and find Rugar.

  As he walked up the hill, he swayed, and then steadied as he crossed the clearing. But that final step into Shadowlands was one of the most difficult he had ever made.

  Shadowlands itself looked nearly empty. A single man pounded nails into a board he had braced on the ground, but Scavenger couldn’t tell what the man was building. A few Domestics worked around the Domicile. A group of Infantry were leaving Rugar’s cabin, but other than that, he saw no one. Smoke rose out of the chimney of the Warders’ cabin, and outside sat several dozen pouches filled with bone. Vulture slept next to them, his clothes and face still filthy from the work he had done earlier.

  Scavenger crouched beside him and shook his shoulder. Vulture opened his eyes slowly and rolled them when he saw who was trying to wake him.

  “Go replace Uences. She’s been working since you left.”

  “I deserve more sleep,” Vulture said.

  “Go on.” Scavenger gave him a push.

  Vulture sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Why aren’t you going back? You’ve been there the shortest.”

  “I have some things to deliver to the Domicile, then I’ll be back out there. But they said it might take a few hours. Better to relieve her now.”

  Vulture sighed. “And I get to do it. Lucky, lucky me. How much more is left out there?”

  “Enough for another afternoon’s work.” Scavenger lowered his voice. “Know what they need the bone for?”

  Vulture shook his head. “Caseo said something about a wonderful new spell, but you know how he is.”

  Caseo. Scavenger shuddered. Yes, Scavenger knew how Caseo was. He ran a hand through his hair. “Go help her. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

  Vulture heaved himself off the pouches. “If I come back and find you asleep, I’ll cut off your fingers.”

  “Then I really won’t be able to help you.”

  They grinned at each other. Behind them the Warders’ door swung open, and Caseo stood there, hands on his hips.

  “Just put the pouches down, boy, and leave us,” he said. “We’re trying to do legitimate work in here.” Then he slammed the door shut.

  “Touchy, touchy,” Vulture said.

  Scavenger said nothing. His heart was pounding so hard against his chest, he thought his ribs might burst. He was staring at the door. Caseo didn’t even seem to recognize him. Just as he’d thought. No one saw the Red Caps. No one would know when he killed Rugar.

  But that knowledge no longer held any consolation for him. How can a man threaten to kill someone one day and a week later not even recognize him? Was Caseo that cold?

  Or was Scavenger that small?

  Vulture punched him on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, you all right?”

  Scavenger nodded, forcing his gaze away from the door. “Yeah,” he said. “I got things to do. I’ll meet you outside.”

  Vulture watched him, and Scavenger headed for the Domicile. Vulture would notice anything Scavenger did, and Scavenger didn’t want to do anything out of the ordinary until Vulture was gone.

  Vulture took his time getting from the Warders’ cabin to the Circle Door. When he finally left, he moved slowly out the door as if being banished to the outside was worse than death. Scavenger let out a huge sigh, then walked back to Rugar’s cabin.

  Smoke came from that chimney as well, thin gray plumes of it, puffing up and brushing against the apparent roof of Shadowlands, then disappearing altogether. Scavenger didn’t understand why the smoke didn’t collect in Shadowlands—someone had tried to explain it to him once, but the explanation made no sense. This was the second Shadowlands of his life. The first was in the Nye campaign, and it was not nearly as elaborate as this. The Fey slept on the gray, cloud-covered ground in thick blankets made especially for the campaign by the Domestics. They had sewn something into those blankets; he’d never slept so well in his life, before or since.

  He gripped the hilt of the knife that he had got from Vulture and wondered when Vulture would notice that he didn’t have it. Would he work at all, or would he wait for Scavenger to come back? Probably Uences would force her blade on him and then leave, and Vulture would have to work by himself until the news of Rugar’s death reached him.

  Scavenger didn’t even feel sorry for that.

  He stopped in front of Rugar’s cabin. The Infantry were huddled a few cabins away, watching him. The skin on the back of his neck crawled. If he concentrated, he could hear voices from inside the cabin. Something was going on. This was not the time to knock on the door and confront Rugar.

  The Spell Warders’ cabin wasn’t that far away. Maybe Scavenger should just grab a few empty pouches and go back outside to relieve Uences. The King had not given Scavenger a deadline. Scavenger could take all the time he needed.

  He stopped outside the Warders’ cabin. The smoke coming from the chimney was a dark-gray, almost charcoal, color, and it smelled of roasting meat. He had been fooled by Warder smells before, and even though his stomach growled, he knew that what they were cooking inside was probably not anything he wanted.

  No one had left the empty pouches where they were supposed to be. He needed an armload to go back outside. No sense working without them.

  Still, knocking on the door was quite a risk for him all alone. It gave Caseo another chance to experiment on him. Scavenger put his hand on the hilt of his knife. He would be prepared, and then Caseo wouldn’t be able to grab him.

