She asked, “What are you going to do with me?”
The Bright Palm turned and gazed at the Sun Dragon. The god of fire and blinding fangs dipped down for its nightly slumber in the Great Below.
“Won't you let me go? The Headless—the Rock-Backs—could come out soon.”
His back was toward her, so she could not tell if he squinted at the sun or stared without flinching. He did not move, did not even breathe that she could hear, not until the Dragon had landed.
With the sky bruising to darkness, his eyes shone down at Celaise as white beads. Only then did his intention hit Celaise.
He waits to see me change. To witness the Dragon's curse leak from me. In becoming her true self, Celaise would die.
She clung to the curse, contorting her will to lock the filth inside her. Her skin itched with its wrongness. Her curved and malformed bones ached to return to their true straightness. The unnaturalness stung most in her teeth.
I have such beautiful teeth. But she could not let the Bright Palm see them.
“I'm scared t-twice over.” Her breath heaved in and out with ragged, slurping sounds. “What if the Rock-Backs...what if they find us?”
She tried to stop panting, but she was not sure she managed it. All her focus bent inward, holding in the curse with a death grip. The poison glop tasted of burnt hair and rotting snails, and she had to keep swallowing.
The body she was trapped in was not human. More like a wooden doll made by the shaking hands of a drunk and spiteful toymaker. With a thought she could free herself. I can soar.
The moment she became her true self, the Bright Palm would kill her. And as I die, the curse will return. I'll die as a lie.
The Bright Palm crouched, balancing on his heels. Resting his pulsing hands on his knees, he gazed at her with a face as calm as if he watched the meanderings of some insect. A few inches away, her eyelids twitched. Tears dangled from her lashes, and her lip quivered.
I can't hold on, she thought. I can't. I can't.
Jerani ran about the camp, growing more and more annoyed. Where is she?
“Hey, shorty,” a warrior said to him. “Your spear looks a bit blunt.”
Jerani shifted the crutch to his left hand and looked behind another cow. Goldmeadow turned with him, touching his cheek with her wet nose and breathing grass scent.
He jogged away, leaning to look under cows. He saw nothing but dangling teats and calves.
“Come back!” The warriors called after him. They were gathering around Gorgeous, and the cow's horns shone orange in the sunset. “We'll want your club soon.”
“Forget Jerani. Where's his flaming friend?”
Thinking of Celaise made him search faster. She had asked him only to do one simple thing. Help the cripple. And now the broken-toothed outlander could be sprawled somewhere, forced to crawl without her stick for support.
A woman in a blue wrap asked, “You looking for your family?”
“For the outlander.”
The woman peered at the crutch. “Saw her knock a Skin-Back from Hero with that. Sorta brave.”
“Really?” He lifted a large gourd, did not see the outlander behind it. What are you thinking, Jerani? A gourd couldn't hide her.
Making himself stop running and think, he looked about the camp. She can't be here. He had thought she had been avoiding him, slinking away from the places he looked. But she moved with less grace than a falling cow pie. She could not have hidden herself for so long.
Nearby, vultures squabbled around the dead Rock-Backs. Hyenas yowled.
Jerani did not see the cowless woman, but he did spot the boys who had been playing with her crutch. They scampered into camp in front of Wedan and the last of the cow families.
“Nioki, Sandure,” Jerani said, lifting the crutch over the boys, “where did you find this?”
“On the ground.”
Jerani slapped the crutch into his palm. “Stomping bull! I know it's the outlander's.”
“But we found it on the ground.”
Jerani asked, “Where?”
“Somewhere.” One boy swept a hand over the camp in a grand manner.
“Nioki picked it up,” the other boy said. “I never touched it!”
“Did too!”
Jerani gripped Nioki by his clothing and spun him so they would be facing. “I have to find the outlander. Know where she is?”
A fear was beginning to tunnel its way through Jerani that she had been eaten by Rock-Backs. One of his tribesmen might have hurt her, driven her off into the grassland hyenas.
“Your father had her,” the boy said.
“Gio? The Bright Palm?” Jerani scanned all around but did not see the glowing figure. “Where'd he take her?”
