Betrayed (Hidden Worlds Book 1)

by Bethany Burke

  The road was dirt, but appeared well-maintained. All along the side, larger rocks were piled here and there, as if someone had come along and removed the more substantial ones from the roadway. We were climbing on the road slowly, but steadily, and it seemed as if we were still going in the correct direction, but after perhaps a quarter hour, I felt overwhelmed. My neck had a crick in it from staring up to the top of the ridge constantly, and I abruptly believed we'd missed the ship. Maybe my sense of direction was totally off. Maybe the ship had not set down on this ridge. For all I know, we could be walking directly away from the Drakkon.

  I reached out and grasped Christy's arm. "Look, stop. I think we've come too far." I licked my lips, considering, then let out a heavy sigh. "I think we need to find that waterfall." At her amazed expression, I held my hand up. "Think about it. We know that we could hear it, almost as soon as we left the clearing, right?" She nodded slowly. "So, that's our only frame of reference. The ship has to be somewhere within earshot of that waterfall. What we've got to do is find it, then walk in a big circle. It's the only way I can think of."

  Christy's eyes welled with tears, but she nodded slowly. "All right. If you say so." She sighed wearily. "I can't think of anything better."

  The road had been rising steadily, but there had been smaller dips and hills. We were on the down side of one of the little hills, and we turned to walk back up. We topped the slight rise, and stopped utterly dead in our tracks. My stomach lurched into my throat. I was literally incapable of drawing a breath; next to me Christy was gasping like a beached fish. In front of us, not more than fifty meters away, were two men on horseback, two men wearing armor and swords, two men who were staring at us with looks of amazement that almost surpassed ours.

  "Run!" Christy screamed and dragged at my arm. Not knowing what else to do, I dashed after her.

  "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," I chanted it like a litany, vaguely aware even as I ran that it was stupid. We had no plan; we were just sprinting away desperately… and desperately was the key word. Within a heartbeat, the unmistakable thump of horses' hooves sounded behind us. Within only a few seconds more, two huge men, mounted on huge horses, thundered up on either side of us, passed us, and reined in.

  As a corollary to my studies in historical linguistics, I had picked up a good deal of general history. Suddenly, I knew what Saxon maidens must have felt as the Viking berserkers broke into their bowers and what pioneer women must have felt as savage natives burst into their cabins: Terror. A terror so heart-stopping that it tore breath right out of your lungs, dimmed your vision, and made your belly go weak. I slowly sunk down onto the dirt road, bizarrely conscious of only one thing: I'd lasted longer than Christy, who already lay crumpled, lifeless.

  Chapter 3

  When I regained consciousness, a huge man loomed over me. He had reddish hair, a full beard, brilliant blue eyes, and was wearing an armored vest, out of which bare brawny arms emerged. His legs were covered by some sort of loose, light-colored trousers, and knee-high boots. He was truly the most fearsome thing I could imagine ever seeing in my life. I opened my mouth and screamed and screamed and screamed.

  A giant paw of a hand reached down and grabbed me out of the dirt. He gave me a mild shake. "Hush with ye now." I ignored him and continued bellering out. "Hush, you silly wench, or I'll be tanning you now, not caring whose you are. your bothering the horses." He shook me harder and I stopped myself from screaming by sheer force of will. The face above me carried an expression of extreme bafflement, and he looked at his companion, who was holding the reins of the two snorting animals. Although I was still terrified out of my mind, I tried frantically to collect myself. Barbarians they might be, but no one had said anything about cannibals on this planet. No matter what else, they could hardly intend to kill us outright.

  The other man shrugged, his leather and chain armor jingling slightly, and turned his attention to Christy, who still lay in a dead faint. He was similar in appearance to the first man, equally huge, although he was blond. Idly, almost as a child would investigate a strange animal, he nudged her with his booted toe.

  The first man kept his grip on my upper arm. "Whose are ye, now? How'd you come to be out here by yerself, girl? Who cut your hair? And what, in the name of all the saints, have ye got on?" With his free hand, he plucked at my jumpsuit.

