Women milked the cows, a teat in each hand while a calf suckled on the other side of its mother. The women leaned their heads against the animals as they worked, whispering and humming to themselves, or perhaps to the cows.
Three tribesmen guided a few cows to the edge of the herd. They cinched ropes around the cows' necks, and veins stood out under the brown and white hide.
Long thin flaps of skin dangled below the furry chins. The girl Anza prodded one, but Jerani carried her away as the Holy Woman approached. She carried an obsidian knife and a gourd. Her wrist flicked, and Celaise thought she had stabbed the cow's neck, though the mouth of the gourd covered the spot too fast to see. The animal did no more than moo in a polite tone.
“Don't you let any of the blessing fall in,” the Holy Woman said. A warrior held the gourd, a hand shielding it from the ash fall.
The obsidian knife darted toward the second cow, and this time Celaise caught a glimpse of red spurting into another vessel. The Holy Woman stood back, bowed her head, and began muttering.
The sight disturbed Celaise. The tribesmen acted as if they cared for the cows, but they still bled them. People smile, they pet, then they kill. The faces of the men and women showed no sign of shame at their betrayal, and resentment and fear pumped through Celaise. They'll show even less pity toward me.
Tingles spread from her gut down her shivering arms, and she ached to pull on her True Gown. No matter the hour, she might battle wills with the weakened Sun Dragon, throw off her curse and Feast.
But the Lord of the Feast…But the Bright Palm…She looked for the glowing figure and thought she saw him among an adjacent tribe. Its herd had white cows.
Celaise expected to see new gourds placed at the cows' necks, for more blood to be leeched until the animals slumped into a daze. Then the flint knives would skin them, their carcasses devoured by their treacherous masters. She clenched her right hand, and her bones clicked and scraped as if she squeezed a handful of gravel.
Her hand relaxed when the warriors loosed the ropes from the cows' necks and lowered the gourds. The wounds bled but little now, and the Holy Woman patted them closed with a brown paste. The cows' udders swayed as they turned to mill with the herd.
Celaise did not allow herself to be surprised. They'll kill the cows eventually. We're least safe among friends.
One cow sneezed. While ash drizzled down, cows gazed from the black south to the twilit north. Celaise realized that to the Lord of the Feast she was no more than an animal to be bled. At least he's forward with his threats.
A woman wearing a cloth over her mouth poured a pink liquid into bowls, one of which she held out to Celaise. The woman would not have truly seen her, Celaise knew. The layer of shadow had turned Celaise into a nondescript figure, not worthy of a second glance, and the tribeswoman mistook her for someone she should care about.
Celaise expected people to serve her poison, but she accepted the bowl, happy in knowing it had not been meant for her. The pink liquid inside had a few bubbles of milk froth as well as a congealed rim of blood. Her stomach clamped into a ball, and the back of her throat tightened, her tongue sliding back as she gagged. The sight of food always did that to her now, but she wondered if this bloody milk would still have disgusted her before she had tasted the perfection of Black Wine.
Around her, people slurped their bowls. Pink smears dribbled down the cheeks of children. Celaise peered at her own bowl. Have to eat something, don't I? She knew that Feasters who refused everything but Black Wine died of starvation.
The pink fluid ignited her teeth shards with flashes of pain. It slimed her tongue, stuck to the back of her mouth, clogged her throat, and hit her stomach like a fist. She retched the gunk back into her mouth, burning herself with bile, but she swallowed again.
Gasping between sips, she managed one mouthful, then another. Her guts roiled and fought her all the way.
She labored down five mouthfuls then held her belly, worried she would vomit it all out again. They would notice her then. Shouldn't be like this, she thought. Even at night, eating food was a misery, so she knew it was not the Sun Dragon's curse. Black Wine ruins me for food. Nothing tasted half so sweet.
A young man with three scar stripes on his chest took the bowl she handed him with a grunt of thanks. He finished the pink milk without ever looking at her. She tried to distract herself from her heaving belly by watching the herd. One cow rubbed its cheek over its neighbor's neck, scratching a spot that tails could never reach. The animal receiving the help pointed its snout up, closed its eyes, flapped its ears, and mooed in pleasure.
