Terror, indeed.
The murderous hunting calls echoed like screams of wrath from the blackest of hearts, rousing the somnolent woods with the shrieks of horses and curses of men. Davon imagined a fresh puddle of urine at Mr. Paige’s feet. His captors kept their stoic vigil; he had to fight his beating heart. Loose horses ran in every direction, hooves pounding through the night, while some of their companions wailed their last. Gunshots rang out. Men howled in agony and others joined the horses in retreat into the forested blackness.
And they waited. Wet, sloppy sounds of meat and gore pulled from bone and belly were their only companions for nearly an hour. At length, the birds finally moved off, and the women ordered him out. Campfire gone, only the scant moonlight provided illumination.
One of the women dug packs out of an adjacent fold of the tree, fumbling inside until she produced a small chunk of fungus that glowed blue, casting enough light to walk by. Davon had never seen its like.
She brought the glowing mass toward him and the other woman. “Read him, Ki’Anla. Quickly.”
Ki’Anla lowered her spear and walked forward, standing toe to toe with him. In the blue light he could see a tattoo on her cheek and more along her arms. Her eyes drilled into his, and then she closed them, bringing up her hand. The thumb and two adjacent fingers stretched long, and the other two bent down. Her palm bore the mark of a leaf, not a tattoo, but a scar like the flames on his palms.
Expunging the breath from her chest with a prolonged exhale, she turned the palm toward her face and touched her forehead, and then reversed it, placing it on his chest over the heart. The sharp smell of Pale Mint flooded him as her face nearly touched his. He breathed out and she breathed in as if sucking in the air from his lungs. For a moment her face registered nothing, and then she smiled, eyes flicking open. She stepped back.
Ki’Anla turned her eyes to the woman behind him. “It is as I told you, Ta. His heart is good. There is love and honor in his wind.”
“What is his war?” Ta’Anla asked.
“Loneliness,” Ki’Anla responded.
“Please,” Davon said, stepping forward. “I—”
Ki’Anla’s spear point dropped to his heart and he raised his hands. The woman’s mouth dropped as did her spear. She darted forward and took his hand, examining his palm.
“Come, Ta. Bring the light.”
“What is it, Ki? We must press on. The birds may return for more carrion.”
“Look. The Brown Man is Flametouched.”
With both women in front of him gawking at his palms, he knew the reason he couldn’t tell them apart in the dark—he couldn’t tell them apart in the light. Every last detail of their appearance was the same, down to the length of hair and the placement of their blue ink tattoos. A length of strange characters ran scandalously down the center of their chests and abdomens.
They turned their gaze upon him. One of them, Ta, he thought, spoke. “We captured the sentry of the lot sleeping around the fire. Ki’s reading of him did not go so well as yours. Take us to your companions, Brown Man.”
“My name is Davon,” he said.
The other grabbed his arm. “A very dull name. Let’s go.”
Apparently, his Flametouched status did not help them trust him. They lowered their spears in his direction and prodded him on without further talk. The blue light provided just enough illumination to negotiate the forest directly at his feet, but no more. He wondered where to acquire some.
Mr. Paige’s sobs directed them toward their camp, quickly followed by a terrified intake of breath. “A ghost! A spirit!” he exclaimed.
“It’s me,” Davon said. “Be calm, Mr. Paige.”
Mr. Goodwin stepped out from behind the concealment of the tree. “What in the dreadful name of everything horrible did you do, Lord Carver? I have never heard such an awful—”
And he saw them and his mouth fell.
Mr. Paige stuck his head around the trunk next, puffy eyes shooting wide. He shrunk back.
“Savages!”
Chapter 32
By the weak light of the blue moss, their mysterious captors marched them away from scene of the terror bird attack and deeper into the forest, calling for a halt just before dawn. Davon’s eyelids begged to close and his limbs hung heavy. The frantic ride to Longford and lack of sleep pushed him to the brink of exhaustion. Mr. Paige and Mr. Goodwin trudged along as if every step were in sticky mud.
