“No!” Kitalla cut in, trying not to vomit at the thought of it all. “So the vines,” she coughed, “they helped?”
“Well, some,” Heria admitted, enjoying her story. “I had to prod them almost every step of the way, but they know I’m stronger and faster than they are. So they do listen in the end. Oh, I’ve said that already. No matter, it’s all important. You see, the horse was terrified of the vines. Kept squealing, it did. Like a piggon. Ever hear it? Funny, because even quiet, timid, tiny rabbitats make the same sound when they’re scared out of their minds.” She followed this with some high-pitched squealing sounds, before clapping her hands and laughing again.
Kitalla concentrated very hard on straining and loosening her left leg. If the straps, whatever they were made of, were covered in poison, then they wouldn’t penetrate her leggings as easily. And if she could loosen one foot, she might have hope for getting something else loose. She tried to keep Heria talking as she worked. “Yes, that reminds me of gleese too.”
Heria barked a laugh. “Ha! Only when they’re yelling at each other, not when they’re scared. No, a gleese is more like a low honk. But what were we talking about?”
“How you got us here.”
“Right!” she snapped her fingers. “The horse carried him most of the way until it nipped at the vines and they struck back. I couldn’t exactly stop them. It was really amusing, when you think of it. Vines and horses fighting. The world is strange sometimes.”
Kitalla did everything she could not to agree out loud. She let her thoughts wander to her foot, but she couldn’t sense any progress.
“Well, it was a matter of getting you both here in spurts. Took a while. And a fair bit of draft. If you’ve a headache, it’s because you’ve had at least half a dozen doses of the stuff. But you’re alive, so at least you’re not allergic to it. Well, the vines won’t come in here, no matter what I threaten them with, so that’s another reason Zerra was needed.”
Kitalla did not want to be reminded. “You’ve gained a tremendous amount of skill already, Heria. I’m very impressed.”
The girl started giggling, which turned into loud maniacal laughter. It took a few moments for her to calm herself down and wipe her tears away before she could reasonably speak again. “You don’t really think flattery is going to help, hag?”
“No,” she lied. “Just stating the obvious.”
“Hmm. Well, I don’t know. How are you feeling, by the way? Nice and awake?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, then remembered what Heria had said before about needing her to be awake. “But that poison is something powerful.”
Heria mewled for a moment and then decided. “No, I think you’re nice and awake. Yes, very nice. Very awake. You’ll be able to tell me lots of things now.” She stepped away and then came back. “Hold still and don’t go anywhere,” she laughed, then left the chamber.
“Gabrion,” Kitalla whispered. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” he growled. “But I can’t move.”
“She’s probably going to focus on me first, so keep trying when she isn’t looking. Feet first, I think.”
“I’ve been trying. But she really knows what she’s doing.”
“Unfortunately for us, I’m afraid,” Kitalla said. “Gabrion, listen, just do what you can to get out of here. Never mind me, when it comes to it.”
“We’re both done for here, Kitalla.”
“Don’t say that!” she hissed. “Stop giving up on your quest, warrior! Mira needs you more than ever. Find her within you and find a way out of this. Then rescue her. She waits for you.”
His response was silence, but she felt it was more of a concentrated silence than one of hopelessness. She continued shaking her leg, feeling the dagger still tucked into her boot. She wondered if somehow she could manage to shake it enough for it to cut through the boot, then the strap itself. She also wondered, mocking herself, if Heria wouldn’t just get bored and let them go. It was hopeless, but it was all she had, so she kept working her leg up and down fractionally.
A strange baying entered the cavern, followed by footsteps. The baying ended in a shriek as Heria tossed the animal into Kitalla’s view. “Hard to find, those. Only feral ones nearby, but one sheep should do the trick.”
Kitalla thought of the feral version of the sheep, the sheeliope, whose wooly body was so sticky, it was almost impossible to detach from it. They were nasty biters too, and once a victim was stuck to one’s body, others in the flock would come over for a feast. In contrast, the sheep here was docile and unaware of its surroundings, trembling in fear for the rough handling it was receiving from the girl.
