All she would have to do was travel several leagues in a quarter hour, and find a safe place to have her baby.
Briah had to admit it was ludicrous.
And even if she did escape, some practical part of her nagged, where would she go? Her home was beyond a stretch of water she would need a ship to cross. If she stayed on this island, where she had neither kith nor kin, how would she live? How would she even avoid recapture?
When Agor left that afternoon, the entire household sighed with relief. But Briah knew he would be back. In all but name, he was the owner of this brothel now. And he was clearly far more inclined than Donal to enjoy its wares—in a manner more violent than Donal ever had. She had to hurry—and not just because of Agor. She had been here more than a moon. Her baby would come in less than another. Briah began to plan.
The next morning, after a fitful night, she left early to gather food, Gresta grumbling and cursing as she trudged behind. Gresta put up with the new slave’s moods and hours, since she was willing to do all the work herself and not interrupt the old woman’s reveries, which fell upon her more and more often these days. Briah had no illusions that Gresta would help her escape. But today, she paid more attention than ever to the town around her and the rocks along the shore.
That night, as casually as possible, Briah examined the house. Every creaking floorboard was noted and committed to memory. After Gresta went to sleep, Briah scavenged what food she could, and tied it into the largest clean rag she could find. They hadn’t left her much: a few bruised apples and some bread were all she could get.
The next morning, Briah smoked the fish, rather than grilling or stewing them. A few grumbled, but most appreciated the change. No one noticed the fish that never made it to the table.
Protection from the elements was Briah’s next concern. She finally had a full set of clothes, which consisted of someone’s castoff woolen dress, leggings and leather boots. Neither she nor any of the other slaves owned a cloak, which would be a requirement for successful escape. Briah thought about stealing one from a customer. Many of them owned warm, thick cloaks of heavy wool. Some were even waterproofed with a rubbing of fat. One of those could keep Briah and her baby warm for many seasons—and also mark her as the thief who’d stolen it. Being an escaped slave was dangerous enough in a place like this. She had no wish to be a hunted thief as well.
The weather troubled Briah in other ways as well. It had been early spring when she had left Lir’s stronghold. Now, eight moons later, it should be late fall. The fruit they ate seemed to confirm this. There was no snow yet, but it rained almost every day. What if this strange island had no normal seasons? And how long did what seasons it had last?
Briah had not spoken a word to anyone since her encounter with Agor three days before, but tonight, in the hopes of gaining information, she became social once again.
“Does it ever snow here?” she asked at supper.
“Not here on the coast,” said Laren.
“Not unless someone angers the Fair Folk,” said Zillah. “There was one year when I was very young, some fool slew a white seal, and his selkie kin sent ice and snow that buried his whole village—and all the sea that stretched before it.”
“A better question would be ‘does it ever stop raining?” said another girl.
“Does it?” asked Briah.
“Sometimes. In the summer.”
Briah shook her head. “This is so different! In my home, we’d have snow by now. The winters are long and hard. In a bad ice storm, we couldn’t travel past our own doorstep.”
“Wouldn’t a winter like that be a good thing here?” said Zillah. “No men could get in!”
The girls giggled. “I just wish the rain would stop,” said Karris. “In my land in the south, rain only comes in the winter. I miss the sunshine.” Karris began to cough. Briah noticed her dark skin had a sickly pallor.
“Do the rains get any worse?” Briah asked.
“Not really,” said Zillah. “The worse storms are in the spring, not the winter. If we’re lucky, that’s when business will slow down.”
Then Nisa came in and everyone fell silent.
“That Lytha’s still playing at being addled,” she said loudly. “She’s pretending she can’t see or hear, just because a man got rough with her.” No one met Nisa’s angry gaze. “If any of you are her friends, I’d suggest you talk to her. It’s bad enough her looks were spoiled—but like this, she couldn’t give blind man pleasure. She’s useless this way—and the only thing a useless slave is good for is setting an example.”
Briah began cleaning up.
The next morning, one of Briah’s boots ripped on a sharp shell fragment. She grumbled so loudly while she repaired it that everyone left her alone—and no one noticed the little pocket she sewed into the side, or the scraps she used to strengthen the soles.
That afternoon, Briah reorganized the kitchen. Nisa was surprised, but only muttered something about the strange behavior of women who were about to give birth, and let it go. In the bottom of the basket that held most of the utensils, Briah found a small flint knife which seemed to have lain unused for some time. She prayed no one would develop a need for it in the next few days, as she tucked it into her boot.
Just a little more food, and some idea of where to hide myself. Then I can go.
****
That night, Agor returned. He seemed more genial this evening, and more than a little drunk. He took Laren with him, and although she emerged from his chambers with welts and bruises, she could at least walk unassisted. But she had the same blank look in her eyes that Lytha had.
Lytha’s condition remained unchanged, but Agor did not ask about her, so they were spared an execution.
The rain became a storm during the night, and very few men ventured out. Nisa went to bed early, complaining of stomach pains, and most of the household followed soon after. Briah awoke before dawn in almost total darkness. Finding her way to the kitchen by the faint glow of dying coals, she peered out the kitchen door into a sky without moon or stars. A thick blanket of clouds hid everything. No light from the town peeked through the blackness.