“Don't know!” the boy said triumphantly.
The other reached for the crutch. “Hey, can we have that back?”
Holding the crutch over his head, Jerani felt reassured. The Bright Palm must have carried her to another tribe, for some reason. When Jerani found her, he could return the crutch.
Something tugged at the cloth draped around his waist. Anza blinked up at him, her one eye tearing.
“Oh, Anza, what's wrong?”
With her other hand, she pointed out over the empty grassland. “The light man took her that way.”
“Are you sure?” There were no tribes in that direction.
“That way.” She choked back a sniff. “Can you help her? She's my friend.”
“Help her?” A coldness started in his fingertips holding the crutch and spread up his arm. “But the Bright Palm will help her.”
“N-no he doesn't. He puts them on trees. Then he hurts them.”
“Anza, I don't think—”
“He hurts all the ugly people!” She reached up to the bandaged side of her face, and her dirty fingernails scraped at the leather covering.
“Anza, Anza.” Jerani wrapped his arms around her, his own heart beating faster. The Bright Palm had said he tracked Feasters, those fiends of shadows that plagued the towns at night, but Jerani wondered. The last man he had seen nailed to death had not looked dangerous. The Bright Palm might have made a mistake. He is mad.
“I won't let the light man hurt her.” Jerani rubbed Anza's shoulders forward and back. “And he'll never hurt you.”
Jerani dashed off, away from the Greathearts, out onto the grassland. He had even more reason to find the outlander now, if she was his sister's friend, if she had saved the bull from a Skin-Back. She might look sunk eyed and mule footed, but Jerani felt bad for having thought of her as a cowless thief.
He could have searched for tracks. It would take time. A sense of need burned him to run. He hoped to spot her between the rises in the 'land, bring her back before dusk and the Rock-Backs came.
The last rays of daylight dyed the land red. The color of warriors. My color. For ten seconds, the grasses rippled like flames.
To balance the weight of the crutch, Jerani slid his war club from his belt sash. The two shafts of wood swished forward and back in his pumping arms. He raced over the uneven ground, the darkening ground.
He remembered when the outlander had given him his dropped club, after his brother had been gashed, his sister bandaged. She had told him she was sorry.
Jerani felt made of air. He had never run so fast. For Celaise, he thought between gulps of air. For the outlander. She's worth saving.
His legs fell into the rhythm of the drumming Rock-Backs, their low rolling pulse. Not too near. Not too far. Jerani needed to return to the Greathearts and call Celaise. He needed to find the outlander. He worried that when he did, she would be punctured with nails.
He would never have seen the man next to the distant tree, if not for how the Bright Palm shimmered like a fallen star. Jerani skidded to a stop a dozen paces away, sandy dirt spraying.
The crutch fell from his hand. Am I too late?
The Bright Palm stood from a squat and turned to face Jerani. He did not speak.
/> “What have you done?” Jerani peered around him. He thought he saw ropes wrapped around the tree.
“I must learn if she is a Feaster. Or an Innocent.”
“Have you hurt her?” Jerani squinted, walking forward. The scrawny woman was tied to the tree, and her eyelids fluttered.
“I cannot allow you any closer. The danger is too great.”
“Danger? Look at her!”
She seemed to shiver within the ropes. A glint of drool fell from her lips. Jerani belted his club to unsheathe his knife, to cut the ropes. “I'm taking her back.”
“I warn you,” the Bright Palm said in the tone of someone reciting an uninteresting story. “Stay away.”
Jerani was hardly worried about her hurting him with her twig arms. With a flash of embarrassment, he realized he would have to carry the smelly creature to the safety of the horn ring himself if the Bright Palm would not help.
Jerani stepped past the glowing man, and then something lunged at his side—a movement, a streak—all too fast and too unexpected.
The Bright Palm tore away the knife and crutch. Two hands shone as they seized Jerani's wrist, pushing him back.
Jerani's eyes popped, but he acted fast, throwing himself to the side to break the hold. Or that was the idea.
