“It’s yer funeral, boy.” The man raised his sword, stepping forward and Jineva threw the knife in one smooth underhand toss, the way Uncle Diego had taught her, the motion nearly automatic. The man stood surprised for a moment, looking at the knife handle standing out of his chest, before he crumbled. Somewhere an owl hooted, and Jineva twitched, staring at the man she had just killed with her own hands.
After cutting off the remaining restraints, she picked up the small body, and received several small surprises. The first was that the creature was much lighter than she expected. The second was that, unlike a frog that it resembled, it was warm blooded. Large dark eyes looked gravely into hers, showing no fear. Her arms were shaking as she carried the small being down to the cool dark water. Splashing water over its face and gills, she held it gently, and when it had revived, held its dark eyes with hers for a moment, before she broke the arrow shaft in two, and slowly withdrew it from the wound. The green creature made a thin mewling sound as the arrow came out, and then was quiet. Using strips torn from her own clothing, she bound the wound as best she could. Giving it a gentle push toward the water, she indicated that it was free to leave before she backed away. The creature watched her for a moment, turned, and with hardly a splash, disappeared into the water.
Jineva returned to the body of the dead trapper, taking what she needed and leaving the rest. Her movements were jerky as she followed Meara’s instructions blindly, too heartsick to even think. Tear filled eyes never noticed the small green head watching her from the water. The creature floated there for some time, observing the distraught girl before it disappeared.
Songs of the birds woke her, and she rolled over lazily and stretched. The air smelled clean-scrubbed, with just a spicy hint of cedar. Opening her eyes, she noticed the trees overhead and remembered everything—except how she got there.
Jineva looked around more carefully. She still felt the hurt from killing the trapper, but it was remote, more distant, the memory less demanding. The thought of her lost parents and brother hurt her so badly she could do nothing but lock the memories away for the moment. Perhaps someday they wouldn’t hurt as badly and she could examine them in more depth, but not now, not today. Her boots were sitting next to the small bower, finally dry from the river soaking. The knife and sword hanging from a nearby branch looked unfamiliar.
There was a deep growl from Meara.
Jineva grumbled as she stood up, stretching in the morning sun.
Jineva belted on the new knife. It was a much better knife than Breno’s, a clinical part of her mind told her.
The soothing voice in her head replied slowly.
The rowboat was a sturdy little craft, about ten feet long and had at one time been fitted with a sail. Jineva studied the corroded fittings at the bow and on the stern. A hand painted name on the small transom had been crudely scratched away, but the bright yellow stripe running around the boat just below the chipped and battered gunwale remained. There wasn’t too much water in the bottom, Jineva thought with a dry chuckle. That was always a good thing. A wrapped oilskin bundle stuffed under the front seat caught her eye.
Meara sounded slightly embarrassed. Jineva ignored her as she pulled the wrapped package from under the seat, and began to unpack it, setting the first contents carefully on the seat: fishing line, hooks and small crude First Aid kit. It took several minutes before she recognized the firebow. The cooking spices confused her for only a moment, and the small heat-proof ceramic cup and the small cloth bag of dried leaves made her want to whoop with joy. She could have a hot cup of tea with dinner tonight. A second oilskin bundle, packed behind the first held a few spare clothes. Jineva was humming as she carefully repacked her bundles of treasures, keeping out only the fishing line and hooks.
It was a thin trickle of smoke that alerted her, almost lost against the rapidly darkening sky. The boom of the surf sounded loudly in the distance, but she still couldn’t see the ocean. Widening to almost three miles, Jineva hugged the northern shore of the Vale River, mostly because it allowed her to hide in shadow longer. She could smell the smoke in the air now, and the thin dark plume was scarcely a quarter mile distant when she beached her small boat, pulling it quietly up onto a small sandy spit of land. Jineva reached for her knife, hesitated, and after a moment’s thought, removed her newly acquired sword.
She passed silently between the rocks, flitting from one shadow to the next. Not even the few birds clucking quietly in the trees seemed to notice. The crude shack was tucked back into the heavy pines, and the small unattended fire crackled merrily. The camp seemed deserted, and the hairs on Jineva’s neck stirred. Something wasn’t right.
“Niña Chiquita. I never expected to see ye here, on this side of the great veil of death.” A gruff voice said behind her.