Sitting alone in the crowd, Celaise grinned. Even under an ash cloud and with the Headless bearing down on them, the cows could be happy. Watching them unwound the tension inside her, and she doubted the trickle of warmth she felt had anything to do with Black Wine.
The tribes and herds moved out. Men and women followed the cows in files, stepping in the hoof prints. Celaise felt sick as they pulled away from her. She could not match their pace with her knee knocking against her crutch.
She would fall behind, and the Headless would catch her. The beasts looked like rollie pollie bugs in the distance, packs of them tumbling in pursuit. They traveled over the flat emptiness curled into balls. The Headless unrolled to change direction or take their turn stomping out a message.
Clutching her sun-withered hand to her chest and wheezing, she glanced around the savanna. A nearby plant caught her eye. Its waxy thick leaves curved upwards. From its center bloomed what Celaise could only guess was a flower in the shape of a petite tree. A fluff of pollen coated its twig branches. She wished she could see the color of it, but everything had darkened to greys and blacks.
She had no time for more than a glance. As Celaise crept onward, she shivered from the wonder of the tree flower. Who could've known? To distract herself from the pain in her joints, she thought of all the marvels she had seen on her travels. In Oasis City, rivers had flowed through the air around tomb towers. Ships had sailed over sand dunes. And now cows had horns as broad as tree trunks.
Her life was not what she had expected, but she wanted to keep it. Celaise wished to visit Morimound, a city said to be paved with diamonds. And the Mindvault Academy, where enchantresses walked on walls.
“Night will come,” Celaise said, with a silent promise to survive. She would evade the Headless. She would not let the Bright Palm stake her to a tree.
Somehow.
Jerani's eyes opened at the sound of rain. A splattering everywhere of water. He heard it but could not see it. The air was dry. Only a few motes of ash blew on the wind.
The ground darkened under the cows, and the noise came from water flowing down every tail.
They're all pissing, Jerani thought. What's startled them?
The bull named Hero bellowed, his right horn sweeping close to the hump on his back as he turned to look behind. Hero's eyes showed their whites.
An answering moo called from the front of the herd, and Jerani recognized the gentle confidence of Gorgeous' voice rising over three notes.
“They smell Rock-Backs,” Tall Tachamwa said.
Jerani said, “But it's not near night.”
“How can you tell?” Isafo asked from behind him. The warrior braced the shaft of his spear behind his neck and leaned forward to stretch his thick arms. Above, the sky was blackened and bloody.
What looked like families of boulders bounded toward the tribe. Ahead of them ran warrior scouts, arms waving. Jerani felt the pounding of the Rock-Back's feet deep in his chest.
Tall Tachamwa slapped two warriors on the thigh. “The chase is dead. Run to the other tribes. Tell 'em to make a stand here.”
One messenger whipped around, and his ocher-spiked hair swung toward the oncoming Rock-Backs. He dashed away. The second warrior swallowed hard then followed.
The Greathearts had stopped on a track of hummock grass, and Jerani stepped between the grassy humps, all grey in the gloom of ash. Ro
cky soil crunched under his sandals.
Tachamwa spun his finger in a circle. “Ring them up!”
The herd stopped, and the Holy Woman led Gorgeous, hand resting on the cow's nose. Women, children, and calves pushed their way toward the center of the herd. Jerani set Anza down. His heart was hammering, but he forced himself to speak to his sister in a calm voice.
“Find Gem. She may be scared without you.”
“I'll protect her. Gem!” Anza called, arms up as she pattered into the herd.
Wedan leaned close to Jerani. “What if the other tribes don't stop? What if we stop and they don't?”
Jerani thought of all the Rock-Backs on the grassland surrounding his tribe. His insides lurched in a very un-warrior-like way. He choked out an answer. “They wouldn't dare.”
“Why not? The Sky Herders would trade the lot of us for a cow pie, and the rest like us less.”
The other tribes had Holy Women, Jerani knew, and they would not wish to leave the Greatheart cows to die. His throat felt too tight to explain all that to his brother. Instead, he gripped the spear and said, “Go watch your sister.”
“You don't order me.” Wedan pulled the spear away, his eyes small coals in his fleshy face. “I fought outside at night. I'm a man!”