  He went to the door, knocked, and backed away from it. The door opened almost immediately. Caseo blocked the light from inside.

  “What now, boy?”

  “I need some pouches so that I can finish the job outside.”

  Caseo grinned. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you, boy?”

  Scavenger shook his head quickly.

  “Afraid I’m going to take you inside and turn you into a mass of jelly?”

  His grip on the hilt tightened. Again he shook his head.

  A female voice cried from inside, “Leave him alone, Caseo. We have to finish this.”

  “You can’t finish without me,” he said. “And I’ll be just a moment.” Then he stepped out and closed the door behind him. “They think your life might have value. They think I’m cruel for taunting you. You think that, too, don’t you?”

  There was a huge lump in Scavenger’s throat. He had to swallow twice before he could speak. “I—ah—I need those pouches if I’m going to do the work you need.”

  “We really don’t need you. That’s the whole truth. If Rugar was smart, he would stop transporting creatures like you to each battle site and just kill you when it becomes clear that you’re not real Fey.”

  “I’m as much Fey as you are,” Scavenger said.

  “Really?” Caseo’s grin was wide. “Then prove it. Come with me. Let me test the poison on you.”

  “That’s a stupid test!” Scavenger’s voice rose as he spoke. “If I prove I’m Fey, I die. I’m not that stupid. And if I don’t die, you’ll say I’m not Fey. Think about this. Three Red Caps never came back from the First Battle for Jahn. Maybe the poison got them. They had to have died. Had to. So, therefore, we’re Fey. We’re Fey. We’re just not as mean as you are.”

  Caseo laughed. “You are an amazing little man. As if I were to trust your perceptions on something as important as saving the lives of our people. Listen, little man, we’re experimenting on a new type of poison. I promise not to use the Islander poison on you. I’ll use the new poison on you when it’s finished. Then we’ll know if it works.”

  “No!” Scavenger was shaking. There was no one around to help him. The other Warders were inside working, and they would side with Caseo. Even though Scavenger was shouting, no one came out of the other cabins. They probably peeked through the door, saw
Scavenger fighting with Caseo, and thought it not worth interrupting.

  Caseo took a step toward him. “You’d be remembered as helping all Fey.”

  Scavenger backed up. “I don’t want to be remembered.”

  “Come, now,” Caseo said. “Being remembered is better than being ignored while you live.”

  “Maybe for you,” Scavenger said. He pulled the knife out of its sheath.

  “Ah, threats, little man?” Caseo didn’t seem frightened. He came closer.

  Scavenger took another step back and nearly fell down the stairs. “Just stay away from me. I don’t know why you pick on me. Just stay away from me.”

  “I ‘pick’ on you, boy, because you offend me. I don’t want people like you passing yourselves off as Fey. You’re an abomination, and it’s an absolute shame that some people consider you my equal.”

  “I can be your equal,” Scavenger said. Energy flowed through his body, making him bounce. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps.

  “Can you, little man? I doubt it. I very much doubt it.”

  “We’re all equal at two points in our lives,” Scavenger said, his grip on the hilt so tight that the metal dug into his palm. “When we’re born and when we die.”

  Caseo’s smile was broad. “Not even then, boy,” he said. “Some of us have talent when we’re born—it’s just latent—and some have talent when we die.”

  “But you die just the same.” Scavenger waved the knife at him. “I came for pouches. I came here to help you. Now, leave me alone, and I won’t ever bother you again.”

  Caseo shook his head. “Can’t do that, boy. Until Rugar changes things, you are my assistant, like it or not. And I need your assistance. Now, be a good boy and come inside with me. It won’t take very long, and it will help all of us.”

  Scavenger swiped at Caseo with the knife. “Stay away from me.”

  “You won’t hurt me, boy. The penalty for attacking a Warder is death by mutilation. Another difference, since there is no penalty when a Red Cap dies.” Caseo grabbed Scavenger’s arm—the one without the knife. His flesh was hot. He had no fear in his face. “Now, we’re going inside.”

  “No!” Scavenger said, and plunged the knife into Caseo’s chest. Caseo took a surprised step backward, but did not let go of Scavenger’s arm. Scavenger pulled the knife from Caseo’s chest—blood spurted, as it had when Silence had used his knife—and he hacked at Caseo’s fingers, in a panic to get them off him. Caseo let go, and the knife gouged into Scavenger’s arm. He bit back a scream of pain.

  Caseo dropped to his knees, his other hand over his chest. The blood was coming in spurts. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth open, but no sound was coming out. There was no one else outside, and no one seemed to be moving in the Warders’ cabin.

  “I’m sorry,” Scavenger said. He hadn’t meant to become as bad as Caseo. He hadn’t meant anything bad at all. Now they would know who did it. The other Warders would know that a Red Cap had hurt Caseo. He had to get away.

