Salty Dog

by Shayne Silvers

  Blair took a step back, face pale. “To swear such a thing…” she whispered.

  I frowned, surprised by her reaction. Too late, I remembered Bran’s warning and the horror that had lurked behind his eyes. To break a promise in the Land of Youth was to invite exile, he’d said. Which meant I’d just triple-dog dared Blair right out of the gate. And yet, there was no going back on it, now; the best I could do was hope the threat was enough. “I may lie when it suits me,” I said, still cradling my injured hand, “but I keep me word, too, Blair. Remember that.”

  16

  Blair kept her hands off me for the remainder of that day and the next, though she did keep an eye on me at all times, walking slightly behind rather than alongside. We hardly spoke, and I could sense her disdain for me festering into hate. Frankly, I was beginning to resent her, too. Of course, it didn’t help that I hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of Aife in four days, which meant I still had no idea why I’d been singled out and captured. As far as I could tell, neither did anyone else; the Curaitl who would talk to me seemed genuinely baffled to find a bound woman among them, even if I was a foreigner and a former enemy. Indeed, it occurred to me that I’d seen no other prisoners taken at all, though Aife surely would have been able to capture some of Tuathal’s warriors if she’d been so inclined. It made no sense.

  What was so special about me?

  Maybe I’d get my answer once we reached the pass, I thought. That, or they’d throw me in a cell and toss away the key. Either way, at least I’d be done with this infernal walking.

  “I informed Lady Aife of what you swore to do to me if I struck you again,” Blair said. I turned and found her eyeing the mountains ahead. They’d grown much larger in the last couple days, and I was beginning to suspect my prayers weren’t going to be answered. Could you lose fingers in the Land of Youth, I wondered?

  “Tattletale,” I muttered.

  “What’s that?”

  I frowned, unable to explain. “Nothin’, nevermind. So, what did your warmaiden say?”

  Blair made a sour face. “That I probably shouldn’t hit you, then.”

  I raised my eyebrows at that. “Sounds like a smart woman.”

  “Lady Aife is a genius,” Blair replied, her eyes going soft and docile for just a moment, the full curve of her lips exposed by her gentle smile. The woman really was quite lovely, I decided, when she wasn’t being bitchy or assaulting me.

  “Aye, makin’ off with Tuathal’s horses, then usin’ ‘em to sneak past his defenses,” I said, nodding. “All very clever.”

  “Why do you always sound like you have something else to say?” Blair asked, mouth pursed.

  “No, no, it’s a brilliant plan. Except there’s still one t’ing I don’t get,” I added, raising a finger, “why bother with me? Gettin’ your hostages back, that I get. Provin’ a point to Donall. Puttin’ the fear of the Curaitl into the Tógálaí Capall. All that makes sense. But why am I the only one ye took back with ye? Why me?”

  Blair stopped walking, forcing me to halt as well. She cocked her head slightly, then reached out, quick as a viper, and sliced through the ropes on my wrist with a knife I hadn’t even noticed her holding. I hissed, surprised, and probed at the skin of my wrists, which were blistered and red from days of chafing.

  “Why d’ye do that?” I asked.

  “So it’s true,” she whispered, ignoring my question.

  “What’s true?”

  “That you aren’t one of us. One of the Blessed People.” She pointed at my aching wrists, which I quickly hid behind my back out of reflex. “None of us would bear those marks. And yet, what else could you be?” Blair mused, still staring at the space where my hands once were, eyes unfocused. “You can’t be from the realm of man. You just can’t. That’s been closed to our kind for so long no one thinks it still exists. You even survived your wounds. But then, what are you?” This time the question had heat to it. Blair searched my face as if willing me to tell her the truth, for once.

  If only I could.

  “Ye want to know what I am?” I replied, sighing. “I’m tired.” I turned and made to follow the train of people headed into the mountains, unwilling to make a break for it even with my restraints removed, but a hand locked on my shoulder, drawing me back. “Look! I don’t know who I am, alright?!” I shouted, eyes pinched shut in frustration. “The last t’ing I remember was that battle and drinkin’ from Bran’s waterskin and listenin’ to a sad song, and gettin’ in a fight I didn’t even want! Just let me be!” I jerked away, suddenly on the edge of hysteria. But then, maybe I’d already crossed that line; alone and cold and surrounded by enemies without even my own memories to keep me company, maybe I’d been pushed past the brink.