The Bright Palm moved with Jerani, and faster. The man who called himself Gio stole Jerani's momentum to pivot to the other side and heave.
The ground was ripped away from Jerani's feet.
Darkness breezed over his skin, and stars twinkled in front of him. Did he throw me? Jerani felt himself tilting backward as if he were being cradled between the Sky Bull's giant horns. A lock of hair flicked over Jerani's eyes.
A glimpse of grass stalks to his right snapped him out of his daze. He ducked into a roll, cutting himself on the thin blades as he tumbled. A shrub crunched. Dirt flew.
He hopped upright. The Bright Palm was waiting for him. Jerani tugged on his war club, thinking only to defend himself.
The Bright Palm kicked him. Jerani's guts flattened against his spine.
He gagged on the ground. When he wobbled to his feet, the land tipped and trembled.
The Bright Palm marched toward him wearing an expressionless version of his father's face. His fingers flashed as they made a fist. His other hand gripped a dark bronze spike.
Jerani did not think. He ran.
Celaise thought she heard Jerani's voice. Then a sliding thump. She was not sure.
Not sure of anything.
She could see nothing but the mud flowing into her. She was a great big bullfrog, its throat swollen with dirt. Have to hold it in. Can't spit it out.
Something glowed white in front of her. Snow! I love snow. Or do I hate it?
“If you are Innocent,” the Bright Palm said, “then you should have your mouth cleared. Your teeth can only hurt you now.”
His words made no sense to her, but Celaise did not like their flat sound. She tried to shrink back from his hand. Something hard pushed against her shoulders and head, held her still.
Her mouth was pried open. Two rays of light reached in and closed on a tooth.
In that moment—in the gasp of time—her True Self spoke to her. That happened sometimes. In bad times.
“He is going to hurt you.” The wispy words came from a lady of beauty and strength dressed in the gaping sky. “Drink and be free, Celaise.”
A glove of blue and distant clouds rested on Celaise's shoulder to comfort her. The lady robed in air did not hold anything, but within the gateway of her dress floated a black chalice. Celaise could reach in and pull it out. Night swirled inside the chalice's depths. Black Wine.
Celaise breathed in the aroma of airy vintage, of grapes grown amid clouds and lofty brightness. Her hands closed on the chalice.
Yes, she would drink and wash out all the dirt.
Her hand paused halfway to her lips. A thought niggled her behind her ear. There was something, some reason why she should not taste the Black Wine. She could not remember what. Mother always called me stubborn.
She set the chalice down. She would drink when she could enjoy it. Not now but later. I promise you, Mother. Sister. Celaise. Whoever you are.
With a crack, a tooth pulled free of her mouth, and so began the pain.
Jerani did not realize how far he had run, until he saw the ring of horns. Greatheart warriors peered out from between the bobbing trunks of bone. Outside the circle of cows, Hero strutted and stomped. The bull blew air from flared nostrils with each cloven-hoofed step.
“He smells 'em,” Tall Tachamwa said. “They'll be rolling in soon.”
“Is that Jerani?”
Jerani rested a trembling hand on the warm hardness of Hero's shoulder. Stinking shame swirled within Jerani. I shouldn't have run. Shouldn't have left her with him.
He said to the Bull. “Guess we've both run more than we should've.”
Hero peered at Jerani with one huge eye. Brown whiskers on his nose trembled as he sucked in breath.
“Hey, Jerani!” A warrior thumped a cow's rump then waved. “You know if that milky vent of fire is fighting with us tonight?”
Tall Tachamwa said, “And have you asked her yet?”
Jerani clapped a hand over his bracer. It was still scratched. It did not even glow. He turned toward the distant red peak of the Angry Mother. “Celaise?”
The Rock-Backs pounded the grassland.
She's angry at me. His tribe could be attacked at any time, and he had disappointed the one ally sent by the gods.
“Come on, Hero. We both owe the outlander.”
Jerani held the bull's lip between two fingers and headed back into the night. Hero trotted beside him, deft on his hooves in the starlight. The two of them made little noise crossing the grass mounds.