  His feet slipped in the blood on the porch. The blood was flowing down the steps and disappearing into the gray mist that was the ground. He jumped over the steps and ran for the Circle Door, repeating the chant over and over until he arrived. The Door opened for him, and he dived out, tossing the knife away as he did so.

  He had planned to do this, but not after killing Caseo. He had planned to kill Rugar, and he didn’t even know where Rugar was. Now he had no way to find out.

  Scavenger slipped into the woods and ran away from the skeleton pile, down the embankment to the side of the river. There he stopped to catch his breath. He was covered in blood, and the blood smelled no different from any other kind. No different at all.

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  They took Titus to one of their buildings, but only the older man went inside with him. Titus was unprepared for the darkness inside the building. The older man knocked on a lamp, and a small creature stood up, extending light in all directions. He knocked on another, and another, until the room glowed.

  A table and several chairs furnished the front. A fireplace stood off to the left, the fire only embers now. A woman peeked in the door and asked a question. The older man shook his head. She nodded, slipped back out, closing the door behind her.

  “What’s your message, child?” the man asked in Nye.

  Titus didn’t know how to speak to this man, if there wasa protocol or not. He merely bowed his head, then said, “The Rocaan wishes a meeting with you. He wants to end this war, and he believes that you two can do so together.”

  “I thought the Rocaan was your religious leader.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But I should have that discussion with your King.”

  Titus shook his head. “The Rocaan says the King has handled this long enough, and this is a spiritual matter.”

  “Ah,” the older man said. “So we go in to see your Rocaan, and he kills us all.”

  “No. He would not do that,” Titus said. “He would like to speak with you about power, spiritual power, yours and his.”

  “I see.” The older man slid a chair near Titus. “Sit, boy, and be comfortable. I won’t hurt you.”

  Titus sat as he was bade. He entwined his fingers together and kept his head bowed.

  “This Rocaan of yours, he is the one who leads all of you in religion, doesn’t he?”

  Titus nodded.

  “And he makes the poison that kills us.”

  “He never meant it to kill you. He didn’t know.” Titus spoke with strong emphasis, just as the Rocaan had. His emphasis would have been strong, even if the Rocaan’s hadn’t. “Holy water has been part of our religion since the beginning. We didn’t know its properties, until an Elder discovered it by accident.”

  “By accident?” The older man’s smile was cold. “How do you kill by accident?”

  “He threw a bottle at your people to keep them away from him. It shattered, and they died.”

  The older man’s eyes opened a little, then returned to their hooded gaze. “I see. Then he told your people, and the killing started.”

  Titus swallowed. The Rocaan said he wasn’t supposed to talk back to the Fey, but he would have loved to point out that they had started the killing, not the Islanders.

  “Must I see your Rocaan alone, or may I bring guards?”

  “He would like you to come as you would, as long as you promise not to attack him. He says he will come with friends as well.” Titus licked his lips. “He wants to perform a Blessing to cleanse us all of hatred, but to do that, he will need to use some holy water. He promises not to turn it on you. Likewise, he says you may bring weapons if you promise not to use them against him.”

  “He’s a trusting sort, is he?”

  Titus nodded. “He is a good man, sir. He would not kill anyone.”

  “What of all the Fey he has killed?”

  Titus was so relieved that the Rocaan had thought of all the answers to these questions. Titus never would have been able to think of them himself. “He has killed none personally, sir, and he wishes the others were still with us. But he begs you to consider the circumstances, and to ask yourself whether or not you would have done the same as he did in handing out holy water.”

  The Fey smiled. “What I would have done is immaterial. What he has done is the issue, and what he plans to do is even more important.”

  Titus peeked through his eyelashes at the Fey. “What he plans to do is to make you acceptable to God so that this fighting might end, and we might all find a peaceable solution.”

  “And what if I don’t want a peaceable solution?” the Fey asked.

  Titus shrugged. “Then, sir, I guess things will remain the same.”

  The Fey put his finger beneath Titus’s chin and raised the boy’s head. The older man smelled of pine trees and leather. His skin was covered with faint lines and was darker than that of a man who had worked all his life in the sun. “Can you guarantee that your Rocaan will be at t
his meeting?”

  “Yes, sir,” Titus said. “It is his idea, and he has given his word. He never goes back on his word.”

  The Fey smiled. “Then tell your leader that I will meet him. I will bring a full contingent of warriors who will have magick as well as swords. Tell him that if he does not show, I will slaughter any Islander I see. Tell him also that if he betrays me in any way, I will do the same to him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Titus whispered. A shiver ran through him that he could not control. This man, this Fey, meant what he said.

  “Tell him the next time he wishes to send a message to me, he will send a man, not a child. I have no more sympathy for children than I do for men. I will kill one as easily as I will kill the other.”