A Brutal Justice

by Jess Corban

  Dáin’s men sweep through the clearing like a grass fire. They may be few, but they’re fresh, eager, and have arrived not a moment too soon. They rush toward the center of camp, dividing the remaining Alexia with Torvus and the others. I run behind, drawing my bow, not sure whom I intend to use it on. It’s just, with Dáin present, I’d rather be armed.

  “It’s about time!” I hear Rohan growl at Dáin.

  “What?” the rebel leader pleads innocently, dodging a blow before using his club to take the legs out from under an advancing Alexia. He scowls toward Torvus. “I wanted him to realize he needed me.”

  Torvus returns Dáin’s glare as he ties the Alexia he has bested, then climbs the dais adjacent to the fire ring. Like Bri just learned, losing a fight robs you of the luxury of choosing your savior.

  As much as I hate to admit it, for once Dáin is right: these Brutes needed him and his defectors tonight. We needed him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “SECURE THE SURVIVORS!” Torvus booms from the platform.

  Every able-bodied Brute immediately sets to work carrying out his order, first hastily tying bandages to stem the worst of their bleeding. Some cover the dug-out pits, filled with trapped Alexia, with latticework lids made of long boards and netting, then secure the edges with stakes. Others transfer bound prisoners across camp to the bamboo cages. Dozens of cages. Those trapped under heavy nets, like Trinidad, remain as they are. I locate her bundled form again, ensuring she’s still secure and relatively out of danger, about fifty meters from the base of the mahogany tree. She’ll be safe there for now. So I turn my attention instead to the Brute leader, who’s descending the dais.

  “Torvus!” I call, running to intercept him.

  He reluctantly halts.

  Veins pulse in raised ridges up his neck and down his arms, and his hands and chest are mottled with dirt and blood. So much blood, mirroring the devastating loss all around us. Still, it could have been much worse. Torvus’s tactics did succeed in limiting the death toll.

  “Thank you,” I say, “for sparing so many.”

  He grunts, wearily, and turns away.

  “And I’m sorry,” I blurt, the guilt I’ve been ignoring for the past hour resurfacing. “I should have been more careful. This is my fault.”

  He looks like he might tell me exactly what he thinks of my carelessness, but Jase jogs up, breathing heavily. Mottled bruising blooms across his body, beneath a patchwork of seeping lacerations.

  “How many?” Torvus asks him.

  “Six,” he reports, straining to keep the word steady.

  The Brute leader stills in reverence. “And them?”

  “I count forty-two captured, twenty-seven slain. The rest escaped to the Jungle.”

  Torvus curses under his breath, then glares at me while addressing Jase. “We must assume our location will be reported. We’ll have to evacuate.”

  I wither under his stern gaze.

  “Take the bodies to the outskirts of camp,” Torvus continues, “for the cubs’ sake. We’ll bury them tomorrow.”

  Jase nods and runs off again, nearly colliding with Rohan, who had been making his way toward us. Toward me. Rohan’s waist is wrapped with a wide brown cloth, bandaging a wound that already bleeds through, and he limps slightly as he nears. But his chest heaves in relief at finding me alive. Before we can say a word, Jase grabs his arm and pulls him away, recruiting him and several other Brutes to help with Torvus’s unpleasant errand.

  They’re all injured, yet each one keeps moving. Tonight has revealed new depths of their strength, and not just their physical might.

  I fight the urge to follow them—to assure Jase his sacrifices are not lost on me. To tell Rohan how his voice steadied me while I dangled between life and death.

  Now is not the time. Instead, I let Torvus’s mention of the cubs steer my purpose. As the Brute leader joins the efforts to secure the Alexia, I jog toward the hollowed-out tree near the kitchen where I assume Jonalyn is still hiding.

  Halfway between the mahogany tree and the orchard, a group of younger Brutes, gangly and sweaty, descend from the canopy using a rope ladder. I barely glance their way until I notice that the last to climb down is going much slower. And he’s oddly shaped compared with the others. Intense focus keeps his gaze glued to the rungs. He carefully reaches down with one foot, probing the air with his toes until he finds the next foothold, with the caution of a Gentle.

