Fire Witch

by Thea Atkinson

  "Perhaps not even me," he whispered, fisting the bottom of her shift. She bat at his hands like her own fingers had become part of someone else's body, with as much control over them.

  He gave her one piercing look that seized her muscles entirely. Then he forced her back to, pulling her bottom against his hips in one movement. He leaned in so that his mouth was against the back of her ear.

  "Scream now," he said.

  She obliged him until her voice was hoarse, but for the life of her, she couldn't understand why she was doing so. He had an erection, certainly. It was as solid and unyielding against her bottom as the limb of an ironwood tree. Even so, he made no move to penetrate her. Instead, he let it but up against her bottom almost chastely. She had thought this hardened warrior would force himself on her right there in the woods with that disgusting brute just on the other side of the tree. She thought she would have to steel herself against the invasion and then do so again and again until she was nothing but a husk of flesh with no spirit within.

  She didn't expect the man clutching her hips to pantomime the intimate act or to send his calloused thumb over the cleft of her bottom like a whisper promising gentler intimacy. That changed when he hissed into her ear.

  "I told you to scream," he said. He balled his hand into her shift and he used the material to yank her against him rhythmically, bucking against her and forcing her to pantomime the act with him.

  She thought she had been screaming, but evidently she hadn't sounded frightened enough. His elbow snaked around the front of her neck and he yanked her forcefully against his chest, crushing her voice box with the crook of his arm as he did so, and then she did scream. It came out as a curdled warble, but at least it seemed to have been appropriate affect. He grunted in her ear with satisfaction and then after one final thrust, pulled her shift down, smoothing it over her thighs before throwing her onto the moss just in sight of the brute who had by then taken a seat on a smooth boulder nearby.

  Chelan rounded the tree, making a great show of buckling his leathers. She wasn't certain what had just happened, or why, but she was grateful. When she met his eyes, she realized she couldn't keep his mossy gaze and instead collapsed on her side on the forest floor, hoping that the ordeal was well and truly over. Now that she'd apparently given one of them what he wanted, they'd leave her and flee these woods that lined the village her mother ruled before she sent men out to fetch the bastards who dared invade her town. She tried to keep her eyes on the ground, hoping for their departure, but when the brutish man made a sound like he was disappointed, she flicked her gaze in his direction without meaning to.

  "What a waste," he said, picking at his trousers. He caught her eye and winked. With horror, she realized he had an erection.

  "Just a taste for now," Chelan said.

  Feran's hand went to his crotch and he rubbed it shamelessly. "And what of your brother's men? We could use a taste."

  "You are my men."

  "For now," Feran corrected and he looked Aislin over with a lecherous eye. "Your brother would let us share her."

  "I'm not my brother." Chelan sent an exploratory toe into her belly, rolling her over. She refused to look up into that chiseled face. She wouldn't look at either of them, the bastards.

  Feran wouldn't let it go. "Conn wouldn't keep her to himself," he said, insistent. "After all that blood and sweat. A man needs--"

  "A man needs to do what his leader says."

  Feran grunted, but he didn't argue.

  Chelan scuffed the sole of his boot over a nearby rock, leaving a smear of blood and detritus. He regarded Feran with disgust. In turn, Feran sneered at him, and Aislin suspected there was more beneath his hatred then merely being refused something he wanted.

  "Again," Feran said. "You're not my leader."

  Chelan planted his boots shoulder-width apart, indicating he couldn't be moved. "You'll wait until I'm done with her."

  "By the looks of things, she'll be done with you long before you are her."

  Chelan shrugged. "Maybe so," he said. "But at least I'll have had my fill." He crouched down in front of her, his hands across his knees. She glared into that green gaze until he broke into a patronizing grin, then she leaned over to spit on his boot. He set the toe against her chin, pinning her cheek to the earth, forcing her to go slack in surrender. She might give him compliance for the moment, but she wouldn't forget. She'd work on her power till it flowed from her and turned them all to cinder. She glared up at him. He ran a calloused hand through the bush of his curls.

  Evidently, Feran grew tired of waiting for whatever exchange Chelan expected and he pushed off the stone and took a step toward her, the fingers that had been rubbing over his crotch now untying the laces. "Move out of the way, young pup," he said.

  Chelan eased to his feet and pulled his sword from over his shoulder. With almost casual demeanor, he pointed it at the older man as he advanced a few feet, closing the distance between them.

  "I said you will wait until I'm done with her."

  Feran lifted his hands in surrender. "At least you're quick. She'll grow bored of you soon enough," he said. Then he laughed, a horrible hawkish sound that was so dichotomous to the man's physique that at first she didn't think the sound came from him. She couldn't keep that disgustingly lustful gaze for one more second; she wouldn't. She forced her eyes back to the ground in front of her, this time scanning desperately for another stone or a stick or even a handful of poisonous mushrooms that she could cram into any orifice she found.

  Chelan's boots strode into view again and then his hand was reaching down for her, yanking on her elbow and pulling her to her feet.

  "Come," he said to her. There was very little tolerance in his voice, but it wasn't unkind either.