Ki’Anla led them forward, carrying his rifle in one hand and a spear in the other, while Ta’Anla brought up the rear of their little party. They led them north and farther from civilization, the opposite of what Davon had hoped. He wanted to get back to the road, get to Brighton, and procure some horses. If he could get the gun back from Ki, he could likely scare the two women off. But in his exhaustion, the risk was too high.
It took little discernment to see the ease and familiarity with which the women handled their spears. They walked with the confidence of predators, heads high, bodies muscled and ready to act at the slightest provocation. Their feet unconsciously avoided the ensnaring branches and rocks, while Mr. Paige’s seemed determined to find every one. Besides their spears, each woman carried a bone knife at her hip, daggers not unlike the ones underneath his coat.
He supposed he could attack them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Scare them off was all he wanted to do, but if he needed to fight his way back to save Arianne, then he might change his mind. But not now. Sleep was his enemy, and one he wished to surrender to immediately. They halted next to a deep forest pool, water bubbling out of an outcropping of mossy rocks. The sky paled in a clearing of the canopy, a clear day aborning.
“Take your rest, Brown Man,” Ta said.
“Where are you taking us?” Davon asked. “We are on an urgent errand and cannot delay.”
Ki grinned. “We may let you go, once we are sure you won’t get killed. Sleep, Brown Man.”
Davon thought the appellation hardly fair. Their olive skin was just as tanned as his, though less weathered. The two women, clearly twin sisters, stood by the pool and talked in low tones. Their meticulous efforts to look identical astounded him and he wondered at their purpose. They packed their backpacks the same. Their hide clothing was tailored the same down to the rough stitch. It even seemed their hide jerkins had a tear in the collar at the same place. Once the sun was up, he would search for more details. As it was, Ki’s handling of his rifle was his only method of identifying the difference between the two.
He lay on the ground, head on a branch, and sleep took him immediately. Dreams of his encounter with the sabercat near Frostbourne played through his mind, though in the dream he saw the event through the eyes of the animal, staring at himself through the browning strands of grass. A pathetic man stood behind that tree, rifle to his shoulder, a man who had lost his strength and courage. As the sabercat, he crouched, haunches low, ready to run the miserable figure down.
Water splashed on his face. “Up, Brown Man! Eat and get your strength.” One of the sisters walked away from him.
Davon pushed himself up, mind still mired in sleep. The strong but pleasant scent of mint wafted through the clearing. But to Davon’s shock, the North People had multiplied. The woman who woke him was Ta’Anla, he surmised, as Ki, still holding his rifle, was speaking to an older man near the edge of the pool where a variety of foods waited on a lengthy strip of unrolled leather. The Aua’Catan numbered at least ten now, mostly men standing post around the pool.
Like the women, the men wore jerkin-like vests, but without the ties to hold them together in the middle. The men were all bald, possessing the same ice-blue eyes as Ki and Ta. Spears, bows, and knives were in hand or in sheaths, and they regarded their captives with blank expressions. Save for the man with whom Ki conversed, all were younger than Davon was or about the same age. Like Ki and Ta, they walked and watched like hunters; escape by intimidation had become impossible.
Ta’Anla roused Davon’s two
companions, both groaning at the unwanted pull from slumber. Davon helped them to their feet, both dismayed at the addition of new members to their party. Mr. Paige mumbled “dirty savages” under his breath and shrank against a tree trunk as if scared one of them might stare him to death.
Mr. Goodwin followed Davon toward the food. “What do they want with us?” the old man asked. “What are they doing in Bittermarch?”
Davon shook his head. “I cannot fathom why they would be so far south. They don’t seem disposed to be friendly, I’m afraid.”
Dried apples, jerky, and a broad nut Davon didn’t recognize beckoned to his empty belly, and he sampled from each one. The meaty nut tasted sweet, and he wolfed down several, the two sisters looking on. Ki had given the rifle to the older man, so Davon could no longer tell which sister was which.
One spoke. “Do not eat too many of those, Brown Man, or you will not sleep tonight.”
Davon stood. “I beg of you to let us go on our way. We must get to Bellshire on urgent business. If you want the gun, then take it as payment for our release.”
