Chapter Two
Airie tipped her wide-brimmed hat to partially hide her face, hitched up her scratchy woolen trousers in what she hoped was a manly fashion, and stepped from the concealment of the forest into the world beyond. Her boots, three sizes too large, were the smallest pair she’d been able to acquire. If luck were with her, she would not trip over them and fall on her face.
This was her third visit in as many months to the mean little trading post at the foot of the goddesses’ mountain, because she was hesitant to spend too much money all at once. To do so would attract unwanted attention.
She did not like leaving her mother alone for very long, partly because she had forbidden her to come to this place, and partly because Desire had not been well of late. But what else was Airie supposed to do? The offerings to the goddesses and priestesses had stopped a long time ago, and she and Desire had run out of many of the necessities and small luxuries they could not grow or raise for themselves.
A tingle of excitement coursed up her spine. The trading post was no more than a one-room log cabin, crudely constructed, but to Airie it represented civilization. There were times when she craved the company of other people far more than the almost forgotten sweets she planned to buy today in the hopes they might help improve Desire’s appetite.
Airie stepped onto the sagging porch, her too-large boots thudding heavily. More than one pair of eyes turned in her direction. She dipped her head, resisting the urge to tug at her hat’s brim again, and pushed past the small group of men gathered in the open doorway. She hoped the dirt she had rubbed into her cheeks and chin would disguise the fact that she could not grow whiskers.
The men let her pass without a second glance, moving off to go about their own business.
Airie’s eyes had no difficulty adjusting to the darkness of the long, narrow room. Desire often marveled at her ability to see on even the blackest of nights, but to Airie it was as natural as breathing.
Three men stood near the squat wooden flour bin, deliberately blocking the room’s center aisle. She knew at once that they were trouble and turned to leave, but in this instance her normally good instincts had come too late.
A man with bad skin approached the narrow counter running the width of one end of the room. Smoked meats hung from the crude rafters, swaying in the slight current of air he created as he moved beneath them, almost grazing them with his greasy head. Airie crinkled her nose. She rarely ate meat, liking the taste even less than the smell.
Another man moved to bar the door, and Airie barely resisted covering her nose. The meats were not the only source of offensive odors in the room.
The man with bad skin held a gun in his hand.
“If you want to stay open for business,” he said to the boy behind the counter, “then you have to pay taxes.”
The boy was young and badly scared. Airie could smell the fear on him, and that scent was not pleasant either. It stirred her anger. That, in turn, frightened Airie. Her temper could be too much for her to control at times. She clenched her hands into tight fists and tamped the anger down.
“Pay taxes?” the boy echoed, bewilderment touching his pale eyes, and Airie realized he was not quite right—that he was one of the world’s special children, who needed to be cared for and protected.
All three men laughed and Airie wondered where the boy’s father was. What would possess him to leave this simple child alone, in charge of a store in a land where theft was a way of life?
“Taxes. The money you have to pay if you want to be in business. You’ll be paying it every month from now on,” the bad-skinned man said. His words, high-pitched and slow, mocked the boy’s diminished mental capacities.
Airie’s temper cranked up a notch. It was clear there would be no assistance from the people outside. If they knew what was happening, they chose to ignore it.
Airie should, too. So far the men had paid her little attention. Although tall for a woman, she was slight, and no doubt they thought her the boy she pretended to be. She settled her hat more firmly on her head, hoping it would stay in place, wishing her mother would let her cut off the long, dark curls.
The thought of her invalid mother made her reevaluate the situation. She should stay out of this. If anyone saw she was a woman it would make future excursions to the trading outpost difficult, if not impossible, and then where would she and her mother be?
She reached for the handle of a broom resting against a shelf of dry goods, easing around so that her back was to it and no one could see her actions. If they threatened to harm the boy, then she would interfere. His life was what mattered. The rest was only money.
The boy opened a drawer and lifted out a tray of gold and silver coins. The man tucked his gun into his waistband and emptied the tray into a canvas sack, grunting his disapproval at its lack of weight. “This is it?”
The boy nodded and the men, seeming to accept that this was all they could expect, tossed a few more items from the counter into the sack and then were gone.
Both relieved and disappointed, Airie let go of the broom. Other patrons drifted inside now that the thieves had left, and she quickly gathered what she had come for. She took the merchandise to the counter.
The boy’s fingers trembled as he collected the coins Airie passed him.
“Where is your father?” she asked, dropping her voice to little more than a whisper so it could not be easily identified as that of a woman.
The boy’s eyes darted to the sides. “He heard they were coming and said that if he were here, they would most likely kill him. He told me to give them whatever they wanted.”
Her lips thinned. So the man had left a child, a special child, to be murdered in his place.
“I could never have been as brave as you were,” she said.
“You deal with what life hands you,” the boy replied, shrugging off her praise, although she could tell by his smile that it pleased him.
Someone else wandered to the counter then, so Airie shoved her purchases into her backpack and returned to the sunshine outside.
