Fairytales Slashed: Volume 8

by Samantha M. Derr

  "Hey, don't look so alarmed," said the man with the harpoon, grinning in a way that made Neneya's skin go cold. "We're all just hunters here."

  The other two laughed unpleasantly.

  Neneya glanced at her own harpoon, still on the ground. The stranger could throw his long before she'd reeled hers all the way in. She glanced at the terrek carcass, sprawled bloody in the dust. Why did this have to happen on such a good day?

  "Tasty bit you've hauled in there," shouted one of the men at the campfire, dark-skinned with tight-curled hair like herself and smaller than the other two. "Why don't you share?" It wasn't a request.

  The other man at the fire, ruddy-fair, burliest, and most scarred of all, laughed and muttered something unintelligible but ugly.

  "Good idea, Badur," said the harpooner. "He and I can make friends with you while Ult picks up the feast you've been nice enough to bring."

  The harpooner and the smallish dark man―Badur―approached her, Badur fetching his own harpoon and pointing it at her as well. The huge, badly scarred Ult, grumbling and glaring, stomped off to bring in the terrek she'd worked so hard to snare.

  Badur and the one-eyed harpooner led her back to the fire while Ult carried the carcass. The bandits took out their knives and began to gut and dress her terrek for roasting.

  "Now, I'm a friendly fellow," said the harpooner, "so you can have a share of the meat."

  "How generous," Neneya said dryly.

  Ult growled and gestured toward her with his blade, but the one-eyed harpooner grinned and slapped her on the back so hard she nearly fell forward. "Heh, you're a good sport!" He exchanged a probably meaningful look with Badur. "Maybe you can do us a favor. We've been looking for a shot as good as you."

  "A favor."

  "See, there's this little island kingdom. Not much of a kingdom, really. More like a town putting on airs. But they've got a king, or someone who calls himself that, and a princess." The harpooner licked his lips. "A beautiful, marriageable princess, but not too well guarded―we've scouted it all out well. Except… there's always a skrika posted outside her window at night." He spat the word "skrika" with hatred.

  "Duso hates skrika," Badur said. "It was a skrika took out his eye."

  Duso the harpooner rolled his remaining eye. "Nasty little bastards. Fast, and hard to hit, and they make a hell of a racket if you bother them. We tried to get the skrika, but it woke up the whole palace with its shrieking."

  "If you can kill the skrika and get us the princess, we'll let you go. If not…" The harpooner pulled an exaggeratedly sad face. "I'm afraid it won't go well for you. Slowly, painfully, not so well."

  "I spooled up a man's guts like rope once," Ult rumbled. A bloodthirsty grin showed teeth within his red-brown beard.

  Neneya felt as if she'd swallowed a stone, but the best thing to do for now was play along. So she sat at their campfire while they roasted her valuable terrek and cracked crude jokes and anticipated the ransom they'd be sure to get for a princess.

  "We'll head down to the Greater Kingdoms and live in style," Badur said, and bit into a piece of wing.

  "And if the king doesn't pay…." Ult laughed unpleasantly, hot grease running down his beard, and grinned that chilling grin again.

  Neneya looked at Ilaka until Ilaka looked back; Ilaka's wings were twitchy and tense, as if she knew something was wrong. Neneya made what she hoped was a reassuring gesture; Ilaka shook out her wings once more, folded them, and began grazing on grass and rooting for grubs with her claws and her long thin snout but kept a wary eye on Neneya and the bandits.

  Neneya would wait for her chance to break loose or turn the tables. Surely at a royal court, however small, she would be able to find allies—as long as they didn't think she was really on the bandits' side. The trick, then, would be to get help without alerting the bandits that she was turning on them.

  Well after midday, once they'd roasted what was left of the terrek to jerky and smothered the fire with dirt, they set off.

  Duso and Badur led the way on their fenyaras, Neneya behind them; Ult watched from the rear, his harpoon at the ready, to make sure she didn't try to escape. Neneya could feel its imaginary point prick her spine between her shoulder blades; sweat ran down over that spot. She got the impression Ult was half hoping she'd bolt so he could skewer her.

