Black Recluse

by Anna Bowman

  Blood.

  It trailed away from the man back toward the abandoned dock.

  Sol!

  The muffled sound of a suppressed rifle sounded from further into the fields. How she hated being right sometimes! No thought to consequences entered her mind after that. Darting across the field, she retraced the steps from earlier. No more shots rang out, but that didn’t stop the rising fear that threatened to overtake her. And then, near the end of the grassy fields, she saw him.

  “Sol!” she breathed out, running faster.

  He was on his knees. Blood streamed down the side of his head from a deep gash on his left temple. Rayn dashed forward, crashing to the ground beside him. Her arms caught him as he fell forward. His jacket was warm and wet.

  Oh god!

  “Rayn.” Sol spoke through gritted teeth. “Go back…before—”

  A bullet cut through the air right next to her head.

  Too late for that now.

  She dragged his arm over her shoulders and struggled to get him off the ground.

  “Come on, Sol!” She strained to keep him from falling as she walked him forward, bent over as more bullets sailed past.

  “Damnit, Rayn!” Sol sounding groggy. “You should have…stayed on the docks.”

  Rayn’s foot found a hole, and she lurched forward. A pain shot up her leg.

  “Shit!” She crouched down and shifted Sol’s weight onto her back, grasping hold of his arms. Grunting, she shuffled forward, knees bent, toward the skiff.

  Will saw her coming and jumped out.

  “What happened?” he asked, dragging Sol off of her and hoisting him onto the deck of the skiff. In the crisp moonlight, Rayn could see the dark spot on his coat had expanded. Blood covered the entire left side of his face. Her back felt wet where he had laid on her.

  “Airmen.” She managed to get the word out. “Solomand got one, but there’s still...”

  A bullet splintered on the deck next to them, and she ducked at the same time Will did.

  Will’s face was only a few inches from hers as they bent over Sol.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said, frowning, and Rayn could tell what he was thinking.

  You should have gotten the hell out of here, Rayn.

  This had been her last chance to find the answers to who she was. But if she’d left Sol, regret would haunt her forever.

  “I’ve made my choice, Will.”

  Her ticket was gone, anyway—lost somewhere in the blood-stained grass.

  Will relented with a nod. He scrambled across the deck as another bullet splintered into the side. Their assailant was getting closer.

  “Here.” He tossed Rayn a medical kit from below deck. “Try to slow his bleeding. I’ll get us out of here.”

  He jumped in the pilot’s seat.

  “You need to get him to a doctor!” she called.

  “Only doctors worth a damn are in Corcyra—Governor’s law. I have to get him to Tristan.”

  Rayn’s hands shook as she tore Sol’s jacket open.

  But he might bleed to death by then!

  She kept the worry to herself and fumbled for some gauze as the engines roared to life.

  Will was a much smoother pilot than Sol, but Sol still slid against the mast, smearing the deck with blood. Rayn gulped, working to pack his wounds with gauze and keep them both from flying off the skiff.

  Damnit, Sol. Don’t die!

  She swore.

  Chapter 35

  Rayn

  The way back to Lubafell seemed to take twice as long, though the high-pitched whine of the engines and the smoke smell was evidence of Will’s pushing them to extremes. Rayn’s hands shook as she packed more gauze into the already soaked bandages. He didn’t move, but at least the blood had stopped seeping through his head wound. His pulse grew weak. They were running out of time.

  You better make it, Sol.

  The skiff rattled as Will pushed the throttle to its absolute limit and turned on Jank’s emergency thrusters. It was still dark when they neared the valley. The subtle glow of approaching daylight hung over the trees. The whole skiff shuddered as Will brought it onto the docking rails and the engine sputtered as he shut it off. Smoke and the tinny smell of hot metal filled the air.

  Jank darted barefooted down the path, his baggy shirt untucked and his hair looking wilder than usual. Hands on his head, his face filled with horror on sight of the smoking engine.

  “Will! What the f—.”

  “Wake Tristan!” Will cut him off, springing from the pilot’s seat to scoop Solomand in his arms.

