by Mark Eller
“Big man,” Charle observed. “Lots of meat.”
“We haven’t fallen that far yet,” Ludwig snapped.
Charle’s stare was cool. “A big strong man can help us get our stolen goods back.”
“Not if we let a vulture pluck his eyes out,” Harlo observed, and he took off at a stumbling run. Disappointed by his friend’s unseemly show of energy, Ludwig followed.
When Ludwig reached them, Harlo almost had the big man free. Ludwig watched with growing misgivings, not quite sure if it might have been better to just kill the miserable fellow. He was a torn, bloody mess. His cheeks hung in shredded flaps. Deep gouges decorated his chest and arms, and though he was capable of thrashing and moving, Ludwig doubted his movement had any conscious purpose. The only thing staring from his eyes was blank incomprehension. Fly eggs lay in his wounds, although, truth to tell, they didn’t look many hours old since he saw no obvious sign of maggots.
Trembling, the man’s lips silently moved.
“What’s he saying?” Relic demanded.
“My village,” Ludwig answered. “Salt my village.” He glared at their doubting stares. “I can read lips. Okay.”
“Makes no sense,” Harlo said, frowning. “This one is no use. We might as well kill him and move on.”
Tirelle vibrated on her cord. “He has a confused face, but I like him.”
“He doesn’t have much of a face at all,” Harlo noted, glancing around. “There must be a rock we can drop on his head somewhere around here.”
Ludwig started to point, but his arm froze.
“Don’t,” Tirelle ordered. “This one is important in some way, or there is something important about him.” Her voice had grown deeper, more mature, but her tone held uncertainty. “Anothosia wants him to live.”
“Anothosia’s a bitch goddess who doesn't give a damn about anybody who isn’t her acolyte,” Ludwig said. “We can’t save him. Let’s just kill the fellow and move on.”
“I can save him,” Tirelle said. “I come from the forests, from the trees, so one of my strongest magics is the ability to heal that which is broken.”
Arm pressed to his broken ribs, Charle pushed himself forward to glower at the amulet. “What! Why haven’t you told us this before? We’ve suffered. Some of us have died from wounds gone bad. Even now I feel broken ribs pressing on my lungs.”
“Cry baby,” Relic muttered.
“Ludwig never asked me,” Tirelle explained. “He is my master.”
“Master!” Harlo snorted.
“I never knew,” Ludwig protested. “Do you think I’d have suffered my fever and these bites if I knew there was a way to be healed?”
“My foppish lord did not ask you to heal this man,” Harlo said suspiciously. “Why are you making the offer now?”
“Trelsar asked me to heal him,” Tirelle explained. “He said I should heal all of you, so I will.” She eyes rolled to look at Ludwig. “Except him. I won’t heal him because he’s a beast.”
“We need every man healthy,” Harlo pleaded. “Will you heal him just this once so he can fight? After all, if you’re lucky he might get a sword through his guts.”
Ludwig felt a small buzzing on his chest and then heard several snaps. His wounds itched and closed. His aches faded, and the exhaustion residing all the way to his bones drained away until only a small headache remained. Relic sighed, Charle straightened, and the man on the ground spoke. Looking down, Ludwig saw his face was now healed and damnably ugly. He was a young, craggy example proving common peasants really shouldn’t be allowed to breed.
“Ludwig’s still missing half his nipple,” Relic observed wryly.
“Nobody asked me to replace missing pieces,” Tirelle snapped.
Frowning unhappily, Ludwig fingered his maimed chest and wished his lordly father had given him a less petulant amulet.
Gasping, the stranger sat up, looked at them, and his eyes grew wide with sudden realization. “They took my salt. Wagons of it. My village needs the money. They’re depending on me.”
“Salt!” Relic exclaimed. “Wagons of salt!”
Ludwig could almost see gold coins tumbling in Relic’s eyes. In many areas salt was damn hard to come by. It might not be the most expensive seasoning on the market, but it was damned close. Several wagon loads would be worth more than everything Belthethsia had stolen from them. Harlo’s lips quirked in a half smile, a sure sign he expected profit to frost his revenge.
“Where are your teamsters?” Charle asked.
“Run off,” the man replied. “They didn’t even try to resist.” He ran a shaking hand through his ragged hair. “I’ll have to tell my village I failed.”