The older man frowned and stepped toward him. “I am no thief and want nothing you possess.” He held out the rifle and Davon retrieved it. “Ki, did you read this man?”
“Yes. There is no dishonor in him. His name is Davon. He is Flametouched, as is the old man.”
Now that he knew who Ki was, Davon stared at the two women trying to find some way to distinguish them.
The North Man grinned, wrinkling two tattoos at the edge of his mouth and one between his eyes. “It is easy to tell them apart, Davon. Ki is the pretty one and Ta the funny one. I am Ju’Jal. They are my daughters.” He turned toward them. “Ki, read the other two. Davon, explain to me what business you have in this place.”
“This is the Queen’s land,” Davon replied. “I might ask you the same.”
Ju’Jal stared at him, eyes hard. “Some places cannot belong to anyone, Davon. What do you do here?”
“There is some conspiracy against Bellshire. The man Justus Paige—the one with the wounded head—holds the secrets to expose it. The men who want those secrets buried want him dead before we get him back to Bellshire. We fled here under duress. Will you let us go?”
“We’ll see,” he answered.
Ki stepped to Mr. Goodwin, who scratched his unkempt sideburns, clearing out detritus that had collected there during his repose. As she had done with him the night before, Ki touched her forehead with two fingers and then placed them over Mr. Goodwin’s heart, standing nose to nose with him.
After a moment she stepped back, face concerned.
“Well?” Ju’Jal prompted.
“He is as bitter as the Wasting Wind, but his cause is just.”
“His war?” Ju’Jal asked.
“Anger. He fights it with drink.”
“The other one.”
Justus Paige’s eyes shot wide, and he skirted away from Ki as she approached. Two of the sturdy Aua’Catan men grabbed his arms and held him in place. Justus whimpered at her approach.
“Keep away!”
But the hands on his arms held fast, and Ki repeated her ritual.
Her face turned to disgust, and she stepped back and spit in his face.
“This man is poison! Vile poison!”
“His war?” Ju’Jal prompted calmly.
“Greed. He has lost. It rules his heart. Let me kill him.”
“No!” Davon interjected. “He deserves death, but we need him so we may find others that deserve the same fate and free those who may be falsely accused.”
Ju’Jal nodded. “Come away, Ki. I am convinced that Davon and his companion are part of a worthy cause, and we will escort them to the forest edge unharmed. First, they must be fed, bathed, and scented as befits the hospitality of our people.”
Davon closed his eyes in relief. “I thank you, Ju’Jal. Are you a hunting party?”
“No. The hunting is poor here unless you seek the dens of predators or enjoy the meat of the sloth. Our business is our own.”
Davon nodded in gratitude. He knelt by the pool, shoveling water into his face.
One of the women stepped forward. “All the way in, Brown Man.” Planting her foot on his rump, she pushed him in. The pool was deeper than he was tall, and it was cold. He pushed back up to the surface, his coat and boots dragging him down. He surfaced just in time to hear the laughter die down, the twin who had kicked him in smiling at him mischievously.
“I am sorry, Brown Man,” she said. “But you stink all over.”
After thrashing around for a few moments he found a place shallow enough to stand. He removed his coat, boots, and knives and threw them on the shore at the woman’s feet. Her eyes went wide.
“Ta! Ju’Jal!” she said. “Come see!”
So that’s Ki, the pretty one.
Davon watched as she removed the knives from his discarded belt, holding them up to admire them. He had killed the sabercat from which he extracted the teeth shortly after his marriage to Emile. It was a young male that had tracked him and Ceril for nearly two miles. He had sharpened the fangs, hardened them with resins that seeped into the pores, and then sharpened them again. He used the softened hide of the sabercat to wrap the hilt, capping the pommel with smoothed domes of obsidian rock.
Ki, Ta, and Ju’Jal admired his work, and while they spoke Davon finally found what he had been searching for: both Ki and Ta sported a spiral tattoo emanating from their navels. Ki’s circled left and Ta’s circled right.