  I looked at him, absolutely unable to answer the string of questions. So many thoughts, impressions, and emotions rolled into one horrible package. The broadsword which was strapped across his back had a blade that must have been six feet long. Thank God he'd made no move to pull it; I truly thought that if he had, I would have died on the spot.

  From his questions, I gleaned the impression that we were obviously somewhere we should not be and dressed totally incorrectly for this culture. I tried to remember how women dressed on this planet, but my databases had mostly contained linguistic information. Costume fell under the purview of Anthro. I recalled a vague impression from one of my vids, though, of some sort of flowing gown and a covered head, clearly, something very different from the unisex jumpsuits we were wearing.

  His speech bore a broad remnant of Scots English, something that I'd gathered from my data base, although his accent was much stronger than I had expected. I knew a brief, desperate moment of an emotion almost akin to relief. What if, I reminded myself desperately, there'd been non-English areas of the planet, and we were on a road somewhere having questions fired at us by angry monsters in a strange tongue? At least, as bad as this situation was, we could understand these two.

  Beside me, Christy began stirring and her eyes snapped wide, then rolled back in her head as if she might pass out again, but she recovered herself and merely sat there gasping. My fear had manifested as screaming; she seemed actually beyond making any sound at all beyond terrified squeaks. The second man dragged her to her feet in the same rough, yet curiously benign way I'd been pulled to mine.

  "Now talk to me, girl." The man shook me yet again, impatiently. "Have you both gone soft in the head? What are you doing here? Are you lost from one of the farms?"

  Obviously, we had to say something. "Walk," I croaked out. "We're taking a walk." I hoped that "walk" had retained the same figurative meaning, like that of "stroll," as it had on Earth.

  It had, although the response was not what I had hoped for. His voice went up an octave in outrage. "A walk? Out here? Och, are you daft, girl?" His face became skeptical. "That's enough o' this nonsense. Who's your husband?"

  That same question again. He'd asked it twice now. As much as I hated to admit it, the meaning was becoming clear. Obviously, we were supposed to "belong" to someone, someone he expected us to name. I said nothing, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Have you run away?"

  "No," I snapped, my voice going high, and before I could think about whether I should make the response, I continued, "We're not married."

  "Don't ye be lying to me, girl," his voice went flat, "or I'll be cutting a linden here and now. You're the age and beyond." Cutting a linden? I repeated the phrase to myself, and shot a brief, mystified glance to Christy. Wide-eyed, she shrugged her shoulder in a brief, jerky motion. He persisted. "I'll have the name of your husband and I'll be having it now."

  "I swear to you, we're not married." I took a deep breath, feeling as if I were regaining at least some of my composure. In spite of their fearsome appearance, they didn't seem to intend us any immediate harm. There overall demeanor was more of confusion and, to be perfectly honest, genuine concern. Maybe I could reassure them and negotiate. "Listen," I tried to keep my voice reasonable, "let us go on home now." I used the same even tone I might when speaking to a crying three-year-old. "We'll just be on our way. We're fine."

  The other man spoke, snorting sarcastically. "Oh, so it's fine you are. Are you hearing that, Jancy? They're fine. Out here, the middle of nowhere, not a man in sight, and they're fine." He fixed me with an exasperated gaze. "If ye were mine, lass, ye'd not be sitting for a
month, I'll tell ye that for nothing."

  Sitting? The comment baffled me. Did women on Gamma Rigel have to stand a lot for some reason? "Look," I began, but the first man, called Jancy, interrupted.

  "All right then, you say you have no husbands. Who's your Fa then? We'll be taking you home to him."

  Reality crashed. I'd seen from my data bases that there were analogies in this society to medieval Europe, and I realized that, as in many male-dominated societies, here, too, women must be passed, like possessions, from man to man, from father or brother, to husband. Although it appalled me, I began to understand their frame of reference. Once as a teen, I'd found a puppy wandering a street near my home. Pet population was controlled strictly; the puppy had to belong to someone. I had a feeling, a very strong feeling, that the attitude these two men had towards us was precisely what I had had towards the small dog.

  I shifted my tactics, hoping that Christy would not be too shocked. I realized that they would not… could not just let us go, any more than I could have, in good conscience, allowed that puppy to wander on unprotected. We would not get away unless we could provide them with a "someone." I lowered my head. "We are… from the town." I ignored Christy's small gasp.