Briah hadn’t planned on leaving just then, but the quiet darkness seemed to be inviting her to join it. Dressing quickly in all she owned, Briah bundled her supply of food into her coarse woolen blanket and wrapped the only halfway good sheepskin she had around herself. She set the bundle by the door and made one last check of the kitchen for anything she could use.
She had just tucked a set of flints into the bundle, when the hair on the back of her neck suddenly rose. She turned.
Agor stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the glowing embers. His yellow teeth seemed impossibly bright in the darkness.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Agor moved closer, his grin widening. “Stealing food perhaps? Bad girl. Have to teach you a lesson.” Then he saw the bundle by the door and looked at Briah again, this time taking in her clothes, wrap and shoes. There was no chance that she was going out to dig clams in this weather, even if someone had been with her—and no one was.
Agor’s face shone with the excitement of a little boy who has just received a shiny new toy. “Escape? You actually thought to escape? This is marvelous! Do you know what we do here to a girl who tries to leave? I’ll show you.” Agor untied the leather belt from his robe. The robe hung lose, exposing his body—and Briah could see his organ swell with excitement.
“Now, let’s see, how shall we start? Lift your skirt and bend over, that will do for now.” Briah didn’t move. Agor raised an eyebrow. “Going to make it fun for me, eh? How delightful.” He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her to him. Briah felt his erection hard against her belly.
When Agor began to fumble with her clothes, Briah noticed that both of his hands were occupied, while only one of hers was captive. Her right arm dangled uselessly at her side. Useless of course, because surely there was nothing it could do to help her. So why were her eyes fixed upon Ago
r’s unprotected chest and exposed stomach?
Without really thinking about it, Briah raised her knee. Her hand slid down to meet it and pulled the knife from her boot in a single, smooth motion. Then, she shoved the knife into Agor’s belly.
Agor stared at the knife. He seemed confused, unwilling to believe what had happened, and thinking that if he just blinked his eyes enough times, the world would right itself again. Then pain and rage began to register, and Briah, terrified he might kill her before succumbing, pushed the knife in farther. It seemed to move so slowly; the flesh and organs were so much tougher than she expected, or perhaps her terror made her weak. She was certainly aware of how easily Agor could reach up and strangle her, while she stood there, pushing this puny knife for all she was worth.
With the knife buried to the hilt in Agor’s flesh, Briah twisted it and pulled it free, amid a gush of dark red blood. Agor collapsed slowly, clutching his belly and staring at Briah. He did not cry out as his life spilled onto the floor.
CHAPTER 5
Briah stared in horror. She had never killed another human being. As revulsion filled her, some dim part of her mind tried to explain to her that this man would have killed her child—and probably her as well—but Briah wasn’t listening.
Then a noise brought her fully alert. It was only a mouse, scurrying back to his home, but forever after this night, Briah would be grateful to him, for he had snapped her back to her present situation. And it was dire. She had to get out of here now. Seizing her skimpy bundle of possessions, Briah cleaned her knife on Agor’s robe, stuck it back into her boot and ducked out the kitchen door.
The rain battered her as she ran blindly into the darkness. Though all she cared about right now was getting away from Finool, she had gotten far enough in her plans to know she had to travel west. Briah ran on and on, until it must surely have been well past dawn, yet the sky remained dark. Finally, the distant sound of cockcrow told her that day had arrived. It was only the rain and heavy cloud cover that made it seem like night.
The storm saved her life.
With no ships coming or going in the harbor, there was little activity in town. Anyone out in this weather would be on business more desperate than Briah’s, so no one saw her go.
The few farmers who might have seen her after sunrise were too concerned with keeping their heads down against the rain to notice one lone figure in flight. By late morning, when Agor’s body was sure to have been discovered, Briah reached the shelter of a wooded grove well beyond the town’s western boundary. She huddled against a friendly oak and fell into an exhausted sleep.
She awoke late in the afternoon. Thin sunlight peeked through the clouds, but little sifted through the trees where she sat. Her baby lurched within her. “Patience, little one,” she whispered. “Soon, soon, I will have a place for you. For now, you must stay inside me, where it’s safe.”
Briah nearly laughed at the irony. How could anyone be safe inside her, when she herself was in greater danger than ever before? Not only was she a runaway slave, she was murderess! Briah shivered as memories of Agor’s final moments came rushing back. Agor. Her owner’s nephew. A powerful man in his own right.
Suddenly hungry, she began to eat, stopping only after devouring nearly half her meager rations. She thought about looking for food in the forest, but was afraid to move. People would be searching for her now. Perhaps many people. Where would they look? Which way was safe?
By sundown, Briah was hearing dogs in every whistle of the wind and rustle of leaves, and seeing the flicker of a torch in every tree. Finally, too agitated to sit still any longer, she got up and headed west through the trees.
The going was slow, but she found a few roots which looked and smelled edible enough that she decided to take a chance on them. Her boots slogged through mud and she knew she was leaving a trail, but could think of nothing to do about it. She sucked water off of dripping branches, and wished she had thought to take a water skin.