  The look of fury transformed into horror as Jank set eyes on Sol and he dashed, stumbling, up the path without another word.

  Rayn’s arms ached, and her legs felt wobbly as she plodded after Will and into the Castle. There was a light on in Tristan’s room, and Will was already half-way up the stairs before she managed to stagger inside the building. She peeled the cap off her head and leaned all her weight on the banister as she climbed the stairs to Tristan’s room. Waiting for them, he looked pale and haggard.

  Will laid Sol face down on a tall, silver table lined with sheets. Tristan unrolled a canvas wrap on his bed, revealing knives and other surgical instruments.

  “Get his jacket off.”

  All lightheartedness gone from Tristan’s voice, he was urgent and severe. In a daze, Rayn watched as Jank and Will fumbled with Sol’s arm, knocking syringes and a glass bottle onto the floor. Something brushed against her arm, and she looked over as the Slav pushed past her. His curved dagger out, he strode up to Sol and sliced his jacket from the neck down and pulled the two halves off him.

  Sol’s white shirt was red. Tristan was cutting it open already, moving with calm precision.

  “He’s lost a great deal of blood.” He rubbed his forehead, frowning. “Get his shirt off, Ivan.”

  Ivan readily cut Solomand’s shirt free, exposing the gruesome exit wound on the edge of his shoulder, and long, white scars running all across his back. Blood trickled down his limp arm and dripped from his fingertips into a pool on the floor.

  Rayn felt like the room was closing in. It was hot, and the air refused to go into her lungs. She slumped against the wall. Her eyes moved from the scars on his back to the oozing hole in his shoulder.

  Tristan’s brow furrowed, sweat already streaking down his face. His hands were shaking as he pressed gauze onto Sol’s open wound. “He’s lost too much.” Lines formed on his face as his breathing became heavier.

  Ivan’s jaw tightened, and he dragged a chair over to the table.

  “My blood is same.” He grabbed a coil of clear tubing and from the table and poked a needle into the bulging vein on his right forearm as he turned to Tristan. “You stop bleeding.”

  Tristan nodded, his mouth a hard line.

  Everything became brighter until there was nothing but a blur and Rayn fell forward to the floor.

  Chapter 36

  Rayn

  Rayn sat up and groaned as a stabbing pain shot through her right temple.

  “Owe.” She leaned forward, squeezing her head between her hands. Her skin was sweaty, locks of hair clung to the back of her neck. Her overcoat was stifling in this room.

  Room?

  She drew her hands back and stopped, seeing the dried blood caked over her fingers.

  “Sol…”

  She remembered passing out now.

  How long was I out?

  She tugged off her overcoat and dropped it to the floor as she ran out the door.

  Sunlight filtered through a high window in Tristan’s room. Tristan was nowhere to be seen, and Solomand lay on the bed, a blanket pulled up to his chest. Various, jagged looking scars were half-covered by the bandages wrapped around his torso.

  “I thought you leave for Grishtanburg.”

  The low voice startled her at first, and her eyes darted to the Slav who sat on the floor, his back against the wall. A thin bandage wrapped around his right forea
rm. His icy eyes were closed as his head rested against the wall. He looked more tired than frightening.

  “I…things got complicated.” She looked at Solomand and gulped. “Is he…”

  “Alright?” Ivan’s eyes half-opened to give Sol a grudging look. “Solomand will live. Is too stubborn to die.”

  He drew one knee up to his chest.

  Rayn let out a sigh of relief. As she breathed in the metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils. The brightness started to rise in the room again, and her knees felt weak. She held back a gag as her eyes fell on a bucket of bloody gauze and rags.

  Ivan fixed his unblinking gaze on her then motioned to a pitcher of water by his side.

  “Drink.”

  How long had it been since she had water? Rayn couldn’t remember. She slid down against the wall by his side, and he poured a glass. She slowly sipped, cradling the tin cup in her hands.

  “Thanks.” Her stomach slowly unknotted itself.