  “Neechi!”

  I immediately regret interrupting his concentration. As his head snaps up, the ladder sways, nearly pitching him backward. I run to steady the bottom and prepare to catch him if necessary.

  “Never mind,” I say. “Get down first; then you can tell me what you’re doing here.”

  When he reaches the ground, his dark hair is matted with perspiration, and he looks as though he might faint. But he grins with the triumph of someone who has conquered a mighty challenge.

  “Now, what are you doing here?” I gawk. “I thought you were with the horses.”

  He lowers his eyes bashfully. “I was, yes. But I didn’t get far before I decided that was cowardly of me. If my life is going to count for something, it won’t do to hide from danger. So I brought the horses back, and Jase said I could help up there.” He grins real wide. “I threw lots of coconuts, Dom Reina,” he says with a musical laugh that makes me grin from ear to ear.

  The courage it must have taken for him to come back, to climb up that, to join the fight. “Neechi, I’m so proud of you.” My cheeks warm. “You helped more than I did tonight.”

  “Reina!” My sister’s voice rings through the clearing, welcome as a sea breeze. I sprint toward her, gathering Jo and, consequently, Finch in my arms. A wave of relief washes over me, and I embrace her like we’ve been apart for years. Right now it feels that way.

  “You’re okay?” she both asks and celebrates at once.

  I nod, taking in the troop of little cubs around her, Pip among them. I ruffle his hair.

  “Where are you going?” I ask Jo.

  “Looking for Ori. I’m not sure where to take these little ones for the night, and they’re getting sleepy.”

  I marvel for a moment at the odd normalcy of it. How strange that people have breathed their last while these children hid, protected, from the horror of it. Safe enough to “get sleepy.” I peer down at their little faces and want them to always have routine. To always be safe.

  “I’ll get him for you,” I say. “You should keep these sleepyheads away from the center of camp for now. Head to the kitchen. I’ll send someone to you.”

  She nods, and we embrace again.

  “Neechi—would you stay with Jo till then? If there’s any trouble, I’d rest easier knowing she has a coconut-throwing warrior with her.” I wink at him, then run to find Ori.

  Someone has lit the fire ring, and the growing red-orange light illuminates everything within a twenty-meter circle of the stones. In the darkness beyond, torches bob and weave through the outskirts of camp, as a few Brutes canvass the surrounding area for any missed bodies or weapons, or stand guard around the pits.

  I locate Ori in a group of less-injured Brutes distributing bundles of herbs, flasks of water, and shreds of cloth. After explaining Jonalyn’s predicament, I take his share of the load so he can help her.

  The area around the fire ring has turned into a makeshift Health Center. We give our supplies to Brutes who bandage each other, craft slings, and stitch deep wounds. A broken bone is set, and pained grunts mingle with the smoke.

  Bri marches into the fireglow with an armful of salvaged Alexia weapons. When she catches sight of Dáin, recognition flickers across her face. She drops the weapons like hot coals and storms up to him.

  “I wanted to kill her,” she seethes.

  Dáin’s freckles bunch around his forehead and eyes as he tries to place her, or perhaps is startled by her vengeance.

  “My apologies, mighty warrior,” he says sarcastically, sizing her u
p.

  She punches him in the face.

  I gasp, then scramble for my bow, preparing to defend her from the retribution that will surely follow. But instead of returning Bri’s attack, a faint smile stretches Dáin’s lips, even as he rubs his sore jaw. Amusement, not anger, flashes in his eyes.

  “Fiery,” he says, sounding strangely pleased.

  Jase has just returned from the search and quickly steps between them, holding his torch at an angle that tells Dáin he’d better back off.

  “Easy, killer,” Dáin says. “She’s the one who clocked me.” But when Jase holds his ground, Dáin shrugs and walks away.

  “Are you hurt?” Jase asks Bri, scanning her limbs for injuries. He finds and assesses a deep puncture in her left arm, and a gash across her neck.

  She shrugs. “You should have seen the other girl.”