“You didn’t fail,” Harlo said. “We have a grudge against a certain lady, so we’ll get your wagons back for you.”
“You’d do that?” the man asked.
Smiling, Ludwig nodded at the dumb hick and wondered how much longer he could continue killing innocents to steal their goods and money. On the other hand, since the band was hungry, thirsty, and had no weapons or horses, they would probably die long before they killed the fellow for his salt.
Charle fingered the empty sheath at his side where a knife had once hung. “Yeah,” he said. “Get it back. We just need the right bait.” His nasty smile turned on Ludwig.
Ludwig felt suddenly cold. “Oh no! She’ll kill me.”
“Not right away,” Harlo supplied. “You called her a bitch, so she’ll hurt you real bad first. About the time she gets to the killing part you can tell her you’re a baron and were our captive. She probably wants money more than salt. Ransoming rich barons is one sure way to get it. While they are distracted with you, the rest of us will sneak in and steal some weapons after we kill the original owners.”
“She’ll hurt me bad,” Ludwig repeated. After all, only minutes had passed since Tirelle had healed him, Already, Ludwig found he enjoyed the pain free sensation.
“We can do worse,” Charle warned. “We know where Gertunda lives. Besides, Tirelle will fix any damage.”
“You wish,” Tirelle muttered.
Ludwig swallowed. “You’ll wait no more than an hour?”
“I was thinking along the lines of a day,” Harlo said musingly, “or maybe two.”
* * * *
Three days later Ludwig looked into the setting sun while he trudged over a knoll and wished somebody would kill him. His legs ached. His clothes hung in tatters, and he was, at best, only a few hours from passing out. Not surprising since almost two days without water tended to make a fellow miserable. His tongue felt twice its normal size. He had to fight back the urge to chew on it since the thing constantly pressed between his teeth. The recently healed blisters on his feet had been remade, broken, and reformed again. The odor of stale sweat and infection wafting from his too small boots would have made his stomach rebel if it had been fed more than a few dirt covered tubers in the last few days.
Sometimes it didn’t pay to have friends.
When he reached the top of the knoll, Ludwig breathed a sigh of relief. Salt wagons and harness arvids were spread before him. Half a dozen men worked at making camp for the night. A small fire smelling of dung sent flickering flames questing high while somebody in a skirt set a kettle above it.
“Belthethsia,” Ludwig breathed. Hate burned through him. He felt at the missing part of his nipple and shuddered. As miserable as he felt now, Belthethsia would make him feel infinitely worse.
A face turned in his direction. A shout sounded and weapons were pulled free. Smiling with relief, Ludwig fell to his knees and passed out.
* * * *
Ludwig opened his eyes to discover a chunk of something half raw had been thrust between his jaws. A wild-haired woman wearing a skewed smile placed on an inhumanly serene face stood over him. She owned work callused hands, Ludwig saw, a faded, oft repaired dress, and absolutely insane eyes.
Accepting hunger over dignity, Ludwig chewed down the meat while she watched. He c
leared his throat, tested his voice, and begged. “Please don’t let Belthethsia hurt me. I’m a baron. I’m worth a lot of money.”
The woman continued smiling. “I love you. Do you want to eat me?”
Ludwig shook his head slightly and wished the world would stop spinning. Still, he didn’t feel as bad as he should have, so it was likely Tirelle had healed him somewhat. “I’m sick. I need water.”
“That’s okay,” the woman said, “you can eat me later.” She left. Shortly afterward, she returned and tilted a water bucket three feet above his face. “Drink.”
Ludwig gasped when water poured down. It dropped into his face, drenched his chest, but he had no choice but to open his mouth and drink as much of it as he could catch. Too soon, the flow slowed, stopped. Abruptly righting the bucket, the woman silently walked away.
A chuckle rasped beside him. Turning his head, Ludwig saw a small man with huge shoulders and haunted eyes. “She’s loony,” the man explained. “As likely to slit your throat as play bumpy bump in the middle of the night.” His smile grew. “A few days ago she screwed my employer, a man named Dern, and then had her people stake him out for the vultures. She’s a mess, but she’s ours until her real master comes back.” He nodded slightly. “M’name’s Vleck, by th’ way.”