Chapter 3
Jineva froze, her sword automatically coming up to a guard position. “Good, good.” The voice out of the darkness rumbled, almost jovially. “Ye remembered what I taught ye.”
“Uncle Diego?” Jineva turned slowly, staring at the dark apparition.
Wearing a wide grin, Diego Giani hobbled out from under the shadows of the trees where he had been waiting, his right leg bound in a crude splint, using a bent tree limb as a crutch. A long purple gash marred his right cheek from chin to ear, and a dirty bandage was wrapped around the upper part of his left arm, which hung by his belt in a crude but effective sling. He looked like hell.
“You should see the other guy.” Uncle Diego gave her a conspiratorial wink.
She desperately wanted to run to him, and throw her arms about him, and have “Uncle” Diego tell her that everything was going to be all right. She sheathed her sword instead, and sighed. “Did Father...?” Diego’s face fell, and he shook his head.
“Did Michan...?” He returned, loo
king at her intently. Jineva shook her head slowly.
“He drowned before we ever reached the beach.”
Diego walked over to the fire and sat down with a sigh, his bad leg straight out in front of him. The fire popped and a shower of sparks rose into the dark night air. “At least the local patrols never caught you. They execute everyone they...”
“They caught me.” Jineva said quietly, staring into the fire. “And I went down the long slide into the Vale of Tears.”
Diego just stared at her, his eyes wide. “But...”
“As you can see, I survived the fall. How, is another story, for another day. A while later, as I hiked down the shore of the Vale River I came on a trapper. He was probably the cruelest man I’ve ever met.”
“That must have been Kratz.” Diego growled. “He’s a nasty hombre. He only left me alone because he thought I was dead. How did you get away from him?”
Jineva shut her eyes, and could see the scene all over again. “I didn’t. I killed him, and took his knife and boat. That’s how I got here.” She felt hot tears on her cheeks once more. “You taught me too well, Uncle Diego. He drew his sword and I threw the knife, just like you taught me. He looked really surprised, before he fell down. I took what I needed and headed downstream.” She gave him a long look and a sad little laugh. “With that leg I’ll bet you haven’t been eating too well. I always was a better cook than you, Uncle.”
Diego tried to look indignant, and failed. “I caught me a fish yesterday, so I’m not doing too badly.”
Jineva laughed at the poor lie, and touched his shoulder. “I have a string of a dozen fish I caught hanging on the stern of my boat. I’ll make us a nice meal.”
Diego struggled to his feet, despite Jineva’s protests, and gave her a low, if awkward, bow. “Dama Jineva.” He raised his eyes to her embarrassed face. She knew very well what the honorific “dama” meant. “You are my Niña Chiquita, my ‘little girl,’ no longer. Like it or not, you are Lady Jineva Barillo, the legitimate ruler of this land.”
Jineva gave him a long look, before she patted his shoulder again. “That’s very nice. I’ll go get the fish and make some dinner.” Her look hardened. “Then we can see how badly you’ve cared for your hurts... men...” She mumbled under her breath, turning away from the fire.
Diego watched her go and wondered at the young woman who was suddenly so very much like her mother, and wondered if he could stand that pain again. A smile crept across his battered face as he realized that he could, and would.
~~~
Jineva set down the empty teacup she and Diego had shared over their fish dinner. As she figured he would, Diego ate eight of the small trout himself, and only restrained himself out of politeness. The last time he had eaten had probably been on her father’s boat.
“Now.” She reached out and began unwrapping the broken leg. “Let’s look at that leg.”
Diego tried to pull away. “It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry...” The bandage fell off to reveal a bone fragment poking out of his pale shin, halfway between ankle and knee. The odor of putrefied flesh almost made her gag, and she could see the first black fingers of sepsis or gangrene eating into his flesh. His face fell. “I could na set the bone myself. Now that yer here ye could probably cut the leg off, but that would be the only way te save my life.”
“Let me think.” Jineva tried to rally her stunned feelings.
It was the smell that woke her, again, but this time it was the smell of broiling fish that caught her nose. She rolled over, idly pulling a pine needle out of her hair. She felt tired but contented. From her position in the pine bower she could just see her uncle’s back as he prepared breakfast. She glanced up at the sun, frowning. Lunch.
“Thought ye were gunna sleep all day.” Diego looked over his shoulder and grinned. “It musta been all those fish I et. Did me a world of good. Why, I ain’t felt this good since before the battle. Felt so good in fact that I borrowed yer fishin’ line and went after a couple of fat salmon I seen swimming in a deep pool. They’re about done if’n ye care te git up.”
