In her ample spare time between aching and bleeding, Joram tore the rag in which the knife had come gift-wrapped into strips. She debated using a chair leg to create a rudimentary spear but decided against it. Christina’s martial arts training gave her the advantage. She’d never let Joram get close enough to strike with something so obvious. No, Joram needed to take another drubbing, at least until Christina came within reach. Using the strips of rag and the sleeves of her frayed T-shirt, she strapped the knife to her left calf. For several hours, she practiced pulling the knife from its hiding place, imagining how it would look to witnesses. She had to make it look like she was writhing in pain, that there was nothing new to see. She had to be ready.
She didn’t have long to wait.
“Come on, meat sack!”
Joram woke with a start, pulled from her nest by two boys before she knew they were upon her. For a frantic moment she fought against their grip, terrified she’d forgotten to position the steak knife. As she came fully awake, she felt the discomfort of bared metal against her calf. The wave of relief rolled through her with such strength that she sagged in her captors’ grasp. The abrupt switch between aggressiveness and dead weight almost caused them to drop her.
“Get up, bitch! We ain’t gonna drag you.”
Shakily, she got her feet under her, stumbling as one of them pushed her toward the door. As she shuffled forward, bare feet cringing away from the debris littering the floor, she heard the others gathered in the big room. They sounded like they always did, excited and roaring in laughter at some jest Christina had made. Joram wondered why they followed her; she wasn’t amusing and she couldn’t be the only person in this pit who knew martial arts. Why couldn’t Christina see that her toadies overreacted to her jokes? Was she so imbecilic that she thought they liked her? Did you think Anders liked you more when you did the same thing? That thought was too close to home, and Joram shied away from it. The last thing she needed right now was to empathize with the girl who was making her life a living hell, not if she wanted that inferno to end.
At the doorway into the main room, Joram received another harsh push. Unable to catch herself she fell to the floor, causing the closer children to scatter. More laughter erupted from her audience, making her skin flush. She was Anders’s Chosen One, whatever that meant, and she’d be damned if she’d give Christina the satisfaction of cowing her. With as much dignity as her battered body could muster, she pulled herself to her feet to glare at her enemy.
As usual Christina smiled, the humor never reaching her eyes. “Aw, did you fall down, go boom?” she asked, her tone sweetness and light. Her companions laughed.
Joram refused to answer.
A flash of anger marred Christina’s face, disappearing with brisk efficiency as she chortled with the others. Without preamble, she dropped and spun, swiping Joram’s feet out from under her, punishment for refusing to play the game.
Crashing to the ground, Joram felt the looming black cloud of terror steal over her. Her stomach, long past feeling hunger, now twisted with queasy expectation. No matter how often this scenario played out, she always woke up alone and in agony. Rather than buckle under the weight of probability, she closed her eyes and brought Anders to mind. Whereas such visions usually incited uncertainty and fear, anger now burned through the worst of the depression. She’d survive this thing somehow and she’d make him pay, not just for her own sake but also for every child who had suffered this bestial treatment. The fury warmed her, and she pushed up to her hands and knees. Around her, the kids laughed and shouted, urging Christina to drop her again. Before Joram could fully stand, Christina obliged her followers with a high snap-kick that knocked Joram’s head back. She landed on her butt, her vision blacking out for a brief moment as her consciousness wavered. Blood trickled down her throat and she realized she’d bitten her tongue.
“Oopsie!” Christina rolled her eyes in mock apology, fingers on her mouth like an overgrown Cupie Doll, another of her favored poses that grated against Joram’s nerves. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”
“Hit her again!”
Christina basked in their attention, turning in place with arms wide as the others called out suggestions. By the time she came back around, Joram was halfway back up. “Oh, no. I like you better down there.”
A spinning kick dropped Joram with a heavy crash. Rather than stand again, Joram curled into a ball, one arm over her head. With her other hand she patted the knife beneath her jeans, fingers inching beneath the hem. She prayed Christina would decide to attack on her own rather than have others hold Joram up as a punching bag. It was even odds, dependent on her mercurial moods.