Thinking of all the other evidence of blood rites Heria had left behind, Kitalla had no doubt about the reason for the sheep. Its blood would help the girl channel whatever energy she could into the next ritual that would somehow allow her to get a sense of Kitalla’s unique dance skill.
Heria spouted a few strange words that sounded nothing like magic, but nor did it sound like any spoken language in the land. Her teeth clicked a few times and she grabbed the sheep by the scruff of its neck, then slashed its throat, catching its lifeblood in her hands. She continued to murmur strange phrases as she drew her symbol on the floor, right in front of Kitalla. The poor sheep thrashed in its final moments and all Heria did was chuckle under her breath when it stopped.
The girl stood upright in the center of her drawing, the four upper prongs aimed directly toward Kitalla. She then clasped her dagger, point up, in between the palms of her hands that looked otherwise poised for prayer. She hummed a few more odd phrases and then stepped toward her old companion.
It was all about to happen, Kitalla realized. As Heria drew closer with the knife, panic welled within her, true and strong, in a way she hadn’t felt in many years. The trials at Grenthar’s were less fearsome than this, for at least then she had the ability to defend herself and use her skills to escape. But now, she was trapped, pinned, immobilized. She violently tugged her leg forward, hoping to burst through somehow, but nothing happened.
Heria saw the motion and laughed again, touching the side of her own face in mirth, smearing the sheep’s blood all over it and not caring. “Oh my,” Heria taunted, her voice light and flowery. “You didn’t really think you’d get out like that, did you? No, no. Soon, your worries will all be over, hag. Don’t worry. The poison on this blade will sting, yes, and it will kill you, yes. But then it’s over.”
“You can’t!” Kitalla protested. “What if you’re wrong? What if I die and you don’t learn anything? I’m the only one who has this ability. Kill me and it’s lost forever!”
Heria whistled a jaunty tune. “Sorry, dear, I don’t respond well to begging. You know that.” She took another slow step forward and flipped the dagger over in her hand. “All I need are a few layers of your skin so I can see where things are happening.” Then her tone filled with malice. “And then I’ll really know where to dig.”
Unable to control her fear, Kitalla clenched her jaw and her breathing intensified. She knew she could close her eyes against the oncoming foe, but the thought of not knowing when the girl would strike was worse than seeing it coming. She was utterly helpless as Heria leaned over her, sniffing various parts of her body before finding one she liked and bringing down the knife.
The dagger was held horizontally over Kitalla’s left forearm and Heria swiped it back and forth sharply in the air, clearly marking out the path of her first incision. She lowered the knife more and more. It was like a bladed pendulum, dropping inevitably lower with each swing until, at last, the blade struck against her skin.
Kitalla clenched her whole body against the onrush of pain, blocking out all sense of it when it happened. She felt the pressure of the blade and the beginning sparks from the acidic coating Heria had applied to the edge, but then that was it. Her body must have shut down like all those times after Grenthar’s trials, she guessed. But when she looked up, Heria had the most curious ex
pression on her face.
It was a mix of anger, amusement, and utter bewilderment. She swept the dagger again over Kitalla’s arm, but the blade did not bite into her skin. It warped and glanced off it instead. She tried it a few more times to be sure. “What is this?” she wondered aloud. Then anger sank in, for this was interrupting her ritual. “You will be cut!” she demanded, thrusting the knife deep into Kitalla’s chest.
But as the blade passed through the binding straps and Kitalla’s tunic, it changed. The metal warped and became liquefied, dribbling away from the hilt and rolling off her body and eventually to the floor, where it hardened again in a nondescript puddle.
With a feral scream, Heria brought the hilt of the dagger down onto Kitalla’s face, breaking her nose. She screamed again and bashed again, and there was nothing the thief could do to stop her. When at last her rage played out, she turned to the metal stain on the floor and tried to pry it up with her fingers.
“I should have known you were cursed,” she said absently. “Such a strange one to begin with.” She tugged harder and managed to free the metallic disk. “Whatever caused this to happen, I wonder?” Ignoring Kitalla’s moans of pain, she turned to Gabrion. “What of you? You’re not cursed too? No, you smell too innocent to be cursed.” She stalked closer and Gabrion, who had been trying to free himself, watched with the same inability to move.