Toward nightfall it began to rain again. At first, Briah was grateful, for the rain would wash away her trail and hide her scent. But as the night wore on, and the rain soaked her to the skin, Briah wondered how long she could continue. Surely it was safer to travel by night, but she was already exhausted, and hadn’t even traveled as far as she had the night before. Or had she? And with neither moon nor stars, how did she know she wasn’t traveling in circles? At that moment, she felt a sudden, painful tightening in her womb.
“No,” she moaned, sinking to the wet ground. “Not now! Please not now.”
Briah stayed there until she was calm enough to realize she was not in labor. She ate a little more and continued.
Hours passed. Briah could barely stumble, but was too afraid to stop. Although she had met no human since she fled the settlement, she feared the morning would bring them. Even now, every sound and smell seemed to signal pursuit. Fever heated her brow and muddled her thoughts.
Towards dawn, she began to see spots dancing before her eyes. She stopped frequently, trying to remember why she was stumbling soaking wet through the woods, but the roaring in her head always made her drop that line of thought. Then, there was a different kind of roaring. This one came from outside her head, and carried a pulsing rhythm that Briah found soothing, although she did not know why. But it was compelling, so she stumbled in that direction—it hardly seemed to matter which way she went.
The wind changed, and from the south came a rich, fresh salty smell.
The sea, she realized.
Something in the sea was calling her, although she was quite certain her family did not live there, and wasn’t that who she was looking for? Her mother? And her father, who always used to carry her on his shoulders and never could quite hide the pride in his face when he scolded her for beating up the boys in the village? And her brothers who taught her to fight, but now she was having trouble remembering their names. She had three brothers, didn’t she?
Briah fell and couldn’t get back up. She felt her baby’s heart beating near the surface of her skin, soft and fragile as a butterfly’s wings. Then she began to imagine the urgent beating slowing and weakening, and finally stopping altogether.
“No,” she whispered. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll find a place where we both can live.” She lurched to her feet once more, and blindly followed the sound of the surf.
She left the trees, feeling vulnerable in the open air. But then there were rocks that seemed to be climbing higher as she tried to get near them. Rocks weren’t supposed to move on their own were they?
Briah nearly missed the tunnel’s mouth, but she had stepped on a sharp stone that pierced her boot, despite her reinforcements. Grabbing at what she thought was more rock, Briah found herself clutching air, and landing painfully on her side in a narrow passageway.
The ocean roared even louder in here. Briah gathered herself up one last time, only to find that the sound of the surf bounced off every facet of the stone tunnel which surrounded her, and without light or clear sound, she had no idea which way to go.
All at once it didn’t matter. It was dry here, and there was no wind. Briah staggered until the walls no longer prodded her on both sides, and let herself sink gently down into soft, dry sand.
CHAPTER 6
She awoke to impossibly bright sunshine. Water was lapping gently against one arm. From above came the raucous cry of gulls. Briah sat up suddenly.
She was on a wide, sandy beach. The coast stretched east and west, as far as she could see. Behind her were gray cliffs of varying height and depth. Before her the sea stretched. And kept on stretching. Briah would have gladly just sat there and stared at the endless rocking waves, but they were getting closer to her with each pulsing wave. She backed up until she reached the cliff, frightened, as she realized there was no way through them, and climbing was out of the question.
Briah calmed when she realized that the base of the cliff was interwoven with plants and nests, none of which would be there if the wa
ves reached this far back. So she found a comfortable rock dappled with shade and sun, and sat down to see where she was.
Puffy white clouds sailed lazily across a vivid blue sky. There was no sign anywhere of human habitation. It took a while for this fact to sink in. Briah, as far as she knew, had never been alone in her life. For a long time, that was a good thing; a fact she never questioned. But on a harvest morning four years ago, all of that changed forever. Since then, she had known friendship and comfort, but most of the time, people had meant pain and fear. And always, they had been in control of her.
But now, there was no one except her. And as Briah turned around to examine the tunnel she had come through during the night, she saw it was gone. Water filled it. Only at low tide could this place be reached at all.
Briah was alone. And it seemed just barely possible that she might stay that way.
Suddenly, it seemed, a great weight rolled off her shoulders. She breathed a little deeper; exhaled a little louder.
“I’m free,” she said softly, testing the words. When nothing happened, Briah said them again, louder this time. The only answer was the monotonous roar of the surf and the raucous cries of gulls.
Briah leaped to her feet, graceful in spite of her awkward bulk. She pulled her sodden, sand filled clothes from her body and threw them into the rocks behind her, not caring that cold stung her body. Naked and bulging, Briah danced into the shallow waves. Cold water tickled her feet and sucked at her legs. It felt wonderful.
“I’m free! I’m safe! And I’m going to live!” It was madness, she knew. Even if there was no other access to this beach; even if no one else ever breached the tunnel’s secret, there was no reason to believe that a lone woman could survive here. And one about to give birth had even less reason to hope.
Yet Briah hoped. She sang. She soared.
The Seal Queen Page 4