  “If that is what you wish,” a woman’s voice—melodious and yet somehow steely—said, “then you may go. Wander the land with the blessing of the Curaitl.” I turned and found Aife standing there in all her glory, no longer coated in blood, but wearing a pristine cloak of pale-yellow fur that covered everything but her pale, angular face and the brilliant waves of her unbound hair.

  “If you choose that path, however,” she continued, “I expect you will not survive long. Winter is but days away, and even those who cannot die can suffer.” She studied me, Blair by her side—the woman’s head bowed so low she might as well have been checking on the state of her boots. “But, if what you say is true, then you are welcome among us.”

  “But, but,” I stammered, “I don’t understand. Why? I mean why now? And why take me at all?” Another question rose, one I hadn’t even considered until this very moment, standing mere feet away from the woman who’d taken me prisoner. “Why shouldn’t we try to kill ye right now?”

  Aife held a hand out to still Blair, who’d already leveled her spear as if to attack me. “Because,” Aife replied calmly, “I believed you to be something you are not. You are free to kill me, if you think it wise. Or,” she cocked her head, “you could ask me for the one thing you want most in the world right now.”

  That thought stopped me cold, the momentary urge to lash out immediately quelled. What did I want most? Freedom? They’d already undone my restraints and told me I could leave under my own power. From a people so forthright they couldn’t grasp sarcasm, that boded well. But no, freedom wasn’t enough. What I wanted, more than anything else, was answers.

  “And you shall receive them,” Aife said, as if reading my mind. “In time. But first, I think, rest. And, perhaps, food.”

  My stomach lurched with the mere thought, and the hunger I’d been staving off for so long seemed to hit me all at once; a tidal wave of nausea that made me a little faint. I wobbled a little, then nodded. “Aye, food.”

  Aife clapped my shoulder, once, and I nearly toppled beneath the strength of that one blow. “Excellent,” she said, her smile wide and inviting. “Come, while I tell you of the Curaitl.”

  I nodded absentmindedly, catching Blair’s remarkably inquisitive expression out of the corner of my eye; I had a feeling she and I were far from done. But I couldn’t focus on that, now, because Aife was already talking, leading me by the arm towards the mountains as if we’d been friends all along.

  “It began long ago, you see, when my sister and I were still young. She was a fierce, hard thing, even then, whereas I had always been the gentler one. And yet, we fell in love with the same man. Which meant, when the war came…”

  17

  I planted the spear between my opponent’s feet and jerked left, then right, forcing him off balance with each blow, exposing his improper stance. He cursed, suddenly bow-legged, as I ducked a shoulder and rammed him to the dirt. The poor bastard landed with a crunch, the cold ground a little less solid than it had been when winter hit in force months ago, but still plenty firm enough to knock the wind out of him on impact. I flipped the spear and angled it under his throat, the tip flush against his jugular. Or it would have been, had we been using real weapons as opposed to practice staffs.

&n
bsp; “Ye overcommitted with that last strike,” I said. “Should’ve—”

  “Retreated,” Tristan interjected, grimacing. “I know, I know.”

  “Too bad ye never retreat.”

  Tristan rolled his eyes but flashed me a grin. “Are you going to help me up, or is this some sort of punishment?” He cocked his head a little, glancing past the line of my staff to stare up at me. “Because I’ve had worse views.”

  Suddenly it was my turn to roll my eyes, but I gave him the laugh the comment deserved as I reached for the man’s hand, hefting him to his feet. Tristan was a slim-waisted, broad-shouldered, square-jawed hunk who outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, but—after training half a day every day for the past few months—the effort cost me almost nothing. “Next time—” I began.

  “Staggered stance,” Tristan said, nodding.

  “Footwork is important,” I leaned on my staff for support, relishing in the afterglow of a good practice bout. “But it’s more than that. Ye have to stop relyin’ on your strength.” I tapped his chest. “Technique. Don’t try so hard to overpower everyone.”

