“I also ask that you meet me here in the woods every now and again while our houses are at war. Just to make certain that you are still safe.” With my nod of assent, Wolf rises and lopes off to his pack, not bothering to say any more.
When I manage to face Antero, a hard tone colors my words. “I will use my control over you any time that I need to keep you out of trouble. Be warned before you commit to this path—you will most likely do unspeakable things. Know that I will not heinously abuse you, but I will do whatever is necessary for us all to survive. Even if you do not agree with what I command, you will obey.” I wait as Antero stares at me, judging his reaction. To my surprise he is not as outraged as I expect him to be. Instead, he is calm, his next words even keeled in his tone.
“What supplies do we need to create my mask?”
“First, I need answers,” I command. Speak the truth, I whisper into his mind, his body growing stiff as I issue my questions. “What were you doing in Cassé? You had to have a reason to show up in this land.”
Antero rebels against my control immediately. It is visible in the clenching of his teeth, the balling up of his fists. My orders, however hard he struggles, cannot be denied.
“Speak!”
The words come flowing from Antero’s mouth, hatred building in his eyes. “I am searching for the land that you call the Pith.”
“Why?”
I see blood staining his teeth, no doubt from where Antero has bitten his own tongue in an effort not to speak. “I am a lowly priest in Déchets, but I am also born to a prominently ranking family. My father believes your Pith holds a weapon we have been searching for, a means to eradicate all the people from Cassé.”
My head reels at the possibility. “No one goes to the Pith,” I repeat, the words suddenly in question. Why is the Pith off limits? I have always assumed it is because it is barren, but what if there is something else? I have never bothered to challenge that idea until now. “Why do your people hate us so much?”
“We hate what we do not have,” Antero grumbles. “We seek to possess, to have everything within our immediate proximity. We want to control this part of the world too.” I had heard a rumor once that Déchets is a prosperous land where people are greedy and careless, wasting their lives and resources until nothing is left. My mind stops its reveling when Antero finishes his explanation. “We hate that you survived.”
“Explain,” I bark, feeling personally affronted. “You did not want me alive?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Antero barks, his words slowing with his efforts to disobey. “We…tried to…end…your race once. Wipe…you all…off the map.”
“What? How?” I demand, unable to wrap my mind around the implications of his words.
“What you call a windstorm…it was an attack from Déchets,” Antero snarls as blood dribbles down his chin.
No, it couldn’t be! The causes of the windstorm have been long debated ever since its occurrence. Such a phenomenon had never occurred before, nor since. It is an unanswered stain on our memories that will not be forgotten. What kind of weapon could they possibly have that would cause human bodies to disintegrate?
We were nearly obliterated by Déchets. I have undeniable proof confessing everything to me. They are the reason I lost my family, and why the House of Vultures even exists. When word of this gets out, Cassé will seek vengeance. I will be right there among the fighters, leading the attacks if I am able. Nothing will stop any of us from retaliation. We will see Déchets fall.
“Who ordered the attack?” I need the name of our terrorist, someone tangible that I can hate. The people will need a scapegoat. A war cannot be fought without a specific target.
Antero strains against my control, desperately searching for a way to keep from answering me. No matter what he tries, he cannot keep the words from rolling out of his mouth. “Our king gave the order. My father.”
It is a sucker punch to my stomach, hearing that I saved the son of the man who had taken everything from my lands. A darker, vicious part of me rears its ugly head at his revelation. I could kill the boy and send his father a pair of boots made from his son’s body. I’d weave his scalped hair into laces, use his bones for eyelets and braces. I’d send the meat to his father’s cooks, to prepare him a special meal. Only after the king had eaten would I gift him with the shoes and the knowledge that he’s just dined on his own son. “Does your father know that you are here?” I ask, carefully considering whether or not my plans would be the act to start the war. The desire to face this king, to paint the walls of my bedroom with his blood, overwhelms my senses.
Short sighted, my rational mind chides. You need the rest of Cassé on your side. Besides, you couldn’t kill the boy when he was hurt. How does knowing his father’s sins justify taking his life?