“Her master can have her,” Ludwig said, looking toward the woman. “I’ve had too many dealings with crazy women to want another near me.”
“Well, as to that,” the man grinned, “You don’t really have much choice because she gives the orders.”
“But she’s insane!”
“And she’s killed three of us in the last two days,” Vleck admitted. “Don’t change anything. She’s in charge because her master says so. I ain’t going against anything he says no matter if it does get me killed. I ain’t afraid of no man. All they can do is kill you. Devils is a different matter. A devil with a grudge will make your death an eternal hell once they get your soul into Zorce‘s realm.”
He patted Ludwig’s shoulder. “Don’t count on being worth some sorta ransom helping you out any. She don’t care ‘bout none of that. She just wants what she wants.”
“Where does Belthethsia fit into this?” Ludwig asked, biting back a groan. Tirelle’s silent song suddenly vibrated disharmoniously within his skull.
Vleck shrugged. “Never heard of her. Maybe your Belthethsia hooked up with the Jolson fellow our lady’s master is looking for.” He gestured toward the rest of the camp. “There’s three more of us left. Gaze ‘n Felix ‘n Hammer. Hammer was a smith, so you can’t mistake him. Has shoulder’s like a bull. Gaze has a wandering eye. Thing just goes where it wants without his never-mind. That‘s Felix coming with some food and water, so she must not want to kill you yet. Guess she wants you to shovel salt instead.”
* * * *
The next morning Hammer dragged Ludwig off the suddenly frost covered ground and shoved a shovel into his hands. He gestured at the salt wagons, and then waved beyond them.
“I don’t understand,” Ludwig said, feeling grateful because Tirelle had obviously taken some pity on him. He knew he looked a wreck, but he didn’t feel bad at all.
Opening his mouth wide, Hammer showed Ludwig the crusted stump of a recently severed tongue.
“I’ll get right on it,” Ludwig promised, and he trotted toward the wagons. Vleck and Gaze stood near the far wagon, shovels in their hands, salt dust covering their clothes as light snow drifted down from a summer warm sky. The wagon was half empty. Off to the side, another wagon had been emptied and then broken. Salt lay scattered on the ground, spread around in a half circle where two harnessed arvid teams had been bled. Nude, her crossed legs resting on Felix‘s headless body, the woman sat on one carved carcass and calmly tore skin away from raw arvid flesh with her teeth.
“I wish I could be sick,” Tirelle whispered inside Ludwig’s head. For once, Ludwig couldn’t blame his amulet for her delicate sensibilities. The woman’s body looked firm and tight and several years younger than her probable age. Ludwig had paid high wages to more than one flute girl who was this woman’s physical inferior, but despite her beauty Ludwig found the woman’s appearance disturbing. Something foul and most likely rancid writhed beneath her skin. In a time when devils and demons and succubae walked the land, Ludwig had no doubts very little human remained in this woman.
“We sneak away tonight,” Ludwig promised his slave. “Belthethsia isn’t here.”
“If we can,” Tirelle agreed, without the least trace of sulkiness, “but Harlo is supposed to attack tonight.”
The woman tore free another chunk of meat and hide. Spreading her arms wide, she swiveled about to lie down upon the bloody arvid carcass. Smiling sweetly, she pointed at the shovel bearing men. “Now.”
Gaze dug his shovel into the salt, lifted a load, and cast it on her. When the salt struck, the woman screeched. Welts rose on her body where the crystals touched.
“More!” she demanded. “Give me more!”
Vleck, Hammer, and Gaze shoveled salt on her as fast as they could. Some of it turned red with her blood. Froth burst from her mouth, but her lips remained smiling. Her arm rose, and an accusing finger pointed at Ludwig.
“Shovel,” Vleck ordered. “If you don’t want her wearing your guts as a necklace, shovel for all you’re worth.
“Take me to Hell!” the woman shouted.
Shoving his blade deep into the crystal pile, Ludwig shoveled. He dug deep and threw salt on the crazy woman as fast as he could manage. He shoveled so hard his blade dug splinters from the wagon’s wood when the salt was almost gone, but then Hammer was there, pulling a new salt loaded wagon to them, using nothing but the might of his arms and his tree-trunk legs.