  “As if he could!” a voice called. We turned to find Rhys and three of his cronies watching us from outside the practice ring. Tristan stiffened beside me as their laughter spilled out into the courtyard. Two of the men mimed his fall, exaggerating the motion to the point of ridicule.

  Tristan made to step forward, but I held out an arm. “Oh? And would ye prefer to try your luck, Rhys?” I called. “Assumin’ you’re more prepared than ye were last time I beat ye.”

  Rhys purpled but didn’t take the bait. “We’ll meet each other in the ring soon, Ceara. Your tricks won’t save you, then,” he said, then spat into the dirt before gesturing to the men at his back. “Let’s go.”

  The men fell into step behind their leader, though those who trailed flung a variety of rude gestures in our direction, just in case it wasn’t clear how much they despised us. Or, well, me at least. “I’m sorry, Tristan,” I said. “He wouldn’t have said anythin’ if I weren’t here.”

  “Yeah, Rhys sure does hate you,” Tristan replied.

  I glanced over at him. “Ye don’t have to look so pleased about it,” I chided.

  “Oh, I’m not. Rhys isn’t worth the cattle shit he used to shovel.” Tristan stretched, relishing in the play of midday sunlight on his clean-shaven face—the only time of day we ever saw sunlight in the North Pass. “I’m just glad I’ll get to watch you put him on his ass in front of everyone, soon.”

  I frowned. “There’s no guarantee he and I will even be paired up,” I reminded him. “From what Lady Aife said, there’ll be contestants from all across the Land of Youth.”

  Tristan waved that away. “The Curaitl always advance further than most. Mostly it’s the way the tournament is set up. No horses, no bows. Gives us and a few others an advantage. Besides, while Rhys is clearly an idiot, he’s a capable enough fighter.”

  “And who’s to say I’ll stick around?”

  Tristan clapped me on the shoulder, flashing me a wide, guileless smile I’d come to associate with the man. “We both know you’re going to do well, Ceara. As far as I can tell, the only person who stands a chance against you with a spear at this point is Lady Aife.”

  I grunted. “She’s a demon.”

  “A what?”

  I blinked, then shook my head. “I meant she’s a force of nature. Like a blizzard. Or a wildfire.”

  Tristan nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose she is. But she doesn’t have your reach.” He glanced up, meeting my eyes the way so many among the Curaitl were forced to—from below. “She has to work to get in past your guard, and even that has become a challenge for her, lately. I’ve never seen her break a sweat beating anyone until you came.”

  I shifted, uncomfortable with the praise, and shrugged. “Aye, well, she’s a good teacher. And I have good sparrin’ partners,” I added, smirking.

  Tristan belted out a laugh. “Yes, we all love being your plaything.” He winked, then wandered off with a wave. “Anyway, I have to get back. Make sure you get some rest and say hi to your lover for me!”

  I glanced up at the sun overhead, eyes wide, realizing what time it was with a start. “Shit!” I cursed, hurrying to the nearby water trough. I began splashing the chilly liquid all over my face and rubbing it over my chest and arms. A shudder ran through me as a gust of spring wind blew through the practice arena. For just a moment I felt a wave of dizziness pass through me, my vision blurry, as a voice called out to me. A name. Something about a name. But I shook it off a moment later, took a deep breath, and continued washing; I knew better than to show up at home smelling of sweat, no matter the excuse.

  The things we do for love.

  I hurried through the village, hoping to skirt the edges of the midday foot traffic, but I’d forgotten all about the Beltane feast; the market was clogged with people gathering odds and ends or simply gabbing amongst themselves. I craned my neck, hoping to find a way through, but a hand appeared in front of my face at almost that exact moment. Startled, I glanced down, only to find a young girl grinning up at me.

  “Imogen,” I said, ruefully. “What is it, now?”

  The girl huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “Well, now I don’t even want to ask you,” she said, pouting.

  “And yet I’d bet me boots you’ll ask me anyway,” I replied, tousling the girl’s russet-colored hair, a drabber shade than her mother’s, but no less red by the Curaitl’s standards.

  Imogen slapped my hand away, tidying up the bird’s nest I’d created, scowling. “You’re just like mother sometimes, you know that?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, if ye don’t mind.”