  She could barely stand, but she willed her knees to lock into place until she found herself being pulled along relentlessly toward where they abandoned the horses.

  "Where are we going?" she asked.

  He made a sound like he expected her to stay quiet.

  "My mother will send someone for me," she said.

  "I don't fear mothers," he said, pulling at her when she stumbled against a mossy stone and nearly fell.

  "You would fear mine," she said. "Unless you were foolish. Are you foolish?"

  He looked back at her with the briefest of interest and then trundled on ahead, pulling her with him without bothering to give her another look.

  He lifted her on to the back of his horse like he would a sack of grain. When he climbed up behind her, he laid one hand on her back almost possessively as he held the reins with the other. She watched as the walls of her village grew ever smaller in the distance.

  They met up with the other men along the tree-line and while Aislin thought they would disappear into the woods, instead they traveled along its edges, always avoiding moving within. They seemed to be in a fair amount of haste, galloping a good part of the way and watering the horses and themselves only when it seemed necessary.

  A good number of times as they traversed the plains she felt his erection rubbing against her ribs. She might have been saved the pain and humiliation of rape in the forest, but she was no fool. The time was coming. She had no idea why he spared her earlier, but he didn't seem the sort to put off what he wanted for long. Best she use the travel to plot and plan how she would manage to escape that atrocity when the time came. She imagined herself stealing one of their swords in the dark of night and sticking it into each of the men's bellies while they slept. For the hundredth time in her seasons she resented the fact that her mother hadn't marked her. What a fool Indiris had been to think that she alone could protect the village. To think so confidently that she could keep her daughter from harm's way that she refused to mark her with the symbols that would have given her the magic she needed to protect herself. She just prayed to the goddess that Indiris had already noticed her daughter missing and had sent someone to the rescue. She had to believe it.

  Finally, with
so much blood rushing to her head, she couldn't lie still any longer and squirmed against him, trying to either push herself from the beast or have him grow so frustrated at her movements that he pulled her astride the mount like a human being.

  What he did was slap her on the ass like he would a child. "Keep still," he said.

  "I'm going to pass out," she complained.

  "You say that like it's a bad thing," he said.

  "I might die," she said.

  "At least you'll be spared your worst fear," he answered, but he scooped beneath her belly and tucked her against his chest, letting her legs fall on either side of the beast's back. She couldn't help but lean into him.

  They only entered the woods come evening, and he pushed her off the horse so that she landed on unsteady feet.

  He tossed her a tinder bundle that he pulled from the side of his saddle.

  "We're hungry," he said. "Get the fire started."

  She had to work to stay on her feet, but she did so with dogged determination, taking in each dirty face that met hers as though she would need to remember them in order to kill them later. Six men faced her, but one face stood out to her. Those green eyes and bush of black curls wouldn't meet her gaze as she clutched the tinder bundle. She thought he would be the second to die.

  She threw it down on the moss. "Make your own fire."

  Feran stepped forward to tangle his fingers in her hair and yank. Her teeth clicked sharply together and she cringed beneath his grip.

  "If all you want of her is a fire wench," he said. "I can make better use of her."

  She felt Chelan's hands against the back of her head as he gripped Feran's wrist.

  "Not now, Feran," Chelan said. "We have to decide what were going to do next. That's more important than a roll in the grass."

  The spindly youth who had held the horses just outside the village walls stepped forward. "I'll start the fire," he said, sending a quick glance to Aislin and dropping it just as quickly as she met it. "Maybe she can help me find firewood."

  Feran let go her hair and Chelan nodded at her. She had no idea how far they'd come, but she knew that this small reprieve might give her an opportunity to scope out her surroundings, maybe even slip away under the guise of collecting the fuel they needed. She edged sideways, keeping her eye on Chelan's green one, waiting for him to refuse her the task. Instead, he strode toward her, jerking his chin towards the deeper woods.

  "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be right behind you."

  She thought she could hear the rest of the men chuckling and her face burned with shame. She stepped up her pace, searching frantically for a big enough stick that she could swing it at him if he came at her. She peered up into the canopy, trying to assess how close to dusk it was and how long it would be before the shadows would cloak everything from view. She'd run, that's what. Should make him chase her until she could lose herself in the darkness. Her heart was already quickened as she tried to supply her muscles with the necessary fuel. She could hear him behind her, treading casually, as though he thought she believed herself safe, as though he believed he had fooled her.

  She looked back at him over her shoulder, and froze midstep as she realized he was bending and collecting wood. He peered up, catching her eye over his armful of dead tree limbs.

  "You need boots," he said.

  She looked down at her feet and shrugged. "I prefer to go barefoot."

  "Fine if you don't have to worry about poisonous snakes," he said.

  "There are no poisonous snakes hereabouts."

  A black brow cocked quizzically. "Really?" he said. "I thought they were everywhere." Then he nodded at a fall of oak branches large enough that they could feed a fire for hours. "Grab that," he said.