“I promised mother I'd look after you.”
“And you did a fit job looking after her.” Wedan padded away, still clenching the spear.
Shame scoured Jerani's insides. I couldn't save her. I was all she had and it wasn't enough. He worried he wouldn't be enough for his brother and sister either.
“Jerani!” Tall Tachamwa motioned him behind the ring of cow horns. “Get your 'chantress friend here. Those Rock-Backs look hungry enough to eat hooves.”
Thuds grew louder. Jerani scrambled between the whiskered chins of two cows. They stood straight and strong. His worry drained away thinking about the sky woman, and the relief lifted him to the balls of his feet. He would not be alone in protecting his family.
The bracer on his arm was scarred and pitted. That frightened him, though he was not sure why.
Tachamwa seized his shoulder. “Remember her name?”
“Celaise.” The word sprang from Jerani without thought. He did not believe he could ever forget it.
“Don't see her.” The tall warrior thrashed his gaze about. “Where is she?”
The only blue sky Jerani saw was in the north and too far to be any help. The bracelet did not glow, as it had the night she had given it to him.
“Celaise.” His anxiety sharpened the word. “Celaise!”
Jerani could not believe it. She had promised to help them. His thoughts snapped to Wedan and Anza. Sky Bull, protect them.
“Stand firm.” Tachamwa's voice climbed in pitch as he scurried back with the women and children. “Stand firm!”
The ground throbbed with the drumming feet of Rock-Backs. Some had stopped, half-mounting each other to clatter their forelegs against their fellow's plated tops for an echoing din. The largest of them charged on, the size of a bull with hungry blood-crystal eyes. A dozen Skin-Backs clung to its sides.
The nearest cows, Pink Lips and Morning Glow, lowered their horns. Jerani raised his war club to shoulder level.
“No way he's getting through,” Tachamwa said, from a safe distance. “There's no…”
Clawed legs bulged with muscle, and the Rock-Back hopped and curled its front to its tail. It landed on its shoulders while Skin-Backs clambered to its underside. The monster rolled over its rocky spine like a boulder tumbling downhill, straight at Jerani.
Tachamwa said, “Ah, split heels! Jerani, get gone!”
Certainty blasted through Jerani that unless he moved he would be crushed. He ducked between a set of hooves, udders flopping against his back. Pink Lips and Morning Glow squealed their moos. The Rock-Back trundled past. A hoof stepped on Jerani, then two sandals as warriors shouted and cried out.
A wrinkled thing scampered up a cow's knee before Jerani smacked the Skin-Back off with his club. Another crept wetly over his feet, and he kicked it into the air then smashed it to the ground.
Tachamwa and a few women rolled Morning Glow from her side to her feet. Jerani turned to look for the Rock-Back which had broken their defensive ring, but someone smashed into him, spinning him about. Warriors and a heifer stabbed spears and horns at a smaller Rock-Back and forced it away from the tribe.
Four damp, frog feet crawled up the back of his leg and under his clothes. Jerani jumped and whirled, knocking a bawling calf over, but the Skin-Back dug thorn claws into Jerani's buttocks and clung on. It crawled and spiked its way closer to his back and spine.
Stinging shocks of fury and embarrassment burst through Jerani. If a Skin-Back pricked him under his clothes, no one might notice what was wrong with him in the confusion until a few gourds of his blood had been sucked out.
He twisted his arm around to swat at the Skin-Back on his backside but could not get a good angle on it. The clammy creature began worming under his belt, spines on its hands scraping the small of his back.
Not knowing what else to do, he jammed his war club under his belt buckle and shoved outward. The belt tightened around his waist with a crunching noise, and vermin glop splattered his legs.
Good, strong, Greatheart leather. He patted the belt.
The yellowish-grey dome of the lead Rock-Back plowed through the women in front of Jerani. This was the large one, the living avalanche, and seeing it loose among his people made his chest spasm.
Worse, he saw Wedan among the warriors attacking the Rock-Back.
“Nick its eyes!” Tachamwa shoved Jerani toward the monster.
The Rock-Back thrashed and heaved, its tiny crystal eyes an impossible number of targets behind two arches of slashing claws. Jerani sprang back to keep his throat safe inside his neck.