“I suppose.” Jineva returned the smile and stretched, watching as Diego hobbled about the camp in a splint that was now completely for show. When she and Meara had finished late the previous night his leg and arm had been as good as new. The face she left scarred, as a reminder to Diego of his own mortality.
Jineva sighed and sat back from the fire, idly picking her teeth with a small salmon bone. The fish had been a wonderful treat, and Diego really was a good cook, despite her teasing accusations to the contrary.
“What do you know of Isla del Diablo, Uncle Diego?”
He studied the young serious woman who sat at the fire across from him. She looked like a thin boy right now, but he knew that would soon change. “Isla del Diablo is a fat blob of an island, six hundred miles across and eight hundred long, more or less, and bisected neatly, north to south, by an impassable spine of mountains. On the west side of the island a great chasm pierces the landmass as far as the mountains. In most places the cliffs of the chasm are four to five hundred feet straight up from the Vale River. In the capital city of Xolotl resides the great Temple of Tepoztecam, where the high priest Tlatoani sacrifices prisoners to the gods by throwing them down a long slide and into the Vale of Tears. Their screams are said to appease the gods, and bring fertility to women and crops.”
“I’ve met Tlatoani.” Jineva murmured in a flat voice, staring at nothing, hugging her knees. “He needs to bathe more. He stinks.”
Diego blinked back his surprise, swallowed and continued. “There are a couple of small cities, and a handful of smaller towns and villages on the western shore of del Diablo, most within a few dozen miles of the Vale, over which there are only three bridges; the Bridge of the Sun, the Bridge of Flowers, and the Bridge of the Night. As far as we know, only one or two towns exist on the eastern side of del Diablo, and not much is known about them. The people of del Diablo, who are unusually mean and surly, use the same currency as we do; the peso.” He held up a small coin. Made of intricately cut and shaped amber, the coin was inscribed with the mythical face of the first king of the Aztlán Archipelago. In the entire land there was only one place on Isla del Gato where amber could be found, and the mine and mint was heavily guarded. “Outside of the city of Xolotl, things become more dangerous. Animals become more deadly, and even the plants try to kill unwary travelers.” He glanced suspiciously at the water, a few hundred yards away. “And then there are the sealkies.”
Jineva frowned. “I’ve heard you mention sealkies before, in passing. What are they?”
“Water people.” Diego continu
ed, whispering. “They live in the oceans and rivers around Isla del Diablo. Legends say they sneak into homes along the shore and steal babies to eat. Sometime they even sink unwary ships and make off with their crews. They look like...”
“Green skin, four arms.” Jineva interrupted, giving her uncle a crooked smile. “Long necks with gills on the sides. Large black eyes, about half again the size of a human. No nose, just flaps of skin, I assume to keep out the water.” Diego nodded numbly. “Yeah, I’ve met one. It didn’t seem so dangerous to me, but then it was young. Kratz was using it as bait to catch the parents. I let it go.” She murmured, shrugging as if this were an everyday occurrence.
“I think, Dama,” Diego began slowly, “that perhaps you should tell me the entire story of your escape.”
Jineva sighed, and within her mind felt a warm supportive hug from Meara. “I’m not the same little girl you lowered into that lifeboat a few days ago, Uncle Diego. I’ve—changed.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as dust. “I think, perhaps, it’s time for you to unwind the bandage on your leg.”
Diego’s face had gone pale as he began unwinding, afraid of what he would find. The last wrapping fell away to reveal pink healthy skin, without even a trace of a scar. “I...” He began tearing at the bandage on his arm, to find the same healthy skin. The bandages dropped to the ground from his limp fingers, and his mouth worked soundlessly.
Jineva dropped a handful of pine needles into the cup of hot water, stirred it and handed it to Diego. “Try a nice cup of pine needle tea, Uncle. It’s good for you.”
He automatically took the cup and sipped, jerking his head back with a muffled curse. “HOT!”
Jineva stifled a laugh. “Hot tea is HOT, Uncle. You should know, you taught me how to make it.”
Diego took another sip, and began to laugh. “Yer, still my little Niña Chiquita after all. Still playing tricks on me, despite what yev become.” He looked at her critically. “Or are becoming.”
Vale of Tears: A Thalassia novel Page 3