  "Which town?" Jancy snapped.

  My heart sank. So there were more than one, apparently within reasonable walking distance. Millions of miles of uninhabited land on Gamma Rigel, and we apparently set down in a fucking population center. How could the Drakkon's supposed "dry" set-down parameters have been so far off? I pressed my lips tight and pointed down the road in the direction of the town we'd seen. "That one." That's what you got, I reflected briefly, bitterly, for letting males handle anything at all.

  Jancy nodded slowly. "And what's your father's name?"

  I picked the most likely name I could think of. "John."

  "John what?"

  I swallowed, wondering if pretending brain damage would not have been a better tack. "John… MacCleod." Now Christy really gasped. "We're," I gestured towards her, "sisters."

  They both appeared completely unconvinced, and simultaneously, they seemed to notice Christy's surname on her uniform. My uniform, which was provided more as a courtesy, almost a souvenir really, had no name.

  "So why…" Jancy looked suspicious, "…are ye not wearing your name?"

  "I, uhh, it fell off," I stammered. Oh, I thought to myself, well done, Marin. Primitive they might be, but they're hardly complete fools.

  "You know any… MacCleod, Mixal?" Jancy's tongue tripped over what was obviously an unfamiliar name and glanced at the other man, who shook his head. Jancy looked back at us, his eyes narrowing. "I have enough of this nonsense. I'm taking a look."

  And before I could even fathom what such a phrase might mean, I'd been jerked off my feet. He'd wrapped his arm around my waist from behind, so his upper arm passed over my back and his forearm supported my belly. My head was allowed to drop alarmingly towards the ground, but he balanced me quickly. I faced backwards and could see nothing but the open road. He lifted me even higher, so my head was completely down and my backside up, over the incredibly brawny arm. His other hand began fumbling at my bottom and waist, and I could hear him hiss in frustration. "How's this thing opening, Mixal? I've never seen the like."

  From Christy's abrupt howl, she'd been subjected to the same humiliating treatment. I tried to push back at the arm that held me and flail at his legs, but it was like pounding a tree. He continued to pass his hand over my bottom for a few seconds, definitely as if he were searching for an opening in my clothing, but finally, swearing softly, he stopped. A moment later I felt a pulling, tugging, and, then a large rip. I wrenched my head as far back as I could, and the terror I'd felt initially came back with force: Jancy'd drawn a huge knife. With it, he was opening the back of my jumpsuit. I kicked out, and he grunted, but seemed otherwise unfazed. He'd made a hole large enough to insert his hand, then, pushing his fingers into my jumpsuit at the waist, he dragged back hard, until the whole thing opened up with a ripping sound, baring my panty-covered bottom.

  "Stop, stop, Jesus, stop," I cried, screaming and kicking, unable to comprehend why in the world he would do such a thing, but other than drawing his arm up more tightly, so that I was pinned incredibly snugly at his hip, he did not respond. Could they be planning rape? Although it seemed most likely, considering that they were tearing off our clothes, that explanation did not fit at all with their stated goal of finding "who" we belonged to.

  I could feel big fingers pluck at my panties as he spoke to his companion. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" And with no more warning, he jerked the panties roughly, tearing their elastiscene bands. The panties snapped; my bottom was completely bare. Desperately, I tried to put my hands back, but to no avail. I was too far over his arm; my hands flailed helplessly at my sides. Blood pounded painfully in my head.

  Jancy let out a slow whistle. "Will you look at this now?" His rough voice was almost awed. "She's got no marks." He passed his broad hand frankly over my bare skin and I shrieked at the intimate touch. Then, incredibly, horribly, I felt his free hand spread one of my cheeks aside and his fingers dipped in between, finding my labia, even parting me open with his rough fingertips just slightly. "But she's not clean, so she must have a husband." My ears throbbed and I tried to rock my bottom from side to side, anything to get away from that questing hand.