Accepting her accolades, Christina sauntered to her target. She nudged Joram’s shoulder with her toe. “Some badass you are. I should have kicked your butt years ago, saved us all the heartache.”
Joram affected a wince, shrinking away from the contact though it was only half an act. Her stomach tensed as the cusp of decision arrived, her fingers digging beneath her pants leg to find the comforting handle of retribution. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as Christina bent down and grabbed her by the hair.
“Sit up, bitch. I’m not done talking to you yet.” Christina pulled hard, forcing Joram to rise or have her hair yanked out by the roots.
Focusing on the pain brought tears to Joram’s eyes and she sniffled. She looked up to see an exultant expression on Christina’s hated face, pleasure that she’d finally broken Joram Darkstone. The sight seemed to meld with Joram’s image of Anders. With a snarl, she lunged forward with the knife.
Jubilance drained as explosively as the sharp expulsion of breath Christina emitted into Joram’s face. She still held Joram’s hair, staring not at a broken girl but an angel of death. With a slight whimper, she released Joram while around them the others continued to whoop in exhilaration, ignorant of what had just occurred. She attempted to step backward, away from the blade buried in her abdomen, but adrenaline strengthened Joram’s resolve. Joram grabbed Christina’s upper arm, holding her close, digging with the knife as hot blood splashed over her hand.
One of the spectators finally realized what was happening. “Holy shit! She’s bleeding! Christina’s bleeding!”
Joram’s steely gaze swept toward the speaker. She felt the curl of her lips as she bared her teeth at the boy, daring him to interfere. Whatever he saw persuaded him against taking action. There was a rush of movement and whispers, the clamorous laughter and jeers no longer ringing through the air as the others cleared the floor around the two girls.
Christina grunted, pushing clumsily to escape the pain.
Her attention returning to her prey, Joram moved forward, using Christina to help her stand. “Oopsie,” she whispered. “You probably should have killed me when I got here, huh?” For good measure, she shifted the knife, watching Christina’s face contort in agony. “Yep. Guess you blew that call. I’d say maybe next time, but…we both know that’s not going to happen.”
Christina’s complexion was turning gray, her eyes seeming to swim lazily around the room as she searched for an avenue of escape. Weakened, she fell back, finally dislodging the steak knife from her gut. Blood pooled beneath her as her heart continued pumping.
Joram stared, watching her die. Part of her admitted she enjoyed this act of vengeance, but the vivid reality of Christina’s demise nauseated her. This wasn’t a video game or a movie. There was no reset button or saved game. It wasn’t a schoolyard brawl during recess. This was permanent. Even though she knew that she’d been defending herself, she wished she could take it back. The loathsome sight and sound of this violence sickened her, made her question what sort of world this was, what sort of person she was to have allowed this travesty to be born.
Christina stopped moving, her last exhale rattling through the silent room. Joram fought with her gorge, knowing she didn’t have anything to throw up but rusty water. She looked up at the others, thirty wide-eyed kids staring at th
e tableau in shock. Any moment now one of them would come to his or her senses and realize the leadership was there for the taking. Whoever was strongest led the pack. And right now, you’re the strongest.
Joram’s exhaustion and horror wouldn’t allow her to dredge up the dismay that her inner voice sounded like Anders.
The only thing these kids would respect was strength; that’s why they followed Christina. And if there was one thing Anders had taught her it was how to be confident in the face of fear. She had to seize control now regardless of how much she’d rather go back to her den under the bar and forget this had ever happened. Scanning her peers, she spied a boy. Scowling, she pointed the dripping knife at him, her entire hand glistening with blood. “You’re next.”
The kid squeaked, eyes wide as he gripped a cudgel. He took a half step back. “W—w—why me?”
Joram scowled, willing him to figure out her intentions.
A girl came into view, the blonde with hair so pale that she didn’t look to have eyebrows or eyelashes. “Probably because you’re wearing her boots.”