  Imogen rolled her eyes. “So, are you going to help me, or what?”

  “Depends on what ye want. I’m runnin’ late, as it is.”

  “That’s alright, you don’t have to help me, now.”

  “Oh?”

  “Tonight,” she affirmed, grinning impishly. “I want to steal Tristan’s armband. But it has to be a secret. He can’t know you helped me, or it won’t count.” The girl—who I realized wasn’t quite as young as I’d thought if she was already plotting to find herself a lover—shifted her weight nervously from side to side.

  “And why would ye want to do that?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  Imogen blushed. “I…well, he’s…”

  I laughed and ducked down, putting my face but a few inches from her own. “And are ye sure he wants ye to steal it?”

  For just an instant, doubt flickered across the young woman’s face. But when she finally met my eyes, there was a fierceness to her gaze that reminded me all too much of Lady Aife—a certainty bordering on stubbornness. “No, but—”

  I pressed my forehead against hers, the gentlest of headbutts. “Well, I am. He’ll be a lucky man to have ye, Imogen.” I flashed her a reassuring smile, winked, and rose to my full height. “D’ye at least have a plan?”

  Imogen beamed up at me, bouncing a little on her toes. “I do!”

  “Find me at the feast tonight, and we can go over it, then.”

  Imogen clapped, nodded, and bolted off into the market throng, threading through the crowd like a knife through butter. I sighed, then glanced back up at the sky, cringing; I was going to be so late. Still, I could admit it had been worth it to see Imogen so ridiculously happy.

  Not right, not right, not right!

  I spun, wondering who was speaking…but there was no one. Or, rather, there were dozens of people within hearing distance, but none who matched that voice. No one was that agitated. I reached up to work at the bridge of my nose to relieve the sudden pressure, massaging my sinuses, and prayed I wasn’t going crazy.

  I kept distractions to a minimum from then on, slipping through the crowd as best I could, though I occasionally bumped into a friendly face and felt obligated to exchange a greeting or two; despite my less than cordial interactions with Rhys and his men, m
any of the Curaitl had welcomed me with open arms, offering to teach me the ways of their people so I might contribute to their society. Indeed, where once I’d found uncertainty and even hostility, I now found warmth and companionship. Part of that, of course, was Lady Aife’s blessing; the Curaitl practically worshipped the woman. Another was my apparent skill with the spear, a talent so revered by the Curaitl that even cattle shits like Rhys were afforded a certain degree of respect. And then there was the fact that I was seeing—indeed, living with—one of their own.

  I finally skidded to a stop outside our hut, breathing labored from having run all the way home from the market. I squinted against the dwindling sunlight, spotted the figure leaning against the doorway, and held out my hands in surrender.

  “You’re late,” Blair said.

  “What can I say? I got distracted,” I replied, hanging my head.

  Blair flicked her eyes to the sky in exasperation, but couldn’t hold back a smile, which was probably the closest thing to forgiveness I’d get from her. “Come in, then. You best take off your clothes and clean yourself up,” she added as I rushed past, “you smell like sweat.”

  It turned out I wasn’t expected to peel off my clothes by myself; Blair ducked inside right behind me and latched her arms around my waist before I could take another step, pulling me close, her face pressed against my shoulder. I could feel her body spooned against mine, soft and hard in equal parts. “Did you win?” she asked.

  I turned in Blair’s embrace, reaching out to wind my fingers through her blonde, curly hair, the two of us shifting our weight just so—a slow dance to music no one else could hear. Blair stared up at me, and, not for the first time, I was struck by the odd sensation of holding someone shorter than me. It had happened often at first, but I certainly didn’t mind it nearly as much now as I once had. Love is like that sometimes—so overwhelming that even that voice in the back of your mind that won’t shut up, that can’t help but notice flaws, falls silent. Besides, her eyes were certainly worth bending my neck for; a brown so pale they flashed gold in sunlight, rimmed by dark lashes. I sometimes seemed to lose myself in them—failing to listen to whole conversations in the process. My mind utterly blank for one blessed moment. Personally, I thought it was romantic. Blair—who admittedly always ended up having to tell her story a second time—disagreed.