  “Pazolustea,” he rumbled, then added after a pause, “You’re welcome.”

  In spite of the fact she felt dwarfed sitting next to him, she no longer thought he was someone to be feared. She eyed Sol again.

  “Do you really want to kill him?”

  Rayn was beginning to think Sol had only been exaggerating. If that had been Ivan’s intention all along, he was missing a perfect opportunity.

  Ivan’s face twisted into a glower.

  “If bullet kill Solomand, it robs me of the pleasure.”

  Rayn glanced at the black spider tattoo crawling up his neck. What was the name of the person LeFrost was looking for? Sol had said it was Black Recluse. She wondered if it had anything to do with Ivan. It didn’t matter, anyway.

  Rayn sighed and watched the steady rise and fall of Sol’s chest.

  “How’d he get those scars on his back?” she asked quietly.

  For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  “In Corcyra. As boy, Solomand was thief. He steal to survive.” His expression darkening, Ivan looked like his thoughts were far from what he spoke of. “Only one punishment in Corcyra.”

  Rayn wished she hadn’t asked.

  Ivan turned to look at her. “He will not be happy you are still here.”

  Rayn shrugged, but the nagging feeling of doubt was already digging its claws in. The choice had already been made, and there was no turning back.

  “He’ll have to deal with it,” she muttered.

  She caught the amused look Ivan was giving her. It was almost a smile.

  “You not like Grishtanburg, I think,” he said. “Is too cold.”

  Rayn did hate the cold. “Is that where you’re from?”

  “Niya (no). Where I’m from is colder.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  His fingers curled at his side. “Niya.”

  Rayn didn’t think he was lying, but she didn’t believe he was telling the whole truth either. She looked at his tattoo again.

  “Ivan? Does the Black Recluse have anything to do with why Sol is going to Corcyra?”

  Ivan’s face darkened again. “You should know Solomand tells lies.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Rayn was disappointed, realizing Ivan was just like everyone else: hell-bent on keeping secrets from her. Her shoulders slumped, thinking of her lost opportunity and wondering how long it would take for her to regret it.

  Ivan was looking at her.

  “I cannot break my word.”

  It sounded more like he was reminding himself than telling her.

  Rayn finished the water in her cup and set it on the floor.

  “Here’s a question you should be able to answer: how deep exactly have I stepped in it coming back here?”

  She sensed allying herself with Solomand and his crew meant she was picking sides in a conflict she knew nothing about. Breaking into Corcyra would mean she had consciously chosen to cross the Coalition, which would not bode well. Then again, maybe it was already too late to worry about that.

  One eyebrow raised, Ivan nudged her thigh with his hand.

  “Past knees.”

  “Great. Least I know where I stand.”

  Ivan nodded, this time an actual smile crossed his lips.

  “Da. Always where we stand around here.”

  Rayn laughed, shaking her head. She struggled to her feet.

  “I’m going to get something to eat. Want anything?”

  Ivan nodded.

  “Only if not Will’s cooking.”

  Rayn pushed up her sweaty sleeves as she left.

  “No promises,” she called over her shoulder.

  She found some canned beef and dried cherries which she took back to Ivan.

  They ate together in silence, and he told her, “Kersheba—thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Rayn shoveled a forkful of cold beef in her mouth. “Can I ask you something?”

  Sitting cross-legged, Ivan lit a cigarette and gave her a slow nod.

  “Zee told me she remembers you when other men in green coats tried to kill her. She said you saved her.”

  His brow furrowing, Ivan inhaled slowly, studying her like he did not understand what she was getting at.

  “Yes.” He breathed out. “She is chechnye.”

  “Chech—nye?” Rayn’s head tilted as she repeated the word. “What does that mean?”

  “In my language, it means…little sister.” He paused, then added, “I would call you the same.”

  His hand quivered as he flicked ash into the empty beef can.

  “Oh.” Rayn took a drink of water. “Why were they trying to kill her, anyway?”

  Ivan ran a hand along his neck. “Is complicated.”