The kid dropped his gaze to stare at the boots Christina had taken from Joram. He glanced around at his companions, not seeing any support. With panicky haste, he dropped to the floor and pulled the boots off, tossing them to Joram. “Here! They’re yours.”
Joram studied him a moment, deciding she’d made her point. Refusing to focus on the girl, she again scanned the others. “Anybody else?”
No one seemed inclined to take her up on the offer.
The girl stepped forward, her smile easing the pinched expression that Joram had seen before. “I’m Chloe. Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”
Chapter Five
Naomi yawned and stretched, a smile on her face as she greeted the day. Today was her thirteenth birthday and she was going on an adventure.
Though the sun had yet to rise, she pushed aside the thick down blankets, not letting the winter chill do more than caress her sleep-warm skin. She pulled on slippers and crossed her bedroom to stir up the banked fire, adding more wood. Soon it cheerily burned off the worst of the cold, and Naomi used a long piece of kindling to light a lamp. Though the complex had electricity, accessibility was slipshod in the mountains during harsh winters. Power outages were so much the norm that unless Naomi needed modern lighting for homework, she rarely used it. She sat before the fireplace and watched the flames dance, imagining them celebrating the coming new year and her good fortune. Soon she’d be leaving for a year’s spiritual sabbatical. The knowledge of her impending journey left a bittersweet taste in her soul as she contemplated leaving all that she knew for the unknown.
The night faded, gray dawn stealing over the room. So engrossed in the fire, she hardly registered the first light brightening her surroundings. There came a gentle tap at her door, and she stood to greet her guest.
“You’re awake, I see,” Inanna said with a smile. She flowed into the room wearing warm booties and a thick robe. Without pause she approached Naomi and they slipped into a close embrace. “Did you get any rest at all, sweetness?”
Naomi laughed softly, holding her mother close. Over the last year she’d grown, and they were now the same height. It felt odd that she could see eye-to-eye with the woman that she’d loved and admired as omnipotent throughout her childhood. “I did. Some anyway.” She gave Inanna an extra squeeze before pulling away. “I have a gift for you.”
“You’re aware that it’s your birthday, yes?” Inanna watched her cross the room and rummage through one of her drawers. “That means gifts are given to you.”
Wrinkling her nose, Naomi stuck her tongue out. “It’s Solstice too, Mama. Everybody gets presents.”
Inanna attempted to appear contrite, though the barely constrained smile ruined the effect. “I stand corrected.”
Her stilted words caused Naomi to roll her eyes. Rather than spoil this special morning with adolescent snippiness, she instead took her mother’s hand and led her to the bed where they sat side by side. She held out a thin box. “Happy Yule, Mama.”
Smiling, Inanna carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing a golden picture frame. Two eight-pointed stars graced the top corners, sparkling in the first rays of cold sunlight. The photo was a close-up of her and Naomi taken the past summer when they’d joined a party of Inanna’s followers at a nearby river. Naomi was dripping wet, her long black hair pulled back in a braid, looking over Inanna’s shoulder at the camera. Both of them were laughing. Inanna caressed the photo with caramel-colored fingers. “It’s beautiful, Naomi. Thank you.” Her quiet tone indicated how favorable she found the simple gift.
The tears shining in her mother’s eyes sparked heat in Naomi’s own. “I’d hoped you’d like it. I’m going to be gone for so long…” She trailed off, looking away.
“Sweetness?” Inanna put her arm around Naomi’s shoulders, physically cajoling her to speak.
Naomi shrugged, sniffling. “It’s ridiculous, really.” She glanced back to the concerned expression and blushed. “I didn’t want you to forget me.”
“Oh, daughter-of-my-heart, that will never happen.” Inanna pulled her into a hug. “I Chose you all those years ago, and then you Chose me. We are bound together forever. Never forget that.”