I’m not sure which side of my thoughts would win the argument, but I never get the chance to find out. Antero’s next words deflate my plan, as he shakes his head despondently. “My father cares little for what I do. I chose priesthood rather than become a warrior like all of his other sons. He calls me his greatest disappointment.”
If you killed him, it probably wouldn’t even hurt his father at all. I feel my eyebrows crinkle as I try to understand Antero’s motives. “Then why did you come into this land? Why search for a weapon in the Pith if you are not a fighter?”
Antero’s eyes grow bright with remembered pain. “To prove that I am worthy of being his son. I came to try and make him proud. Instead, I bungled my efforts, just like I always do. My dad will let me die in these lands. If you try to send a ransom note or are thinking of trading me off, don’t bother. The king would happily leave me here to rot.”
I cannot allow myself to pity him. To give my hands something to do, I begin stripping the bark off a nearby walnut tree. “Take the three lobed leaves from that sapling and start crushing them until their sap shows.” Inky black juice oozes on my fingers as I demonstrate what I mean.
“What are they?”
“We call it saxifrax,” I explain as I whittle away the sharp edges of the walnut bark plank, boring two holes into its surface for eyes. I will fashion it to be a half-mask, like what most houses have adopted in recent years. This one stops at his nostrils and rises high on his forehead. Just enough of a disguise to maintain anonymity while remaining functional.
When it is done, I wrap the bark inside the saxifrax leaves, making certain that no part is left undyed. “Hurry! We’ve got to get this stuff off our hands, or else everyone will see that your mask has been recently dyed.” I hop through the forest floor, crossing muddy puddles on the way to the River Sangre.
Yet when we reach the water’s edge, Antero freezes along the shore. “Your water is blood!” He exclaims as I dip my hands into the current. The dye scrubs off when I grab a pumice stone from the river’s floor.
“It is fine. It is algae, that’s all,” I call over the water’s roar. “It is not always like this.”
Antero does not move an inch, his eyes wide in hysteria. My explanation of the color has not calmed him at all. “I cannot wash in blood. I cannot even touch it. It goes against everything in the priesthood.”
“It is not blood, see?” I hold out my hands, dripping with clear water. “It is an illusion from the algae, nothing more.” Still, Antero refuses. “Look, the longer you stand there the harder that dye is going to be to get off. You’ll be scrubbing your hands bloody.” I scrunch my eyes closed when he stays in his place, impatience getting the better of me. “We don’t have time for this!” I shout exasperatedly. Move, I command, pulling on the strands of the bond in our minds. Wash your hands until the dye comes off. Do not stop until no traces of dye remain.
Antero growls as his feet move, rigidly walking to the River Sangre. I can feel him fruitlessly fighting against me. He curses at me in words that I do not recognize, words that must be from the Déchets vernacular, as his hands plunge into the icy water. When he finally stops scrubbing, I can see that so
me places are indeed bleeding from his efforts.
“When I return to my land, I will be forced to leave the priesthood because of this.”
“Why? It is not blood—”
“It is unclean!” Antero shouts accusingly as he continues. “You forced me to do that, knowing that I did not want to!”
“Let’s get something straight,” I growl, stopping the boy’s accusations immediately. “I have already told you once, but I will say it again. I will do whatever it takes to survive. So will you, even if I must force you to do it. This was easy compared to everything else that’s coming.” I toss him a dried strip of venison. “Here’s your next trial, Panther.”
“Antero. And I am not eating that,” he sniffs at the jerky with disgust. “I have never eaten meat a day in my life.”
“Well, get ready to make up for lost time, because that is nearly all you’ll be getting from now on. Forget your real name too; you are Panther now.”
Antero picks up the piece of jerky and flings it into the river, a look of triumph on his face. I watch the piece float with the current a few seconds. Then I feel the corners of my mouth lift in triumph as I use my power to command once more. Go retrieve that venison from the river. Eat every bite of the soggy flesh, Antero. Then I settle on a rock to wait until my orders are obeyed.