Heria stepped up to him and sniffed him as she had done to Kitalla. “Yes, you smell so different. No curses there. You’ll bleed, won’t you? You’ll give me what I need, won’t you?”
Kitalla forced herself to speak. “He doesn’t have the gift you’re looking for.”
Heria screamed and reacted by bringing the metal disk down onto Gabrion’s belly, with the sharpest edge in the lead. Yet when the disk touched his skin, it broke like glass and clattered to the floor. But that wasn’t all. The glass jade in Gabrion’s pocket had sharpened him with the threat on his life, and like the blacksmith’s forge that had exploded against him in Pindington, so too did the metal and all of his bindings fall away from his body.
“No!” Heria gasped, backing away.
Gabrion pushed himself upright, sore and stiff, but ignoring it. He had no weapons, save one. He withdrew the jade from his pocket, remembering the words of the elder of Gerrish that nothing was sharper than that jade. He brandished it like a knife and lashed out at the girl, who bounded away, slow only because of her shock.
Gabrion chased her away a few steps before turning and slashing away Kitalla’s bindings. The thief rolled painfully to the floor, clutching her nose and trying to quell the bleeding. Gabrion turned and saw that Heria was armed with new daggers.
“You already know those won’t help you,” he warned. “Stop now and we’ll spare you.”
Heria cackled and rolled forward, swinging her arms out, trying to strike him. He parried and blocked her attacks, not entirely sure if the jade’s protection was still intact and taking no chances. Weakened from all the poison, it was all Gabrion could do to keep up with the nimble girl, but he kicked and twisted about, making sure she didn’t have a chance to get to Kitalla, her real target.
This was Heria’s hideout, though, and she was ready with more than just daggers. She rolled off to one side, feinting easily, and when Gabrion moved, she dove the other way, seeking a tile on the floor. She smashed her dagger onto the tile, breaking it, which opened a series of trap doors in the floor, one of which opened right under Kitalla. The thief reacted instantly and rolled on her side onto a solid part of the floor, where she curled up for a few moments more until the blood stopped gushing from her nose.
Gabrion leaped over the holes in the floor and sought the mad girl with vigor. The more he moved, the more his body wanted to move, warming up to the exercise, eager for more. He tried watching for more trap releases the girl might press, but he didn’t really know what to look for, so he focused instead on bringing her down. Heria made a good show of fighting him in earnest, but she was only pretending. She already believed he couldn’t be harmed by her daggers, so she needed to do something else.
With a few fancy leaps and spins, Heria made her way across the room, Gabrion following close, his jade clutched tightly in hand. She cracked another floor tile and he heard a loud groaning sound overhead. Gabrion looked up reflexively as the girl rolled low and under the plank that had trapped Kitalla. All the warrior could see was darkness ahead, but then a hot sticky sludge splattered through the room. It burned him on contact, but worse than that, the tar stuck to the floor and made it extremely difficult to move.
Heria cackled wildly. “I may have needed a sheep earlier, but that doesn’t mean sheeliopes don’t have their uses too! Good luck moving in that!”
“No problem,” Kitalla whispered in her ear, grabbing her tightly and pressing a dagger against her throat. Kitalla had tracked her movement and dove under the plank behind her as the tar fell from the ceiling. “It’s about time to end the fun, little girl.”
Immediately, Heria started to cry. “All I wanted was to learn how to protect myself!” She sobbed weakly. “I know I didn’t always go about it right, but that’s all. That’s all I wanted. So I wouldn’t be hurt anymore.” She wailed pitifully, but Kitalla wasn’t fooled.
“That’s enough out of you, murderer,” she said coldly. “After all you’ve done, you don’t deserve any pity.”
Heria cried louder. “So that’s it, it ends like this? Huddled like an animal in a cage? You’ll cut my throat out and that is all?” Kitalla could feel the girl’s tears dripping onto her forearm.
“Like the sheep,” Kitalla agreed, tightening her grip.
“No, please!” she begged desperately, and the sound tugged on Gabrion’s heart.
“Kitalla…”
“It’s a ruse, Gabrion,” Kitalla responded. “Help me with her. She isn’t done yet. These tears are fake.”