Having heard similar remarks all her life, Naomi allowed them to soothe her fears. “I won’t.” It was odd how the silly insecurities sometimes popped up when she least expected them. It didn’t matter what Inanna said or how often she repeated phrases such as this; every so often Naomi would emotionally stumble over their relationship, expecting it to disappear in a puff of smoke. She’d never been able to explain her anxiety to Inanna, let alone herself. Nevertheless, when the subtle panic began to make its presence known, her mother always stymied it with grace and calm acceptance.
Inanna had continued speaking. “I’ll think of you every day while you’re gone, sweetness. Not a day will pass that I won’t come to this very room to sit among your things. Though we may not be physically close, I will always be in your heart, and you in mine.” She rubbed Naomi’s arm, their heads bent together, black and brown strands of their hair meshing between them.
Naomi smiled, dashing the tears away with a short laugh. “Always.”
“Always,” Inanna repeated.
They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. Naomi absorbed the serenity that was Inanna’s soul, filling her heart with the love and acceptance she wouldn’t receive over the course of the next year. They stared down at the framed photo in Inanna’s lap.
Inanna caressed the photo again, her fingers drifting up to one of the eight-pointed stars in the corners. “Why did you choose this frame?”
A grin tugged at Naomi’s lips. “I was doing research for that mythology paper Mr. Pavin wanted me to do, and I found your name in the Sumerian pantheon.”
“My name?” Inanna pulled back to look at her.
Something moved within those brown eyes, something Naomi couldn’t name. Slightly nonplussed, she pushed the sensation away. She was overly emotional from anticipation and lack of sleep. “Yes. Inanna was the name of an ancient Sumerian goddess. She was the goddess of sexual love, fertility and warfare.” Naomi wiggled her eyebrows.
Refusing to be distracted by the slightly risqué turn of the conversation, Inanna smiled. “And the frame?”
Naomi deflated a little at Inanna’s lack of response. “Oh. Well, the Sumerian goddess Inanna used the eight-pointed star as her symbol. When I saw the frame, I thought of you.”
“Ah.” Inanna shared a wry grin with her. “Thank you. But I’d hold off on deifying me just yet if I were you. The last thing you need is a mother goddess of warfare, especially when you need to get dressed and prepare for the day.” Her fingers dug into Naomi’s ribs.
Squawking in laughter, Naomi lost herself to the familiarity as they played together. She didn’t have much longer to enjoy it before she’d be gone. Somehow she doubted things would be the same when she returned.
* * *
Naomi stood in the central courtyard with Inanna, their breath fogging between them. The sun had slipped behind dark clouds and snow had begun falling, each flake adding its density to the heavy drifts already on the ground. Snowfall muffled the sounds of preparation in the kitchen and common room, leaving the two of them in a sphere of white silence. Warmth enveloped Naomi, her archaic clothes only baring her cheeks to the elements. She wore fur and leather rather than more modern materials, something that Inanna had insisted upon.
About Naomi’s shoulders was a heavy cloak rather than the parka she’d normally wear outdoors. Inanna tied the cord about her daughter’s throat with the deftness of long practice. She smiled as she tucked Naomi’s hair back and lifted the hood. “There. That will keep you safe and warm.”
Not one to argue, Naomi looked down at the burgundy material. “I could have worn my coat, you know.”
“No. You’re growing more every day. The monastery won’t have the resources to clothe you.” She lifted Naomi’s chin. “This way you’ll have something that will stay with you, something from home.” She smiled. “Something to remind you of my love for you. Consider this my birthday gift to you—something to remember me by.”
Naomi snorted as her early morning words were thrown back at her. Despite her mother’s witticism, tears flooded her eyes. As excited as she was to take this next step in her life, she didn’t want to leave. “Like I could ever forget you,” she murmured, falling into an exquisite embrace. They held tight for an eternity, but it wasn’t long enough. It occurred to Naomi that she’d never been away from Inanna for longer than a day, not once. It wasn’t any wonder that she found the prospect now both exhilarating and unnerving at the same time.
Darkstone Page 5