Twice, the bull huffed and pulled back. His horns reached nearly as long as Jerani stood tall, and they pointed in a new direction. Jerani took the bull's advice and changed course. Both times, Jerani saw the lumbering forms of Rock-Backs passing in the distance.
“They must not see too far,” he said. He rubbed Hero behind the ear. “And you smelled them coming, didn't you?”
The bull did not reply. Rolls of muscle moved on either side of his neck as he lofted his head and walked with purpose. He even appeared to know where they were going.
The breeze stayed safely in front of them, and nothing caught their scent before Jerani saw the Bright Palm kneeling by the same tree. “Please, Celaise, forgive me if I'm too late.”
Jerani had not given himself too much time to plan, but he had supposed he would walk up and cut the outlander loose. The Bright Palm would not dare to stop him with two thousand pounds of muscle and horn as a friend. But Jerani felt his courage clench up. What if the Bright Palm does dare? What if Hero runs again?
“Celaise, can you help me?”
When no answer came, Jerani lifted his war club. He pressed a hand back on Hero's nose to stop him. Taking three more steps forward, Jerani ran his eyes over the distance between himself and the Bright Palm.
Thirty-one cow lengths. No, thirty. And two steps.
It was a long way. So far that the Bright Palm could not have heard them yet. Still, Jerani had hit snakes sunbathing on rocks from that distance, and his target glowed.
Not giving himself time to second guess, Jerani took a few running steps. He's not anyone I know. Jerani's sweaty hand lifted the war club over his shoulder. Just some shining madman.
Jerani snapped his hand forward. The war club flew upward, twirling end over end and disappearing into the night.
Rotten hooves! Jerani had a sickening sense that he had released a blink too late. The wooden head would hit the tree a few feet above his mark.
Jamming his fingers into his mouth, Jerani split the darkness with the whistle he used to scare away elephants.
The Bright Palm stood. Then he fell.
Jerani never saw the war club swoop down from its arc and hit, but the man of lig
ht slumped against the tree then toppled onto his face. It felt like Jerani had drunk the warmest and sweetest milk ever. He had done it.
A sprint brought Jerani to the tree, Hero clomping after him. Dark liquid flowed from the cowless woman's mouth, and she stared at nothing. Jerani scrounged in the darkness and found his club and a metal knife.
He cut her loose. “Are you…Can you hear me?”
She gurgled and spit blood, and to Jerani, it sounded lovely. She's alive.
The outlander was surprisingly light in his arms. He lifted her onto Hero's back, and her fingers clung onto the bull's hump. The bull swung his horns around to try to see her, and his tail swatted her scrawny backside. Hero gave no further protest, though, to carrying a stranger. Jerani decided there might have been something in what the Holy Woman said, that gentleness had value in a bull.
Jerani was worried Rock-Backs might have heard his whistle. He had to hope they were not much for listening, except for sounds of stomping. He scooped up the crutch, and as he stood, he glanced at the Bright Palm. Jerani had not wanted to look, but he did.
Light surged then darkened within fingers. One hand twitched toward the Bright Palm's neck. He had fallen in a way that hid his face, and Jerani was thankful.
Gripping Hero's lip, Jerani started the trek back to the camp. They had gone halfway before the darkness ahead of them shifted with the silhouettes of half-circles. Rock-Backs. This time, the wind was against Jerani and Hero, and they were scented.
Chills raked through Jerani with biting claws of dread. Then he glanced down.
Red light rippled over the copper bracer. She has forgiven me, he thought.
Celaise lit the bracelet with a promise of death. She would Feast. She would kill.
But not Jerani.
He had proven himself useful this night. Black Wine tingled through her veins as she floated above him in her True Dress. As not to confuse Jerani, she melded shadows into an image of her cursed day self. The malformed wretch appeared to cling to the bull's back. For simplicity's sake, she also kept her center of vulnerability there.
Flying fangs and dragon's breath! She no longer hurt, and her body throbbed with delicious tension as her heart spurt Black Wine. Celaise wanted to lash out, to Feast, to even the score. A blizzard of fangs on that Bright Palm!
Gown of Shadow and Flame Page 18