Switching wagons, Ludwig shoveled while the crazy woman screamed. Before long, her screams were muffled beneath a three foot blanket of salt. Around them, more than half a foot of fresh fallen snow rested on the ground.
When the second wagon was empty, Ludwig set the tip of his shovel down and blew warm breath over his suddenly chilled hands. “I’m leaving.”
“You can’t,” Gaze said. His wandering eye looked at the overcast sky. “The devil gave us orders to do what she says.”
“He never gave me orders,” Ludwig pointed out. “I wouldn’t obey them even if he did. I don’t follow Athos or Zorce. The only god I follow is Nedross.”
“There ain’t no Nedross,” Vleck said, still shoveling. “He’s a made up god.”
Picking up his shovel, Ludwig slammed it into the wagon’s side. “Gods damn it! I know he’s a bloody made up god! I was fucking there at the time! Look, the woman can’t hurt you if you‘re not here. She’s insane, not superhuman.”
“She gets to you,” Vleck admitted. “She gets inside your head. You want to obey her, only it’s a slimy and sick wanting because she’s not right. I think she’s been infected by Hell, but none of that matters. The devil ordered us to obey her.”
“I’m leaving,” Ludwig repeated, and he turned away. Faint screams still sounded from beneath the salt. The pile writhed.
Tirelle shouted a warning in his head. Ludwig twisted and dropped. A shovel’s iron blade slammed into the wagon’s side. Desperate, he scrambled under the wagon just in time to avoid Vleck’s lunge with a knife. Crawling out the other side, Ludwig found himself surrounded by legs and reaching arms.
“Athos!” he cursed and lunged forward to slam his head into a belly. His blow was answered by a pained grunt, and then he heard bone snap and a stifled shout. A face loomed before him. Ludwig swung a fist, but missed. Hands grabbed him, spun him around, and then his face hit the ground as somebody gurgled and died. Another somebody flipped him over, dragged him up, and Ludwig saw Harlo’s impudent and mocking grin.
“Having trouble, Milord?” Harlo asked. “We decided to step in early once we saw everybody’s attention was devoted to working. I suspect yer glad we did.”
“I suspect you’re right,” Ludwig admitted. Vleck’s body, hea
d canted at an odd angle, lay at his feet.Several feet away,Gaze’s eyes both pointed in the same direction, though his stare was blank. Further off to the side, Hammer stood with his arms hanging limply, his face haggard, devoid of hope. Charle and Dern stood before him, Charle holding Vleck’s dropped knife while Dern hoisted a threatening shovel.
“You stole my salt,” Dern said. “I’m taking it back.”
Hammer looked at them, looked to the quivering pile of salt, sat down, and silently cried as new ferns broke from the snow covered ground.
“Something strange is going on,” Relic said, just as a blood smeared arm broke free of the salt. The arm was followed by another, and then the woman pulled herself free, sobbing. Her shed blood writhed, formed thick strings, and flowed over her body to be sucked back into her as if her skin were a sponge. Her face twisted into a human caricature. Tears of rage, agony, and pure vitriol streamed down her face.
“I’d say you’re right,” Harlo noted. “Your strange is too strange for me.” He looked around curiously, his eyes hooded. “Wasn’t it a bit colder just a few moments ago, and considerably wetter? I could swear there was snow.”
“He promised me Hell!” the woman screamed to the sky. “Why didn’t he take me to Hell?” Skin bubbled on her feet where they touched the salt.
“She’s damaged,” Ludwig said, drawing Harlo’s attention away from the weather, “and she’s been corrupted.”
When the woman looked at them, her angelic smile returned. “Are you my new family?” Her gaze settled on Ludwig. “Are you my hunter?”
Shrugging, Harlo sighed. “I’m your hunter, darling.” Taking the knife from Charle, he stepped gingerly on the salt, waited a moment, and released a relieved sigh when nothing happened.
“Phrandex ate me,” the woman said, “and I loved him for it. He fucked me and ate my breasts and belly, and then he healed me in the morning and said everything would be all right, only some of him is in me and it isn’t all right and he’s looking for Jolson and I want to go to Hell but the salt won‘t take me and nobody will eat me.”
“I’ll take you there,” Harlo said. “I know the way.”