“How could you?” Heria sobbed. “Everyone turns against me. No one ever trusts me. No one ever wanted to understand me. Why?”
Gabrion worked his way over, his boots making loud sucking sounds with each step as he pulled up from the tar. He was careful in his steps so as to avoid all the pitfalls the girl had opened. He saw the ultimate sorrow on Heria’s face, and the stream of constant tears falling down her dirty cheeks, cutting lines through the sheep’s blood on one side. She looked a mess.
He couldn’t help himself. He reached in to pull her out from under the plank, as Kitalla knew he would. She was ready for it, and when warrior took the girl in his arms, Kitalla came quickly to his aid.
It was in a flash that Heria jabbed her dagger into Gabrion’s side. Once her arm was free, she acted without hesitation and even Kitalla’s anticipation of the move wasn’t enough. The warrior fell over into the pitch, clutching his side as Heria laughed and pulled away easily. Her shoes were laced with talc that resisted the pull of the tar and she was able to easily bounce away to another floor tile. As Kitalla bent down to examine Gabrion’s wound, Heria’s cackle echoed once more, cracking the floor tile and opening another set of trap doors in the ceiling. Instead of releasing tar, these dropped numerous flasks of liquid, and when they crashed upon the stony floor, noxious vapors filled the chamber.
“Not much time left now!” Heria sang. “Fresh air is what you’ll need! That toxin is stronger than the rest. Pity that I won’t be able to learn your dance steps, but my life matters more.” She twirled and leaped toward the exit, oblivious to the two daggers Kitalla had sent through the air. They struck the girl in the back, bringing her crashing down.
“No pain, Gabrion,” Kitalla said, trying to ignore her own. “Try not to breathe either. Come on, let’s go.”
It was a challenge pulling him up from the floor. The wound in his side would need serious attention and soon, but with the horrid vapors filling the area, they needed to get out first anyway. Kitalla could hardly see through her squinted eyes, but she did her best to find patches of floor that had less tar than others. G
abrion drew breaths through his hand and tried to hold them for as long as he could, but each step forward tugged on his side and made him gasp. Soon the two of them were coughing and retching, pushing harder to reach the exit.
As they went, Heria also struggled to rise. The daggers had struck full force, but hadn’t hit any vital organs. She hated herself for not expecting the attack, even more that the foolish hag had been the one responsible. She didn’t have an antidote to the poison on her. The vines had seen to that on the journey there. But if she could get out, there was still a chance she could survive. She got to her hands and knees and slogged forward the best she could.
It became clear to her that Kitalla and the warrior would reach the exit first, so Heria reached into her tunic and removed the last of her daggers, trying to take them down in one last attempt. Kitalla was ready this time and she shoved Gabrion ahead a step, then dodged aside as the dagger hit the wall.
“No!” Heria screamed. “No!” She pulled forward, but started gagging as the toxic air swelled around her.
“We’ve got to do something,” Gabrion gasped.
Kitalla knew it was coming. “Keep going, I’ll get her,” she snarled. She shoved the warrior one last time and he took the hint to keep moving onward. She then turned toward the teen, who didn’t understand what was happening and started thrashing about in defiance. “Settle down, little fool,” Kitalla said, reaching to pull her up.
But Heria wouldn’t have it. She kicked out at Kitalla’s leg and swung one arm upward with all the strength she had, which wasn’t much after the dagger strikes to her back. The pain clouded her eyes and Kitalla knew that between the wounds and the poison, this girl didn’t have much longer to live. Still, Gabrion would never forgive her if she didn’t try. Kitalla reached down again and yanked the girl to her feet. She then shoved her harshly forward, closer to the exit. Heria flopped down onto the tar in a heap, coughing and sputtering and crying in earnest now.
Kitalla went to her again, taking breaths through the sleeve of her tunic, hoping it might block some of the poison. Heria responded like an old doll, limp and with no more fight left in her. Kitalla hoisted her up and carried her the rest of the way, where Gabrion grabbed hold and dragged as well. Soon, the three of them were free of the underground cavern.
The Shattered Shards Page 10