  They descended southwest. Curling knots of solid matter—floatstone and the minerals and living things that clung to it—went by. Occasionally they passed great green mats of floating alela, which people towed toward inhabited islands with long poles so they could gather and spin the fibers that surrounded their seeds. A ponderous feltheloth wobbled away from their trajectory, suspended from its tough gasbag and paddling at the air with broad flippers. After a long stretch of sparse and scattered islands, Neneya began to see ones large enough to cultivate with homesteads, then a few villages.

  Finally, as the sun sank to a sliver on the rim of the Land Below, wind drew gauzy clouds out from in front of the city Neneya realized was Kilibara, one of the Six Lesser Kingdoms. Red light glinted on its spires.

  Kilibara had grown to the edges of its island and been built upward ever since. Other small islands dotted the vicinity in all directions; stairs, walkways, and arching bridges connected those that were near enough, extending tendrils of city. The terrain rose gradually upward toward the left until a sudden steep ascent, where a paved boulevard led up to a palace. Eight turrets looked out over the cliff at the edge.

  "The Princess Tekelei sleeps in that one," said Duso, pointing. "We've got friends in the court who've bribed her window guards tonight. That just leaves the skrika―you can take care of that, right?"

  "Of course," Neneya said brightly, continuing to play along. But as they approached the island, coming in from beneath to avoid detection and hanging back until full dark fell, she was considering how she could both escape and thwart the kidnapping attempt.

  Stars pierced the black sky, and the bandits made their move, Neneya with them. Quietly and slowly, they ascended to a little shelf in the cliff, below the turrets of the palace. Only its outer edge would be visible when looking down from above.

  "At least this one's family is sure to have enough of a ransom," Badur said quietly. "Remember that merchant who was in so much debt he didn't have the money?"

  Ult grinned, with a low chuckle. "Even when we started sending him fingers."

  Neneya was relieved that Duso cut in. "Now. I'll watch from the edge. You fly up, kill the skrika, and climb in the window of the west turret, right above us. Show me a sign when you get safely to the princess."

  "What sort of sign?"

  "Something she owns." Duso drew a pistol from his belt, pointing it at her; Ult followed likewise, and Badur unfastened the musket from his back. “And if you try to fly away from the window, you're dead.”

  Neneya nodded, weighing the risk. Killing her would obviously wreck their plan, and one couldn't loot anything killed with a gun unless it happened to fall on an island; that was why hunters used harpoons. Gunfire might also alert the palace. But she doubted they'd hesitate to shoot, despite these disadvantages, and they'd be sure to make future trouble even if she got lucky and escaped. She checked her saddle ties, and nudged Ilaka into flight.

  She moved slowly, keeping the noise of Ilaka's wings quiet for stealth, and crept over the rim of the island. Above, the pale stone turret pointed toward the stars. She scanned the area quickly and spotted the skrika, perched on the windowsill at the top of the turret and fortunately not looking down at the moment. She moved upward and slightly outward, lined up her shot, then threw the harpoon with all her strength. It drove straight through the skrika's lungs with no sound but a gasping hiss. The dying bird plummeted, then jerked to a stop at the end of her tether.

  She flew down for a moment to deliver the corpse to the bandits, who grinned and slapped each other festively, then back up, this time all the way to the window.

  Neneya nudged Ilaka close to the ston
e arch, as close as she could get without bruising a wing on the wall, and let Ilaka circle there. She undid the straps holding her to the saddle, took a deep breath, and timed her scramble over Ilaka's wing just right so she vaulted into the tower.

  Sheer alela curtains breathed with the warm night wind and drifted across her arms. She moved them aside like a swimmer parting water. Beyond was a small alcove of gray stone with white inlays. More curtains, red and whisper-sheer, and she froze, heart pounding so loudly she feared any guards nearby could hear it.

  This was the Princess Tekelei's bedchamber.

  Behind a third set of alela curtains half open to the warm breeze was a bed with silver finials on the four posters. Beneath a summer-weight blanket, the princess slept. She was grown—twenty or so—but very small and fine-boned, like a graceful bird. Long lashes fluttered a little on her cheeks as she dreamed. On her smooth, near-black skin, even darker than Neneya's own, were dabs of brilliant blue near the corner of each eye denoting her faith rather than the intricate swirls for public wear that proclaimed her home island, her family, her royal birth.