“Brown Man!” Ta called. “Where did you get these? Did you buy them from an Aua’Catan?”
“I fashioned them almost three years ago after I took a sabercat in a hunt.”
“Did you kill it with your weapon?” Ki asked, a hint of disdain staining her tone.
“With my rifle, yes.”
“This is good craft,” Ju’Jal said. “Who taught you?”
“I taught myself as a boy,” Davon said, hauling himself out.
“I will trade my blue moss for the both of them,” Ki offered. “I saw your eyes on it. It is very handy in the dark.”
“No, thank you.”
“Just one of the knives, then,” she said.
“No. The daggers have great value for me.”
“But—”
“That will do, Ki,” Ju’Jal said. “Scent him, and Ta, get the other two in. We need to leave soon.”
Ki looked disappointed about the daggers. “Remove your shirt, Brown Man.”
“What?”
She bent down, rummaging through her pack. “Remove your shirt. You must be scented.”
“I don’t see that—”
“Hush, Brown Man!” she cautioned, rising with what appeared to be a small gourd. “It would not be wise to offend my people, seeing that you are outnumbered. The scenting of the Pale Mint makes the wearer invisible to the nose of predators. It is customary to wear it before any journey or any hunt. Besides, it would help you not smell like the backside of a mammoth.”
He could suffer one more indignity if it would get them out of the woods without a spear in their backs. He undid the buttons of his shirt and removed it while Ki opened the gourd, dipping her fingers in the pale salve.
When she looked up, she dropped the container.
“Ju’Jal!” she yelled, stepping back, face wide with shock. Her tone silenced everyone, eyes of the warriors turning toward them, postures tensing.
“What is it now, Ki?” he asked, turning around. Ki pointed to the three scars from the sabercat attack running down his chest.
Ju’Jal’s brows furrowed and he stepped forward, inspecting the marks. “How did you receive these wounds?”
“I was hunting a sabercat. My weapon misfired. The sabercat knocked me down and then scratched my chest as you see here.”
“Was it a female?” Ju’Jal inquired.
“Yes.”
“And why did she not finish you? Did you kill her with your knives? Scare her off?”
Davon’s mind raced. These Aua’Catan seemed amazed or maybe even worried. It was just a wound. “No. She watched me for a moment, roared to the wind, and left. It was a frightening ordeal and I am lucky to have survived it.”
Ki turned to her father. “Is he Khodo Khim?”
Ju’Jal threw her a meaningful look and then turned back to Davon. “I will send men to escort your two companions to a place of your choosing. You will come with us to Jun’Kal.”
“To where? I need to go with my companions! They are defenseless, as you see.”
“You come with us, willingly or by the spear,” Ju’Jal said. His face had lost the carefree friendliness it had possessed just minutes before. “My sons will deliver your companions to safety.”
His sons? This wasn’t a patrol or a band of warriors. This was family—albeit a family with an apparent aptitude for fighting. Davon weighed his options. He couldn’t have Justus Paige and Mr. Goodwin wander into Brighton without his help; the Lord and Lady Brighton were implicated in the scheme. With any luck, the Aua’Catan’s business with him would be short or he could escape them in the night. Hightower would have to do.
“I will agree to go with you if you deliver Mr. Paige and Mr. Goodwin to Hightower to the east.”
Ju’Jal nodded his assent, and the tension in the clearing melted away. “Scent him, Ki. And Ta, finish with these two. Let’s break camp.”
Ki returned to him, retrieving her scenting gourd. “Arms up, Brown Man.” While the appellation was the same, the tone was different—quieter, more reverent. After dipping her fingers in the viscous substance, she applied it to the center of his chest and back, finishing with his underarms.
“What is Khodo Kim?” he asked. “And where is this Jun’Kal you are taking me to?”
Ki replaced the gourd in her pack. “Jun’Kal is the home of the Aua’Catan, the last stronghold of our people. The history of the Khodo Khim is lost to you?”
Davon retrieved his shirt, pulling it on. He had to admit that the mint smell was an improvement. “I have never heard the name.”
Flametouched Page 31