Without a whisper of hesitation, Antero flings himself into the current, diving deep to catch the strip of jerky that is sinking as it reabsorbs water. He’s under for a long while, so long that I begin to wonder if I have killed him. Well, at least Wolf’s pack will be safe if he’s dead. All the fears of war will be over.
Antero emerges suddenly, sputtering and coughing as he swims to the shore. The piece of meat is clenched tightly in his fist. It squelches in his hand, drooping at the edges with the weight of the added water. My stomach turns at the thought of eating that. Antero raises it toward his mouth, a look of disgust on his face. “Please,” he begs as the dribbling meat inches closer. “Don’t make me do this.”
I look away so that he does not see me gagging. “I am truly sorry. But you need to learn this lesson now before we return to the House of Vultures. I am in charge of everything you say or do. If you fail to deceive the rest of my House, we are both dead.” I reiterate my command in our bond. Eat every bite. I listen as he chews through the sodden lump, no doubt like chewing leather. It smacks sickly between his teeth. Tears stream down his cheeks as he swallows and tears off another hunk, water spurting down his chin. When it is done, Antero immediately begins heaving, his body revolted by the meat.
“I hate you,” he gasps in between heaves.
“I know, and I don’t blame you for it. But at supper time, you will eat meat even if I have to force it every day. Wolf’s pack would, Lion’s House too. Your hesitation will be a clear marker that you are not truly from this land.”
“All I ever wanted was to be in the priesthood,” Antero confesses to me when he has calmed down. “Can you imagine how I feel? I realize you hate me now, knowing what you do about my father, but can you empathize even the slightest bit? The one dream that I ever had is now destroyed.”
“This place will do that to you.” I prickle at the emotion in my heart, the ache in my chest as I remember the life I could have had. Untying the mask from the saxifrax leaves, I try to explain my perspective to the boy, “You know, it’s no picnic for me either. Imagine what it’s like to for me to realize that I have saved the son of the man who took my family from me. Knowing that I have allowed you to survive, when your people are the ones that turned the world I loved into this stinking, rotten cesspool.” I fling the uncovered mask at Antero’s feet when he does not speak. “Put this on. Tie it to your face with these.” I toss some scrap pieces of leather from my pocket. “Remember the rules?”
Antero nods as he picks up his new persona. I know it is the last time I will ever see his real face. My eyes cannot tear away from his pure, clean skin as Antero fits the mask over his nose. I almost want to cry when he is covered, and Panther is truly born.
***
That night as I hobble up to the House of Vultures, Goldeneye is waiting at the door. “Well, well, well, the prodigal’s finally returned! We were certain you had left us for Wolf’s pack.” His brilliant yellow eyes sharpen their focus on the stranger behind me. “You’ve taken to bringing home strays now, too? Naughty girl—I kinda like it!”
“You know as well as I do that Grouse would have my hide if she knew you were flirting with me. She—”
“Doesn’t have to know, spoil sport!” Goldeneye winks, and I find myself almost laughing. Despite myself, I find him charming. “You know I have to get Condor down here. We can’t let in this kid without his approval.” Pointing to Panther, Goldeneye whispers, “If you leave now, I’ll say nothing to our leader. You’ll be able to go without any trouble from us. You could say that you got lost in the woods or you were slowed down by injury. Wolf would take you into his pack without question. Or, for a couple of hours of your time, Mynah, I will not mention this to Condor at all.”
If it were that easy, I would take you up on your offer, I almost say, knowing that I cannot do what he wishes. “Call him down, Condor. This one wants to stay.”
“Too bad, Mynah.” Goldeneye almost sounds disappointed as he calls for our leader.
“What are you screaming about?” Condor yells as he kicks the door open. When he notices me holding Panther upright, he chokes with mockery. “What? No Wolf hounding you tonight? I hear you and he are aligning your assets now.” He swaggers down the steps to inspect my newcomer. “So, Wolf’s not enough for you now? Gotta bring your toys home too? This one’s practically a child, Mynah,” Condor hisses, leaning close enough that his mouth grazes my ear. “Anytime you want a real man, you know where I am.”
