by A A Woods
“I need you.”
“That’s a lie,” Byrna purred. “I think you’re not sure, larva-girl. I think you’re realizing the world is as murky as a well of shit and you’re not liking it.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s always been strange to me that you hoods clutch to your understanding of things like babies with their toys. After all, why would you want things to stay as they are? Who would choose to be slaves, when there are other options?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Byrna spat. “Seems to me like you’ve got it backwards.”
Carlette stepped up to her, getting in Byrna’s face. Not that it mattered, with the other girl blindfolded, but Carlette’s senses were humming, her muscles stretched to the breaking point. Something was wrong and she couldn’t tell what, but it had to do with this obnoxious, self-satisfied, vulgar Moian girl.
“Be. Quiet.”
Byrna showed her teeth. “Or what? You kill me?
“Yes.”
“You’re not the first idiot to threaten my life. And you sure as hell won’t be the last.” Byrna leaned back, tilting her chin in the general direction of Carlette’s face. “Besides, I want to see your expression when you realize I’m right.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“And?”
“There’s nothing right about that.”
“Depends on who you’re killing, eh?” she paused, cocking her head as if to listen. “Anyways, if I were you, I’d take a moment to think things over. You might not have much time left to decide.”
Byrna grinned.
The hairs on Carlette’s neck prickled.
She took a step back as her drained mind stretched and snapped like a sail in the wind.
“Um, Carlette?”
Tuk’s head was tilting up, eyes wide, hand beginning to shake.
Carlette followed his gaze to see Tabis curled around the nearest tree, pincers quivering. And, above the cairog, the thick Goddeau branches bowed beneath the weight of a dozen mounted sionach, riders glaring down at them over black bandanas.
Carlette swallowed.
Byrna’s trap had sprung.
Chapter Seventeen: The Hanging City
Carlette stumbled, her knee cracking against the wooden slats of the swinging bridge. Vertigo threatened as she gaped down at the forest floor, impossibly far away.
“Move,” growled the Moian man behind her, shoving her forward.
Sionach filled the trees, flowing past the bridge at speeds Carlette could never have imagined. Jaws snapped, claws scraped, and their whole entourage moved closer to the massive central tree sprinkled with glittering lights.
Carlette glanced back at Tuk, who was yanking his shoulder out of a thick Moian woman’s grip. Their eyes met briefly before Carlette was forced to move again, trying to ignore the wild swinging of the suspended bridge.
One misstep and she would be nothing more than a smear of blood on the giant tree’s root system.
Byrna guided them into the Hanging City, marching with impudent glee as Tabis scuttled along beneath the bridge, making everyone nervous. Byrna was by far the smallest of the Moian hunting party, but the men and women watched her the way they might watch a spider, eyes flickering nervously to the slingshot hanging on Byrna’s belt. She was like a stranger in their midst, wilder than the rest. Carlette was reminded of how the other Jemelle students looked at her during training sessions. Respected. Admired.
But different.
They were afraid of her, Carlette realized with a jolt.
Her attention was drawn away from Byrna Beetlespeaker as the shadow of the enormous city fell over them. Lanterns hung in the branches, a million tiny lights illuminating carved wooden homes that looked so natural it was almost as if the tree had grown that way. It was like something out of Mya’s bedtime fairy tales: stairs twining around the behemoth trunk, decks and bridges forming a lattice with the surrounding branches.
It would have been an overwhelming sight if she hadn’t had a knife pressed to the back of her neck.
Eyes peered out at their ragged convoy as flying foxes soared past. Children dangled from branches, staring at Carlette and Tuk as if they were creatures in a menagerie. Carlette looked up, head tilting painfully to follow the endless wooden spiral.
The Moian warrior jabbed his knife, making her wince.
“Take them to the hammock cells,” growled a man standing at the end of the bridge, his shoulders corded with muscle beneath cairog-scale armor.
“They will go to my father,” said Byrna in a light voice, lifting one eyebrow to peer up at the man.