“Wedan, toss me the spear.”
His brother's face squeezed purple with determination. Wedan waddled forward to stab at a foreleg. This Rock-Back was massive enough to have armor plates on its legs too, and the spear scraped off.
Cold pangs of fear dug into Jerani. He had no idea how to harm this monster. “Wedan! Get back!”
Jerani's eyes bulged as the monster sprang forward. Instead of retreating, his brother knocked the spearhead against its shoulders. Jerani grabbed the fold of cloth covering his brother's back and yanked him away from the swooping pair of claws, each as long as a finger.
Wedan shoved Jerani away. “What're you doing? I would've had it.”
“Would not. Watch it!” Jerani dove to push Wedan to the ground, and a breeze chilled Jerani's back from the near miss of claw spines.
Jerani untangled himself from his spluttering brother to see Isafo and two other warriors circling the Rock-Back. Their weapons bounced off its sides.
“No,” Tachamwa screamed, “the inside of the leg! Not the scaled part!”
The Rock-Back whipped a hind leg backward to kick a warrior, who fell to his hands and knees. Jerani glanced down at his bracer. Still dark and chipped. “Celaise!”
Jerani ducked in and out of range, the claws whistling inches from his nose. His brother bumped into him, and he could not back far enough away, feeling cloth ripped from his chest.
“Wedan!”
The two toppled to the ground, and Jerani ran a hand over his own skin, feeling hard sweaty flesh without gashes. Too close.
Wedan pushed himself to his feet. “Stop getting in my way.”
“Jerani! Wedan! Jerani!” Anza scampered toward them, hands fluttering. She did not even glance at the lumbering shadow of the Rock-Back not five cow-lengths away. “Gem kicked, and I can't find her!”
A dirty cut bled on Anza's brow, where a hoof must have grazed her. A blink of worry passed through Jerani that it would scar. Battle marks gave a warrior pride, but a girl with a wound puckering her face would be doomed to loneliness.
He gripped Anza under her arm and spun her about. “Go! Go and hide. Ah, lame it, Wedan!�
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His brother was flopping forward on his belly to angle his spear up at the monster's underside. The Rock-Back hefted a rhino-sized leg over Wedan. An image of his brother smashed like a fat caterpillar flashed over Jerani's mind.
Gripping his brother's heels, Jerani dragged him away. The trunk leg boomed against the ground.
Wedan jiggled with rage, kicking his brother in the chin. “You cud!”
“Jerani! Jerani!” Anza tugged at the red cloth wrapped over his back, looking up with concern.
“Not now!”
She reached up and pulled something off Jerani by two of its rubbery legs. Jerani gawked at the Skin-Back that scrabbled in her hands—the Skin-Back that had been crawling up his clothes to his neck. He had not felt it, and the shock of that thought stole precious seconds as the creature flipped onto his sister's face. Her scream gouged Jerani's heart.
“Eeeeee!”
The knob at the end of his war club hooked around the sack of wriggling skin and yanked it off. Jerani slapped it upward with the bracer, giving him enough time to circle his club back over his shoulder to hammer the Skin-Back to a flying pulp.
“Eeeeee!” Anza cupped her right eye, red leaking between her fingers.
“Oh no! Oh no!” Jerani held her.
Nearby, the Rock-Back kicked another warrior off his feet. Jerani tried to lead his sister away, but she sagged to the ground and refused to budge.
Desperate for help, Jerani lifted the bracer toward the sooty red sky. “Celaise!”
Celaise's faltering legs had not yet caught up to the tribe. The cows and their masters had outpaced her. The Headless had passed her. But she was close.
Burrowing through shadow, she had hid herself from most of the beasts. A few noticed her, but they seemed to think the cows more delicious than her sun-shrunken hide and ran on. Then the cows formed ramparts of solid shoulders defended by dipping horns.
At the first sign of having to fight for their meal, two Headless doubled back to track Celaise. Her shadows could not hide her footprints from their eye clusters, at least not with day still leaking from the north, so she made a painful three-legged dash with her crutch to the line of cows.
Gown of Shadow and Flame Page 9