Even though she knew she should, she did not head for home. Instead, she walked the perimeter of the outpost, looking for the three thieves.
They were shouldering their packs, preparing to leave. Airie followed, disliking that they were escaping unchallenged, although the small inner voice that sometimes spoke to her asked why this was so different from what she’d done so many times, herself.
The difference, she answered the voice, was that she took only from those who invaded her home. The goddesses’ mountain was forbidden to all but their appellants. Anyone venturing near the sacred temple should know enough to leave an offering, no matter how small.
And the mountain, Airie soon realized, was the place the thieves were headed. Thoroughly outraged now, she continued to follow.
They had built a crude camp for themselves a few miles up a faintly marked trail. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the mess they had made. Broken tools, scraps of past meals, and other offal desecrated the goddesses’ ground.
The man with the bad skin set his pack against a ramshackle shelter woven from evergreen branches. The one with the gun had removed it from his clothing and set it near the sack of stolen goods while he counted the coins.
“That ought to keep the old hag happy for a few weeks,” he said with satisfaction. He swatted at a blowfly taking up residence on his pocked cheek.
The other two men appeared to be unarmed. Airie chose a stout branch for a weapon, and with a practiced hand, weighed it for sturdiness. Now that the goddesses were gone, people forgot too easily, or no longer cared, that the mountain remained a sacred place. Her mother was too old and ill to confront men such as these, and it fell to Airie to take on her priestess responsibilities when it became necessary.
Her mother couldn’t fault her for what she was about to do. She would drive the men from the mountain, nothing more.
She tugged at her hat, remembering at the last moment
to keep her face partially hidden. She stepped out of the bushes.
“This is the goddesses’ mountain,” she said, her makeshift staff lying confidently across her palms in front of her. “You’re trespassing. Are you prepared to pay the price?”
Incredulity crossed the leader’s face. Airie paid him special attention. He was not as tall as her, but he was much heavier, and the extra weight on him could not be attributed entirely to fat.
The other two men split up and slowly circled behind her, flanking her on both sides, but she kept her eyes focused on the one in front of her. Her fingers curled around her staff, excitement pumping up her heart rate. She was not afraid, or even alarmed. Her reflexes were excellent. So was her strength.
“The goddesses are gone,” the first man said. “It’s time the mountain gives back to the people all that the goddesses once kept from them.”
She did not bother to contradict him. Airie knew the goddesses’ physical presences were gone, but all her life she had felt them in spirit. They remained close at hand, constantly watching and waiting, biding their time—but for what, she did not know for certain.
One man came in low, from the side, attempting to catch her off guard. With a whiplike flick of her wrist, she brought the staff over her head and down, rapping the man hard at the temple. His eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a stone. In a continuous motion, she brought the staff back and caught the other man in the ribs. He fell, clutching at his stomach, and retched into the dirt. Airie’s chin shot up and her hat slid off, releasing a thick, dark braid of waist-length hair.
“A priestess, then,” the leader said, sounding amused. He looked closer. “Too young to be a priestess. And far too pretty. Priestess spawn, perhaps?” He laughed, and it was an ugly sound. “What other services did the priestesses provide when they lived in the temple?”
Airie gasped at the crudity and irreverence of the remark. Desire was too good and kind to be the brunt of this heathen’s humor.
The man advanced. “What services do you provide mortal man?”
Kill them, a dark, instinctive inner voice said.
Airie’s temper reacted to the command, so quickly she could not catch it back to her. She felt the heat as an all-too-familiar, and frightening, red haze slid over her vision. Sparks from her eyes sprayed the man’s face and greasy hair.
He drew back, terror twisting his features. “Demon spawn!” he spat out, tripping over his own feet in his haste to back away.
His companions, roused from senselessness by the sound of his shout, scrambled upright and stumbled after him. Long after they were gone from sight, Airie could hear them crashing through the brush in a headlong flight down the mountain.
Her normal vision returned, along with a rising dismay. She’d succeeded in ridding the mountain of parasites, but a little too well. Desire would not be pleased when she found out.
If she found out. Airie would have to lie to her, something she did not like to do, but sometimes it was necessary. Airie did not want her upset.
She picked up her hat, dusted it off, and set it back on her head. Then she cleaned up all traces of the thieves’ desecration, tearing down their shelter and putting their trash in a pile before burning it all. She uncovered nothing of any value other than what they had taken from the trading post.
Airie doused the fire with dirt and slipped the canvas sack filled with money into her backpack before beginning the trek to return it.
While the boy was busy with another customer at the back of the store, she set the bag of money behind the counter.
By the time she began the long climb to the temple and her waiting mother, the sun had slid below the horizon, plunging the mountain forest into deep shadow.
Darkness did not bother Airie. She could see quite well in it and was unafraid of the mountain’s nightlife. In fact, there was very little in her life for her to fear.
Demon spawn, the thief had called her.
While there was not much in her life to fear, the one thing that caused Airie more than a little concern was that the thief might be right, that she was spawn of some sort, and that sooner or later, the goddesses would shun her.