He glowered. “You’ve been gone a long time.” The guard’s fingers curled around his own slingshot.
Byrna only folded her arms. “And now I’m back.”
He responded in Moian, the words like the sigh of wind through trees. It sounded urgent, questioning. Bordering on angry.
“I am no Tuleaux spy,” Byrna said with a lazy smile, her voice loud as she spoke in accented Delarese. “I have been with the Bloody Paws, doing the work you are too cowardly to accept. But I am back with a gift for my father.” Byrna leaned in as if she planned to whisper a secret to the enormous city guard. “And I suggest you get the fuck out of my way.”
The guard didn’t look happy about it. But, with a quick glance at the man holding Carlette, he stepped aside.
The sionach riders disappeared into the gargantuan tree. Carlette swallowed. She could sense the vast arrangement of humanity around her, a city teeming with life. It was like Tuleaux but a different flavor. Instead of resigned order she tasted wild pleasure. These people belonged here, were not displaced and rugged settlers but a part of this land, as much as the beasts they rode and the trees they lived in.
It was enough to make her head spin.
The knife jabbed into the back of her neck and Carlette gasped. Something warm and wet trickled down her spine. She withdrew her power like a broken rubber cord, closing her defenses.
“Careful,” growled her captor, yanking on Carlette’s white hair to hiss in her ear. “Byrna may speak for you, but put on so much as ant skin and I slice your neck and see you try to breathe.”
“Leave her alone!” Tuk called from behind, struggling to reach her.
“It’s fine,” she said, letting the man propel her onward.
Byrna turned around to walk backwards along the edge of a wooden deck with no railing. The sight made Carlette queasy.
“You two are quite a curiosity,” she said. “But then, with all that repressed instinct, I’d imagine you’re dying for a good romp.”
Byrna winked at Carlette.
“Where are you taking us?” Carlette asked as they began to climb the stairs. Tiny homes appeared like squirrel holes, filled with eyes. Women watched with folded arms, pushing the smaller children behind their legs.
Byrna cackled. “Still think you’re in charge?”
“This is pointless,” Carlette said, her neck throbbing. “I’ll never help you. You should kill me now and get it over with.”
“The men and women of this city want you dead,” Byrna said, not bothering to keep her voice down as they approached a landing—a wide, triangular viewing deck attached to a boxy home hanging from one of the Goddeau tree’s largest branches. “The Bloody Paws want you dead. Nurkaij wants you dead. Every man, woman, and child in Ferren wants you dead, dead, dead.” Byrna stopped in front of the carved wooden door, her eyes sparkling. “It would be easier than taking a shit, killing you. And I have every reason in the world to do it. But here I am, about to save your life. You should be kissing my damn boots.”
“I’ll pass,” Tuk muttered, yanking himself free of the woman holding him with a clank.
Byrna’s eyes danced with impunity. “I’ve seen your kind before. All pure and straight until the clothes come off.”
She grabbed her crotch in a rude gesture and then spun, laughing, to hammer three times on the carved
wooden door. Carlette held her breath, trying to ignore the shell-shocked expression on Tuk’s face.
Tabis clicked behind them.
For a single heartbeat, there was silence in the forest, broken by the shuffling of gigantic shapes in the canopy and the raspy breathing of the man holding her hair.
And then the door flew open.
Byrna’s father was a short man, barely reaching Carlette’s shoulder, but he was built like a boulder. Years of climbing trees and hunting forest spiders had made him more frightening than any war veteran. A jagged scar lifted one edge of his mouth. Another snaked up his neck where one ear was missing, leaving a crater of scar tissue. His clothing was rich and elegant, but Carlette could see beetle-black armor and a saddle hanging by the door.
“Byrna?”
The man’s voice was soft, unexpected in its gentleness. Ripples of disbelief flowed from him.
“Father,” Byrna said, bowing her head. “I’ve come back.”
The man moved suddenly, quickly, his arms wrapping around his daughter and yanking her into a hug.