  Neneya knew she should not be seeing this but couldn't wish that she weren't.

  She didn't dare wake the princess, or go for help in the palace beyond; a stranger coming out of the princess's bedroom at night would likely be killed, or at least imprisoned, without question. Nor did she dare escape back the way she came, where three bandits would have guns trained on her. They may have had poorer aim than she, but she still didn't like those odds.

  The bandits wanted her to show them a signal, a token that she had the princess in her power. In the dim light of a phosphorescent glowstone, aided by three moons through two veils of curtain, she could make out objects faintly. Wall hangings of stylized white trumpet-lilies: too awkward. A fresh stack of alela-rag paper tied with a ribbon and a quill pen in an inkwell at the writing desk: too small.

  A silk shawl draped over the back of a delicately wrought chair at the dressing table, embroidered with Tekelei's own heraldic emblem of a far-ranging keref bird embraced by her family's emblem of morning-glory vines. The patterns were bright enough to stand out well against the white fabric, even in the dimness.

  Perfect.

  In the closest to silence that she could manage, Neneya slipped the shawl from the back of the chair. She had never touched anything so valuable; surely her hands were dirtying it. At the window, she unfurled it like a banner. She flapped it twice, to be sure she had the bandits' attention, then rolled it hastily and crammed it into the purse at her belt so she couldn't slip on it. Harpoon in hand, she tied back the curtains and took up a defensive position diagonally behind the window.

  She waited, harpoon poised.

  The first of the bandits―Duso―came through the window, turned to look for her… and fell with a faint gurgle as she thrust the harpoon through his throat.

  Letting out a long slow breath of relief, she withdrew the spearhead gradually with one hand, keeping Duso upright with the other. She lowered him carefully to the floor to make as little noise as possible and rolled him to the wall not far from the window. One last wet rattling wheeze and he was silent.

  She scrubbed as much blood from her hands as she could against the unstained parts of his shirt far from his wound. Then, though it almost hurt physically to do it with her dirty hands, she unfurled the shawl again at the window to signal the other bandits, stuffed it back in her purse, and waited to ambush whoever came next.

  Ult clambered over the sill and came at her. She tried to kill him just as quietly, but he was warier. He jumped backward as she lunged, bellowing and cursing. Neneya cursed, too, quietly, and managed to avoid swinging herself too far off balance with her weapon. He went for his own harpoon, tied to his back, but couldn't ready it before Neneya drove hers through his chest.

  In the hunt, a second's delay was death.

  In the distance, within the tower and below Neneya, shouts and clanking footsteps sounded. Nearer, a faint rustling, as if the princess were stirring, frightened and keeping out of sight, within her bed behind the curtains. Neneya wished she could reassure her, apologize, anything.

  Had Badur heard the noise as well? Regardless, the guards were coming. She had to get out. She turned to the window, trying to keep out of view from below, and whistled for Ilaka, who was still circling. Ilaka swooped just below the window, and as she passed Neneya leaped down, heart hammering, hoping she'd judged her jump well.

  *~*~*

  A terrified and angry shout from somewhere off toward the princess's bedroom woke Darim. No time to arm himself; he staggered out of bed and thumped his manservant awake. The sluggish fellow groaned and lurched to his feet.

  "My coat and weapons," Darim snapped. "Something's going on out there."

  The manservant scrambled around, tugging Darim into his coat over his nightclothes and fastening on his sword-belt, then handed him pistol and musket, both fortunately kept loaded for emergencies. Darim rushed out into the hallway and to the princess's chamber, two doors from his. Guards had already opened the door and rushed in. Darim followed.

  Women in stories always fell in love with their rescuers―or at least were given to them by grateful fathers. He'd finally have the wife he'd been repeatedly denied. Perhaps the tale of his gallantry would attract some maids as well. He knew he was handsome, and he was a nice man; women ought to like him, so why was he still lonely?

  Tekelei's bedcurtains were only open a crack. He caught a glimpse of her where they parted, and hoped she saw him as well, coming to her rescue. In a corner her pretty maid whimpered, paralyzed with terror.