Because, as much as she wished to believe otherwise, it could not have been one of them who had counseled her to kill.
…
Desire waited patiently at the open door of the stone temple for Airie to return.
The doe flowers were in bloom. Their rich scent hung heavy on the damp, moonlit air, pink heads bobbing as the mountain breathed around them.
Her bones ached, and she longed for Airie to help ease her pain, but it was becoming more and more obvious to her that not even Airie’s healing touch would work much longer. Her time was coming.
When Desire was gone, what would become of Airie?
The goddesses watched over her, Desire knew, deeply troubled by that fact. Their mortal forms might be gone from the world, and their gifts now limited within it, but their spirits could yet be felt—if one knew how to call to them. Desire shivered. She had once served them faithfully, and continued to pray to them, but she would deny them in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her daughter safe from harm.
Desire heard Airie before she saw her, singing as she climbed the night-shrouded path. The priestess smiled in the darkness. Airie was a true child of the earth.
But she was a child no longer and had not been for quite some time. She was a grown woman, and Desire did not know what was to become of her. When Desire died, no one—not even Airie—would know of her birthright.
Airie reached the top of the path. Tall, slim-waisted, and long-legged, with sable eyes and coal-black hair, she was the counter image of her golden mother, dark where the goddess had been fair. Yet they had the same features, and the same presence. From the way she carried herself to the healing power of her touch, Airie had the bearing of an immortal. It was impossible not to love her, although Desire knew from long experience how difficult goddesses could be to love at times.
Airie’s wet hair, long and loose to her hips and slightly curling at the tips, told Desire she had stopped to bathe in one of the hot mountain springs. She wore a fresh change of clothes, the sleeves of her crisp white blouse rolled back to her elbows, her long brown skirt wrapping around her legs with her strides. From her fingers dangled the pack carrying the offerings she had gone to collect. Desire was not misled by the easy way she carried the pack. It would be full, and very heavy.
Despite the singing, Desire knew at once that something was wrong. The soft glow of happiness normally surrounding Airie was missing tonight.
Airie set the pack at Desire’s feet, then bent down and kissed her cheek.
“You’re in pain.” Concern filled her voice.
“It’s nothing,” Desire replied. Just that one brief kiss had been enough to make her feel better, and to ease her aches. “Sit. Tell me about your day. You’re late.”
Very late, in fact. Far too late to have been collecting offerings, but then again, Airie often lost track of time.
She sat in the long cool mountain grass at Desire’s feet, her head on her mother’s knees. “I walked to the far side of the mountain, beyond the lake.”
Desire’s already erratic heart skipped a beat, then picked up a few extra to compensate. Airie had not gone to the far side of the mountain. If she had, she would have brought back sweetberries and some of the white cedar bark Desire often sprinkled on the fire at night to freshen the temple air.
The knowledge disquieted her. She loved Airie, and Airie loved her in return. Her nature was kind and gentle, but she was also fiercely protective, and there was nothing she would not do for Desire, or anything she loved, if she believed it necessary. Desire hoped it would not get her in trouble someday.
She chose not to challenge Airie on the lie. Instead, they both sat in silence, soaking up the sounds and smells of the evening. Desire stroked Airie’s damp hair.
“When did you first notice my eyes?” Airie asked sudden
ly.
This time when it stopped, Desire feared that her heart might not start on its own again. She carefully considered her answer before speaking. “You were a baby.”
And it had not been Airie’s eyes she had noticed first. Desire had been outdoors when she smelled smoke and hurried inside to find the chamber on fire and Airie shrieking at the top of her young lungs. The crib was in ruins because she had torn it apart. The angry welts on her neck had told Desire she’d most likely gotten her head caught between its spindles. The flaming eyes were nothing compared to the destruction Airie had caused in her struggle to free herself.
Yet Airie had never turned her temper on another living being, not even the time she’d been stung by a bee as a small child, and Desire never regretted throwing away the protective amulet.
Airie lifted her head. “Were you afraid of me?”
“Not for an instant,” Desire was able to declare in complete honesty. She had never been afraid for herself, or for anyone else. Any fear was all for Airie.
Airie was quiet for quite some time then, gazing out toward the west. Miles beyond the moonlit mountain, visible from the temple in daylight, the flatland settlements served as reminders that there were other people in the world. On calm nights settlement lights could be seen, but on this night a west wind blew, and a sandstorm swallowed the world. Windows would be shuttered tight against it, and against demons.
Here on the mountain, though, demons were not a concern. Despite the fire that had forced the goddesses to flee, the mountain remained forbidden to them.
Airie pointed into the darkness. “What’s beyond the flatlands?”
This was a game they had played for years, with both of them making up the most ridiculous stories about the world around them, but Desire sensed that tonight it was not a game Airie played.
“You’ve studied your maps. The biggest settlement is Freetown. To the west of it lie the Borderlands, near the end of the world. To the north are the gold mines and mountains of the Godseekers. To the south lies the sea. We live in the east.”
Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws) Page 3