“Byrna.”
Carlette exchanged a look with Tuk. He shrugged.
“What happened? We thought you’d been taken to the Convent. We sent a whole hunting party out after you.”
Byrna’s face was tight, her amusement gone. For the first time, Carlette could see what was hiding beneath the smirks and bravado: a wound that no amount of time could heal.
“I escaped,” Byrna said emotionlessly.
“But it’s been almost two years. Were you in Tuleaux all that time?”
Byrna’s mouth quirked, but it couldn’t quite be called a smile.
“Not quite.”
“Here, come inside. We can talk.”
“Father,” Byrna said, jerking her head towards Carlette and Tuk. “I have something to discuss with you.” She glanced back. “In private.”
“Of course, child, anything.”
The guard holding Carlette gave a disapproving sniff.
Finally, Byrna’s father seemed to notice the prisoners. His eyes hardened and Carlette caught a glimpse of the man who ruled the Moians. Commanding authority radiated from him even with tears drying on his cheeks.
He gestured at the two hunters.
“Secure them inside.”
· · ─────── ·❅· ─────── · ·
Carlette caught a brief glimpse of the home before cloth was tied—again—around her face. The cabin was simple, with hints of stone in the wood. A long table dominated the main floor and a balcony ran along the top. She assumed the bedrooms were up there.
And then her sight was cut off.
Trying to breathe evenly and not wonder what Byrna was telling her father to do with them, Carlette listened to the mumbling exchange of words she couldn’t understand. The guards’ heavy footfalls faded. Byrna’s father whispered, soft and gentle.
Questioning.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Byrna snapped in Delarese, her voice sharper than Carlette had ever heard it. “I want to talk about them.”
“We haven’t heard from you in months. Your brothers have been scouring the forest, shooting down every raiding party they can find. We just want to know what happened.”
“I spent time in the Convent and then escaped. That’s all you need to know.”
“Except that you joined the Bloody Paws.”
She was silent.
“Damnit Byrna, that woman is making everything worse! Did you know she killed seven of our girls in one of her ‘salvation missions’? We found their bodies, half-digested by Fethidi. She didn’t bother to try and get them home.”
“At least she’s doing something,” Byrna snapped back.
“We’re doing something too. Trying to make peace.”
Byrna snorted. “Peace. Since when do you expose your privates to an enemy’s knife?”
“Delasir isn’t going anywhere. If we keep fighting them, we’ll only lose more of our people. The war is over.”
“Not. Anymore,” Byrna growled.
Footsteps paced over to Carlette. Someone grabbed her by the hair.
“I brought you the cure to our foreign infection.”
The Moian chief sighed. “How is a half-breed from Jemelle supposed to—?”
“She’s a Furix.”
Silence met Byrna’s statement. Carlette tried to pull her head free, but Byrna’s fingers curled into unforgiving claws. Next to her, Tuk shifted with a soft clink.
“That’s impossible,” the chief said after a long pause. “Her heir died. He was hunted down years ago…”
“He had a child.”
“I never heard about—”
“Yokan only told her most loyal soldiers, but there was another girl who was given to him. Yokan’s younger sister. She escaped, but he had already planted a seed in her belly. They tracked her to Tuleaux and found her body outside the city’s walls.” Byrna jerked Carlette’s head. “This is her daughter. This is Voka’s heir.”
There was another silence. Carlette struggled to breathe.
“Why didn’t you bring her to Yokan?”
“She doesn’t know her own strength,” Byrna said, releasing her grip. Carlette leaned forward, gasping. “And she won’t work with the Bloody Paws.”
“Smart girl,” he said in an acrid tone.
“But you could train her. Show her how to be one of us.”
Carlette spit on the ground. “I’ll never be one of you.”
There was a rustle of clothing, a tug around her face. Suddenly, her blindfold whipped away. The man—a lethal, legendary Moian chief—was crouched in front of her, smiling kindly. Carlette was surprised to find a deep empathy in his eyes, the kind of warmth she had been starved of since leaving Mya’s orphanage.