  Driving his torch into the soft earth, Jase makes her sit down and gathers some chicha, herbs, cloth, water, a bamboo needle, and hibiscus-fiber thread for suturing her.

  If Jase is back, maybe . . .

  I scan the area for Rohan. He’s leaning, unbandaged, against the edge of the dais, mashing leaves into a green paste with a mortar and pestle and smearing the mixture on his exposed injuries. For once I don’t care if my concern is obvious. I weave through the wounded toward him. When he catches sight of me, he hands the bowl to another Brute. His dark eyes pull me to him, drawing me closer, even as he lessens the distance between us.

  But while we’re still five paces apart, Dáin steps between us.

  “I knew you still had it in you,” Dáin says, slapping Rohan’s back while pretending not to see me.

  Rohan grimaces. “Not now, Dáin.”

  I pull up short, repelled by Dáin’s presence like a horse who spots a croc along a riverbank. Rohan’s eyes hold mine, but he seems distracted now, nervous.

  “It was just like old times tonight, eh?” Dáin smirks.

  Rohan’s jaw tenses. He looks like prey caught in a snare, exhibiting a strange nervousness I’ve never seen in him. A sickening dread heats my gut as I take another tentative step forward. “What does he mean?”

  Half of Rohan’s face dips in shadow as he turns to avoid my eyes.

  Dáin finds this amusing. “You mean he didn’t tell you?”

  I take the bait. “Tell me what?”

  He grins wickedly. “He’s fought alongside me before.”

  Rohan shoves Dáin’s chest. “Leave it be,” he growls.

  “I don’t understand,” I say, confusion and worry mingling. What opportunity could they have had to fight together that would give Dáin such mischievous delight? Nothing good, I fear.

  Dáin recovers from the shove and raises his hands in surrender. “I just thought she would want to know that the one who gave her that pretty knife has tasted revenge on Nedé before. You remember, don’t you? When we relieved a certain finca of its supplies? What was it—Fortunato? Fortune?”

  No. Not—

  “Rohan—” His name cracks in my throat. “What is he talking about?”

  The moment I ask the question, I know I don’t want to hear the answer. My feet back up of their own accord, slowly at first, then with broad steps, turning away just as Rohan’s fist connects with Dáin’s ribs.

  “Reina, wait!” Rohan calls after me, but I’m already running—where, I don’t know.

  Rohan fought with Dáin? In an attack against Nedéans? And not at just any finca—La Fortuna? I recall Jonalyn’s bruised face, her weakened body, and the tears fall freely. I want to believe Dáin was lying, but Rohan didn’t deny it. On the contrary, he had the look of someone who had been caught.

  Hurt fuels my anger like a log to a flame. I run, burning, into the darkness, defying the folly of facing the Jungle night alone. Let a predator find me. I dare it. I’ll tear it to pieces and feed it to my fury.

  The rising gibbous moon casts a blue glow over the Jungle, filtering through the canopy like gauzy fingers. I run through its grasp, refusing to slow, until my feet slosh through a silvery strand of creek, and I collapse on the bank.

  I was beginning to trust that Rohan was different, that he was good. That he was safe.

  My own sister’s finca? How could he?

  Perhaps the better question is, How could he not? He’s a Brute. Isn’t that what they do? Injure, hurt, endanger?

  Teera’s words surface in my memory, mocking my trust. You have no idea the horrors they’re capable of, she had said. It only takes one Brute to bring evil back into the world.

  Maybe Rohan simply can’t be what I had hoped.

  But he had said they had a choice. That night in the canopy, his eyes reflecting the rose gold of sunset, he had told me Brutes could choose good or evil—no one had taken that from them.

  What’s worse, then? A Brute who can’t help but do harm, or one who willingly chooses to?

  A sob racks my body. Somehow, inexplicably, my heart opened to him, which gave the dagger of betrayal easy access.

  I splash water over my face and down my arms, washing away the filth, and regret, and my tears. Let it seal me back up, seal him back out.

  No matter what he makes me feel, I can’t let myself trust him.

  He can’t have your allegiance, Rei.