  The curtained alcove near the window smelled of fresh blood. Two dead men in shabby clothes and leather sprawled across the floor, one stabbed through the windpipe and the other gouged through the ribcage. Two guards at the window took aim toward the outside; one fired his musket at something unseen.

  "Step aside, sirs," Darim said as the shot echoed, and elbowed between them.

  Far below, a woman on a fenyara plummeted, changing direction often, toward the underside of the floating island. A second figure began rising from below to meet her―and hurled a harpoon at her that went wide. Odd; he, dressed rather like the two dead men and certainly not a guard, was fighting against her.

  Unsure who was actually allied with the attackers, Darim cocked his pistol, aimed at him, reconsidered and aimed at her, and shot. He missed, unsurprisingly; she was well out of likely pistol range. He aimed his musket, then, and missed again. Damn.

  They both vanished beneath the main island of Kilibara.

  "Why were they fighting each other?" said one guard. "Weren't they all in on this together?"

  "Did you get them?" said the other guard. "I didn't see."

  Darim hesitated a moment―and a plan came to mind. "Yes," he said. "I did. Both of them."

  Why not claim he'd killed the other two bandits as well, the ones on the floor? The two guards and that weeping maid might say otherwise, but he was a prince and they were servants; he'd take them aside and ensure their cooperation with baubles or, failing that, with threats. He did at least try to rescue Tekelei from these swine, whomever they were. He'd done the right thing, rushed to her aid, when he didn't even need to.

  He had earned her.

  *~*~*

  Above Neneya, a pistol went off. Below Neneya, Badur was ascending toward her, harpoon aimed―and then flying. Ilaka had little time to dodge, but Neneya leaned over sideways, near flat to her beating left wing, and felt the metal tip swish past. The spearhead slowed until it reached the end of its tether―almost at the top of the arc it would have completed if untied. Neneya and Ilaka had to bank rapidly, diving left, to avoid being hit by the blunt end as it fell.

  Neneya nearly slipped from the saddle, but locked her legs hard on Ilaka's back and one arm tight around Ilaka's neck. Badur, rather than reeling in his harpoon, went for his pistol, but she'd recovered faster. As soon as she could straighten partway, before she
looked fully ready to throw and barely after his gun had cleared its holster, she heaved her harpoon downward at him.

  Aided by gravity and the force of Ilaka's dive, it pierced straight through his belly and out the other side. The pistol fell from his hand.

  Neneya couldn't stop. She and Ilaka plunged to soften the jerk of the tether―and Neneya looked back up to check on the guards who'd shot at her. A young man with golden skin and thick brown hair, disheveled as if he'd just been awakened, stood between two awkwardly deferential guards aiming at her with a musket.

  Neneya yanked the reins by reflex. Ilaka changed direction just before a crack split the night and lead whistled by.

  They kept diving, in sudden unpredictable zigzags―the best hope to avoid being hit by projectiles too fast to dodge. Far above, Neneya heard shouts, but she didn't dare look back again. Her harpoon trailed along until she had the chance to reel it in.

  Reaching the underside of the island, with its upside-down crags and crannies hung with skymoss, was a relief. Neneya and Ilaka swerved past one outcropping and another and another, then kept diving, past another island and down around a mat of alela.

  Finally, when Ilaka was trembling with exhaustion, they landed on an islet. Badur's corpse, messy and hooked on the end of the harpoon, splatted after. Neneya dismounted, untied the saddle, and rubbed Ilaka down, trying to croon to calm her but far too out of breath to manage much. She stretched her own legs and arms, sitting forward on the ground and grabbing her ankles, pacing, lunging. The motion reminded her of lunging at the bandits, and she shivered.

  She had few possessions and no home, and little but her wits and luck to keep her from starving, so she forced herself to check Badur's body for anything valuable. He had a harpoon, a few coins, a vicious knife on a weapon belt, good boots that didn't fit her, and the same curious torc around his neck that she'd seen on the other bandits, with a falcon's head etched into the back next to the skin and another falcon's head crudely sculpted at the throat. She cleaned off his things as best she could and stashed them in Ilaka's saddlebags and the coins in her purse; the second harpoon she strapped to her own back as a spare. Once she found a settlement other than Kilibara, she'd sell everything.