“Do you value your life, child?”
Carlette narrowed her eyes. “I will not be threatened.”
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” he chuckled. “Although apparently I can’t make promises for my daughter here. I simply ask if you value your life. I know what they do to children in that place they call a school. We’ve all heard the stories. Whippings. Executions. Forced celibacy.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t seem like an existence worth having.”
Carlette glared at the man. He sighed, closed his eyes.
“I do not hate the men and women of Tuleaux, my friend. Unlike Yokan and her rebels, I do not wish to wipe them from our land. I want only to give my people a better future, perhaps one without so much bloodshed and misery.” He looked at her. “Maybe even one without war.”
Carlette glanced at Tuk, who was frowning beneath his blindfold. Before she’d met him, she would have snapped something about there being no better future until Nurkaij was defeated. About her being loyal to Grand Mera and not to them.
But now?
Carlette met his gaze, her heart tearing itself apart. Grand Mera and training were the pillars of Carlette’s upbringing. The anchors of her life. She remembered what Grand Mera always said when fate took a horrible twist.
We can’t change the way things are.
But what if they could?
Carlette leaned forward, almost touching the man’s scarred nose.
“Show me,” she said.
Chapter Eighteen: Opportunity
Yokan ignored her whimpering prisoners as she stood on the hilltop, glowering. The Shadow Peaks loomed behind her, the silent gods of a burning world. Black and unforgiving, they stood by as Delasir continued to pierce into her forests, rape her lands. Adenai, the mother of life. Hyba, the rider of death. Twin peaks in the middle of a sweeping range that snaked down the middle of this island.
Her island.
Aed shifted below her, hungry. Yokan reached down to pat her huge flank.
“Soon,” she said in Ebonal as Aed snapped at a nearby prisoner, making him jump.
The re-captured men and women—half of what they’d originally brought in—cringed away from
her. Yokan despised them for it. These sniveling worms had tarnished her perfect world. They were a slow, steady poison that leeched into Ferren’s groundwater. And still they had the gall to bleat for mercy, whine for Yokan to spare them. The Nuri soldiers had almost fallen over one another to be the first to offer what little information they had.
Cowards.
Yokan would relish feeding them to the stags.
Another wave of rage crashed through her. That Nuri airman had been the key to everything. With him, Yokan could have overthrown Caika, hijacked their weaponry, used it to burn Tuleaux to the ground. And that girl, that half-breed slut who had opened her legs to Nurkaij…
She would have been a good dinner for Aed.
Yokan growled, knuckles pale against black leather reins.
Somehow, the Nuri had managed to untie his little slave-girl’s blindfold. And the bitch had been more powerful than expected. Byrna was one of her strongest recruits, a survivor of the Convent with a delicious thirst for violence. Yokan had welcomed her with open arms. Fed the flames of her rage. It was rare to find a beetle-speaker with so much power, not to mention someone with the anger to wield it.
And yet the slave-girl had stolen her.
Surprising, but not altogether unheard of. In the panic of adrenaline, even the least gifted of Yokan’s tribe had been known to slip into the minds of much more powerful creatures. Perhaps the girl was more than Yokan thought she was.
Perhaps not.
Either way, they must have had help.
Because someone had enhabited her captured Amonoux.
They’d lost twenty Bloody Paws to the wolf pack. The giant she-wolf alone had consumed twelve, no doubt to feed the pup who trailed behind her, deadly even before being weaned. Yokan mourned for her fallen comrades. Their stolen souls would never find Hyba.
But if she took the time to wail about every life she had ever seen snuffed out, Yokan would be as weak as the sniveling prisoners behind her.
Denaya rode up to Yokan, her stag panting heavily. The woman’s black braid was frayed, her dark skin scratched and dirty. One of Denaya’s hands rested on the scythe at her hip, a Sibilese weapon.