“I seek asylum,” Panther interjects, and I tighten my grip on his arm, cursing his initiative. Asylum is a word of Déchets, you fool!
“Asylum?” Condor lets out a whistle. “Been over the Devil’s Spine, have you?”
This time, Panther waits for me to answer, and I struggle not to kick him. “He was a trader for Lion near the mountains’ border. Probably picked it up there,” I lie, trying not to look at Wren, who is hovering by the door. One glance, one hiccupped breath, one flex of the jaw, and he will know that I am being untruthful. I keep my eyes on Condor’s mask, praying I do not react to my words.
“So, what’s he doing here?” Condor’s patience is growing thin already. His boots tap on the ground with resounding thumps.
“I do not want to be in Wolf’s pack,” Panther murmurs. “Not after he killed Lion the way that he did.”
“And just how did Lion die, Panther?” Wren challenges as he draws closer, sniffing out the truth almost like a hound searching for blood. By the way he watches Panther, I am certain that Wren suspects something to be amiss.
Wolf removed his mask and his people killed him. I feed the story to Panther quickly through the bond. Tell him that exactly. Nothing else.
Panther complies, and a howl of laughter erupts from Condor as he pulls me into a bone crushing embrace. “Damn it all, Mynah! Just when I decide that you are a waste of space, you do something useful like this!”
Wren sulks as he sits on the porch swing, not quite convinced but not pushing his luck either. I wrench Condor’s arm as his hands get too personal for my liking, relishing the satisfaction of him dropping to his knees as I bend his wrist to the edge of breaking. “You have never thought such lies about me. We both know that I am one of the best you have. Do not touch me, Condor. I am not in the mood.”
When I let go of his arm, he catches my throat. “You want to challenge me?” He tightens his hold until I cannot breathe. “You really want to do this?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Panther twitch. No, Antero, I command. Stay still. Condor’s been waiting for this moment for a few weeks now. Let him stay focused on me, and he’s less likely to question you further. Do nothing.
“What are you going to do, Mynah?” Condor uses his height against me, raising his hand around my throat until I am standing on my toes.
“Is this what gets you off?” I croak, knowing exactly what response I will receive. “Overpowering a woman when she brings you exactly the kind of leverage you want. You are pathetic, Condor.” Lights explode behind my eyes as he backhands my jaw. I land in a heap at Panther’s feet. A kick to my ribs snaps a bone, and I yelp with the impact. Another jab bloodies my nose.
Don’t move, Antero, I repeat as pain lances up my arm. Condor stands on my wrist, rolling his weight back and forth as he grinds my limb into the ground. “You know, you’d be a wonderful second if you’d ever learn to control that mouth of yours.”
“Shhh…don’t let Falcon hear that.” I cough up blood with my laughter.
“Do you have a death wish? Have I made your life so miserable?” Condor asks, leaning down so I can see his disapproving glare. Quietly, so the rest of the onlookers do not hear, he asks, “Why do you always have to make things so difficult?”
“Why Condor, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you truly cared about me! But that’s crazy, isn’t it? After all, the only person you truly love is yourself!” Then a blow to my head steals my consciousness away, and I fall into blissful sleep.
When I wake, I am lying exactly where I had fallen the night before, groaning as my body is frozen with pain and cold morning dew. My left eye is swollen shut, and my lower teeth feel wobbly in my gums. On the back of my wrist bits of gravel have set themselves into my skin, and I pick them away like bloody jewels being extracted from their bezels by a master jeweler.
“Are you okay?” Warbler cries from the threshold, tiptoeing to see me better. “Creeper, go help Mynah inside.”
I hear a soft giggle as Creeper jumps from the porch. He drops to my side, leering as he looks me over. “Pretty Mynah! Pretty bird! How I’d love to hear you sing!” He cackles once more, his fingers twitching as he inches closer.
House of Vultures Page 7