  Rayn rolled her eyes. “That’s something Sol would say.”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ivan’s dark gaze softened as he looked at her.

  “Alright. Is because men who have everything taken from them will look for revenge in easiest places.”

  His eyes closed for a moment, then he offered her his cigarette.

  Revenge?

  Rayn wondered what his words meant. She took the cigarette with a sigh and breathed in the bitter taste of smoke, realizing he was done talking about it.

  “So, if you would call me little sister, what would I call you—in your language?”

  “You would call me Damaychi, brother.”

  “Brother.” Rayn tilted her head to one side. “I like it.”

  If she ever did get to Grishtanburg, she imagined having a brother like Ivan would come in handy.

  Rayn washed down the salty, tin taste of beef with a gulp of water.

  “Do you have any family in the North?”

  For a single instant, a haunted look crossed Ivan’s face, which quickly gave way to a stony expression.

  “Not there. Not anymore.” He answered. His eyes softened as he looked at her. “You should rest.” Leaning against the wall, he finished the cigarette.

  Rayn nodded.

  “I’ll be back later.” Her gaze lingered on Sol before leaving to go to her room.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  She stared in the mirror and ran a hand along the circles under her eyes. Smears of dirt and dried blood were splotched across her face. Her hair was mostly torn free of the long braid, an impossible wind-tangled mess. Ivan hadn’t hinted at her gruesome appearance.

  She undid what was left in the braid and brushed out the tangles. Digging the medallion from her pocket, she ran her finger along the inscription: S. L. She hung the chain on the corner of the mirror, biting her lip. The storm of emotions inside her fought to get out until she could fight it no more. Without knowing why, Rayn started to cry. Long after the water from the shower washed away the dirt and blood from her face, Rayn let it rinse off her tears until she was sure she had none left. Then, she dried herself off and crawled under the fresh sheets, determined to hide until the puffy redness was gone. She would sooner die than let anyone know she’d been crying.

&nb
sp; An hour or so later, she checked herself in the mirror. Satisfied the redness was hidden, she put on clean clothes. Maybe a good cry was all she needed. She felt more resolved to her fate, whatever the hell it might be, and went to check on Sol. If he was awake, she was going to remind him that he owed her a rifle. And to think, he almost made her forget!

  Chapter 37

  Rayn

  The smell of coffee drifted through the hall. Rayn breathed it in as she made her way to the kitchen. Jank was already there. He stood at the counter, chopping a stack of purple carrots. A soft blue flame glowed beneath the percolator on the stove; steam sputtered out of it. Jank yawned, rubbing his face on his shoulder before resuming his dicing.

  “Need a hand?” Rayn asked.

  Jank gave her a quick glance and dropped a handful of chopped carrots into a pot of water.

  “Rayn! Nah…thanks, but I’ve got it. Needs to be done a certain way.”

  He wiped bits of onion from his hand onto the side of his pants before flipping his open sketchbook shut before she could get a glimpse of it.

  Rayn’s nose wrinkled as she glanced at the sink overflowing with empty bowls, sticky cups, and pans layered with grease. Flies buzzed around. Rayn hated washing dishes more than any other chore. Her eyes pinched shut. She didn’t want to say it but feeling sorry for Jank won out.

  “Any particular way the dishes need to be washed?”

  There. She offered, even if she was hoping very strongly that he didn’t accept.

  Jank’s face brightened. “Help yourself.”

  Damn. Alright then. She rolled up her sleeves.

  “Do you do this every day?”

  Dunking her hands into sudsy water, she started scrubbing at encrusted bread dough off a mixing bowl.

  Jank shrugged.

  “Yeah. We’re supposed to take turns, but Sol’s a shit cook and Will…well, I think he has it confused with chemical warfare.” He scraped the rest of the vegetables in the pot and put the lid in place. “So.” His eyes flicked to her while washing the counter. “Why’d you come back?”

  Rayn’s sleeve fell down to her wrist, soaking up dishwater. She pushed it back up, trying to think of an answer. She didn’t have one, not really. Everything had happened so fast.