  When they made it back to the small clearing, smoke was already rising from a meager fire set by the spindly youth. She saw him flash an encouraging smile her way, but she couldn't find it within her to return it. The other men swarmed about Feran, mumbling in a language she didn't understand but she could tell they were asking when they were going to get their turn with the captive. When Feran shook his head to indicate he thought they weren't any of them going to get an opportunity at all, two of the men cursed out loud and spat on the ground. They sent hateful looks toward Chelan and clutched the hilts of daggers they wore strapped to sheaths around the tops of their leather-clad thighs. She didn't have to understand the language to comprehend what their bodies were saying. They thought they were entitled to her and some sort of code prevented them from doing so.

  For the first moment since her capture, she felt relief. No matter how long it lasted, no matter whether there was another moment of relief to come, she would be grateful for this one opportunity when she felt at least somewhat safe. She settled on a log some distance away from the fire, but not without the carefully guarded glances that got sent her away from the brood of men. She crossed her arms as she sat there, stretching her legs out in front of her to manage some sort of comfort.

  The rest of the group settled around closely to the fire, all seemingly eager for a few morsels of the quickly prepared fare. A couple of them chewed on the ends of fern roots that they had pulled and peeled down to the nutty core. One dug into a leather bag of dried apple slices and passed it around magnanimously to his comrades.

  The spindly youth was evidently the cook as well. She could smell dried venison and onions being boiled together; despite herself, her stomach grumbled loudly. Chelan looked askance at her and then took a wooden bowl from his satchel hanging from his horse and filled it with broth. Clumps of wild herbs hung over the edge.

  He strode toward her and held out the bowl. It dripped on the top of her bare shin and dribbled down to the forest floor.

  She shook her head. She'd be damned by the goddess if she broke bread with this motley crew of bandits.

  He pushed it into her hands, making it slosh over her wrists. "Eat," he said.

  "No," she said.

  He sent a hurried glance over his shoulder, obviously checking to see if his men were watching as she rebuked him. Then he pushed next to her on the log, nearly sending her over it backwards.

  "You need to keep your strength up," he said.

  "Why," she retorted. "So I can act the docile filly to all of your raging stallions?"

  His face went tight. "I promised you that wouldn't happen." He took the bowl from her and rested it on the ground between them just out of her reach.

  She eyed the food hungrily but steeled herself against the hunger pains.

  "Then why not just let me go?"

  He crossed his arms, stretching his legs out in front of him in a pantomime of her posture.

  "Because I can't."

  "You're obviously the leader," she said. "In my village, the leader can do what she wants."

  "You're missing the point," he said. "If I let you go, how long do you think it would be before one of these men hunted you down? I don't imagine any of them would consider leaving you alive when they were done."

  She hadn't thought of that. No doubt the first one to sneak off after her would be Feran. She shivered, imagining him coming upon her in the dark while she slept. Even so, she wouldn't let this particular ruffian think she was too afraid to escape.

  "He'd have to find me first." She hadn't meant to use an individual pronoun, but it came out just the same, revealing her biggest concern.

  She felt his thumb move across her cheek as he wiped away a stray lock of hair. "He'd find you," he said, jerking his chin toward where Feran was pouring broth down his throat and gulping like a crow at the larger bits of meat that inhibited his ingestion.

  "And even if he didn't, it would be a long way back to your village in any case. There's no telling what would happen to you on the way – if you even made it."

  He reached down and plucked the bowl from the mossy carpet and pressed it toward her. "So you'll just have to wait. Once I return this gang of thieves back to my brother, we'll backtrack, you and I, and I'
ll see you safely home."

  She felt the wooden edge against her shoulder as he nudged her. "Take it. We still have a way to go, and you'll be hungry long before we get there."

  She contemplated taking the food from him, but before she could, he shrugged and left it on the ground just out of reach. She thought he did so on purpose, to force her to make a specific effort to retrieve it.

  He pushed himself to stand and looked down at her. "There are plenty of men who could use that broth if you're not hungry," he said. "I won't force you, but I won't wait either."

  In the end, she decided it was best to eat what she could while she could. She might pretend to Chelan that she would let him deliver her safely home, but she had no intention of going along so complacently with his plans. She would wait until they were all sleeping and then she would slip onto the back of one of their horses – probably the spindly youth's since his seemed to be the least aggressive – and then she would head back in the direction from which they had come. Even if she wasn't as skilled a rider as these, they had only traveled for a single sun rotation; surely she could make it in a turn and a half.

  She was no coddled child to be cared for and protected. She was the first daughter of the witch of flame. That meant she had seasons upon seasons of power coursing through her veins and lying dormant beneath her tissues. She might not have been given her sacred marks, but she had been trained by her mother's old arm of protection on ways to track and trap. She had been forced to stay several nights in a cave within the woods, alone and naked, having to feed herself and warm herself until the old tracker had come for her. She knew at the time it hadn't been at her mother's bidding, but rather at Branor's behest. He always told her that a witch might have the power to protect herself from harm, but she also needed to learn to protect herself from the elements. Nature could be far more cruel than any man, he told her.

  Though he had been dogged in his training, he hadn't been cruel. She took to the lessons with zeal. If she couldn't find her way home again, she didn't deserve to go home.