  I heard tearing fabric and squeals from Christy. She was obviously struggling, and in subduing her, Mixal turned slightly to the side, enough so I could get a brief glimpse. The position was awful, just as I had known. Her round white cheeks were high in the air, totally bared. Her legs and arms flopped down; he held her like a sack of grain, and Mixal was passing his hand over her skin just as Jancy had done with me. Then he turned away, and I saw no more.

  Just as I was preparing to struggle anew, without warning Jancy dropped me back to my feet. The back of my jumpsuit gaped wide and I knew my bottom was still bare. The scraps of my panties slipped off of my belly to descend down my trouser legs; I had no hope of catching those, but desperately I tried to gather together the back of my jumpsuit. Hot tears of rage and humiliation burned my eyes. I looked up at my captor speechless. Christy was still being examined by Mixal, but he was facing away from me, so what I saw of Christy was her lifted pale face, her mouth an "O" of horror, her eyes wide with shock and fear. Her hands clutched out in front of her, desperately grabbing at air. Then, just as abruptly as I was dropped, Mixal put Christy back on her feet. The men exchanged glances that were totally confused.

  "How is it that you've got no marks?" Jancy's voice was cold. "Why does no one keep you clean?"

  My face flamed. That was the second reference to my hygiene; I had showered that morning. What could he possibly mean? Wearily, I gave up. I did not know enough about this society to frame any sort of plausible explanation for any of questions. Further attempts to "fudge" would probably end up with our digging deeper graves. My only prayer was that if we seemed tame enough, perhaps stupid enough, we might get a chance to escape and renew our search for the Drakkon. "I don't remember," I snapped sullenly. "I… we've been ill. I don't know how we got here."

  Jancy snorted. "Well, this be a fine kettle of the fish. No father, no husband and now… no brain. Aren't you two just the thing?"

  "What's to be done?" Mixal asked his companion. "I mean, we can't just let them go."

  "Yes, you can," I interjected. "I'm sure if we just walk a little farther, we'll… remember."

  Both men glanced at me, then went on speaking as if I'd never even opened my mouth. "We'll take her to Rohan," Jancy shrugged. "Can't think of anything else."

  "Rohan," it seemed, was a person, not a place. He was, in fact, a prince or chief of some sort. The ride to the town was brief, but humiliating. Carried before the two soldiers virtually like objects, Christy and I squirmed in silence while the two men carried on a matter-of-fact conversation about planning guard duties. I was very conscious that my bot
tom was bare against the rough fabric and the leather encasing Jancy's thighs. Finally, we entered the town. It was really quite spectacular, walled, with narrow streets, tall, steeply-roofed houses, and what was, for all intents and purposes, a castle.

  Before we entered the city, Mixal and Jancy engaged in a brief discussion about our clothing. Apparently, what we were wearing was so indecent by local standards that they could not even imagine carrying us through the gate. Finally, fishing in a saddle pack, Mixal extricated a large woolen blanket and rent it in two. Each of us was given an ample chunk to wrap around our shoulders.

  As Jancy saw what I was doing, clumsily he grabbed the ends of the blanket in his big hands. "Over your head, girl. Christ, have you no modesty?" he snapped and brought a part of the blanket up to form an itchy hood. Mixal, I could see was doing likewise with Christy.

  We entered at an arched gate. Wide wooden doors stood open, but I could see these were no decorative touches. A thick log stood aside, in readiness, to be threaded through two huge brackets of steel should the door need to be barred. The gate was guarded by men clad similarly to Jancy and Mixal. Our captors were apparently known to the guards, even, perhaps, above them in some way, for the gate guards snapped to attention and saluted sharply as we passed.

  In spite of my wretchedness, the itchy blanket over my head, my bare bottom rubbing against leather and coarse cloth, I looked around curiously. The castle gate was barely inside the city gate, and we entered the castle's courtyard without having ridden through any of the town. I saw no women in that brief time, so I still had no frame of reference regarding our clothing.

  Jancy and Mixal bundled us off the horses and set us on our feet. We were allowed to walk, but I sensed at the first sign of rebellion we would have been simply scooped up and carried, probably over their shoulders like a sack, to wherever it was they were taking us. I preferred to walk; upright the blanket came down far enough to cover the hole in my jumpsuit. Odd that they considered it necessary to cover our heads while giving our backsides little consideration.