  How could I ever have thought otherwise?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE DAMP JUNGLE EARTH IS COOL BENEATH my bare toes as I reach down from the platform, trying to lower myself soundlessly. The moon has traveled most of its nightly circuit. Judging by its position, I’d say it’s an hour or two from dawn.

  Jase urged me to take Bri, Neechi, and Jonalyn to the treetop hut to get what rest we could, but I didn’t sleep. I had no intention of it. Instead I spent hours staring at the woven zigzag pattern of the thatched roof, waiting for the noises below to still.

  I tiptoe from the base of the tree, slowly melting into the shadows and away from the center of camp. Exhausted Brutes sleep by the fire ring, low flames flickering in time to the pulsating hum of nocturnal noises. Most lie on bedrolls, sleeping at awkward angles to accommodate their injuries. A few patrol through camp or guard clusters of cages, where my fellow Alexia await morning light. I wouldn’t blame the women if they were terrified, even though the Brutes slipped bandages and water through the bamboo slats to their prisoners.

  I knew from the moment Trin was captured what I’d have to do. After all she’s done for me, there’s no way I could leave her alone down there, with only her ill thoughts of me for company. It’s my fault she’s in this mess. If I hadn’t led the Alexia to Tree Camp, she wouldn’t have been captured. Fallon wouldn’t be in a pit. Valya wouldn’t be dead.

  I try not to look for Rohan, but even in sleep his form is hard to miss. It reminds me of the first night I spent in the Jungle, on a cot in the treetop hut, watching the moonlight shift across his face, wondering why I found him so mesmerizing.

  I shake the memory away. I should have known better, even then.

  I slip past a grove of fig trees undetected, toward the spot Trinidad fell, then hide behind a curtain of vines hanging from a young ceiba.

  The net lies still, cord as thick as my hand latticed over her body. Too still. My heart races. Could she have been more badly injured than I thought? Did some Brute recognize her as the Alexia second-in-command and exact justice for those she killed?

  “Trinidad?” I whisper, the urgency of my voice betraying fear.

  Her golden eyes snap open.

  “Trin,” I say again, relief buoying my resolve.

  It takes her a moment to register who I am and where she is, but when she puts it together, a flame of anger ignites alongside understanding.

  “You—” She seems to have difficulty deciding which insult fits best, so hurls several. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”

  “I told you the truth,” I defend. “Maybe not the whole truth—I couldn’t tell you about these Brutes; I swore not to tell. But I wasn’t lying about Teera wanting to kill m
e, or my desire to help the Gentles.”

  She ignores my plea, still fuming. “I risked everything to let you go—everything—and you repay me by releasing a known threat to Nedé! I’m lucky to be alive.”

  My mouth drops open. “I didn’t mean to—” I stop midsentence, realizing I have nothing to say that can counter her accusation.

  “What did you think would happen? Teera came the next morning to interrogate you. When Adoni escorted her to the cells, you and the Brute were gone. I got called in, of course, right after Bri didn’t show up to conditioning. If you hadn’t taken that obnoxious brat with you so I could pin the breach on her, I’d be dead. I hated lying to Adoni, but what was I supposed to do? If I told her I let you go free, Teera would have run me through right then and there.” Her face falls in a rare moment of vulnerability. “How could you be so selfish?”

  Her words couldn’t have cut deeper if they were actual steel. “Trin, I’m so sorry—I didn’t think about how it would affect you. I—I needed him to warn the others.”

  “Ohhh, of course,” she sneers. “You needed to release an enemy of Nedé to warn his friends. Thanks for clearing that up.”

  I can’t defend my actions, but I can, at least, defend the Brutes. “They aren’t what we thought, Trin. I’m not saying I understand them completely, but they’re not all responsible for the attacks . . .” A twinge of hurt resurfaces at the memory of Rohan’s guilty face. Not all are responsible, perhaps, but one more than I thought. Still . . .

  I explain how Rohan and Jase saved me the night I left my patrol to pursue Dáin near the border. “You can’t deny they didn’t act like monsters tonight. You marched on their home. Jamara shot first. And still, how many Alexia are alive because of their mercy?”

  She glances toward the cages. She knows I’m right.