Fire Witch

by Thea Atkinson

  She thought of the old man as she sipped at the edge of the bowl, swallowing down the broth as she filtered out the meat and wild onions. She'd been mistaken about the venison. She'd chewed several pieces already and it was far too stringy and musky to be deer. She figured goat might be the best bet, but it didn't quite taste like goat either.

  When the liquid was gone, leaving a leathery taste of musk in her mouth, she plucked the remaining two pieces of meat from within the bowl and inspected them between her fingers. Not lamb. Not rabbit.

  There was a noise from beside her, a short clearing of the throat. She looked up to see the spindly youth standing in front of her. His grin nearly split his face in two; his black hair bristling at her from muddied spikes that proved he hadn't washed in weeks.

  "It's rat," The youth said, the grin not leaving his face for one instant.

  She dropped the meat into the bowl and had to struggle against the rising bile as she remembered the feel of it in her mouth. The stench of the boy's body odor coated her palette, a disgusting companion that she couldn't do anything but focus on now that her nose had registered it.

  He looked at her quizzically. "Don't you like rat?"

  There was no time to even shake her head at him. She would not vomit. She would not. She plumbed the depths of the bowl for bits of wild onion and crammed them into her mouth to give her taste buds something else to consider.

  His dirty fingers spidered in next to hers as she went for another scoop. He extracted the two pieces of meat and popped them into his mouth. He chewed reflectively and then pointed to his chest as though he thought she might be a simpleton.

  "Raga," he said around the strings of meat. "Can you say that?"

  The war of the rat was almost won; the onions were helping. At least, that's what she told herself as she looked past him to where Feran sat smirking on a large boulder. He pushed a chunk of the disgusting food into his mouth and chewed, rubbing his belly simultaneously. She swallowed convulsively and ineffectively around the blades of onion, trying to force it down on top of the rat meat. Her stomach would not be fooled. She caught Chelan's eye and could swear he too was laughing.

  Rather than meet that inscrutable gaze, she sprang to her feet and raced for the bushes. If she managed to make it out of sight before she vomited it would be only through the grace of the goddess.

  She was retching up green onion and bile when Chelan swept into the copse with her, pushing aside brambles and stray tree branches, making enough noise that even the mice scuttled away. She knew it was him from the boots that stopped just at the edge of the puddle of sick. One toe kicked moss over it as she hung over limp and heaving.

  "It's no use," he said to her. "Rat sticks to you."

  She groaned. No wonder there was no meat in the stream of sick. It refused to be dislodged, much like its living body. Another shudder took her as she imagined the hunks of meat still clinging to her insides as stubborn and tenacious as the animal itself. She felt his palm on her back, not rubbing it with empathy, but whacking it like he wanted to loosen something inside.

  "Stop," she managed to rasp out. "Can't you see I'm ill?"

  "I do see," he said. "It's time for you not to be." He gave her another whack on the back of her lungs.

  She choked. "You think I can help it?"

  "I think you're forcing it."

  She staggered away from him, reaching behind her for a tree trunk to support her and only stopped when she felt the rough texture beneath her palms. Then she felt she could face him with some sort of bravado.

  "You fed me vermin."

  He shrugged. "I fed you." One black brow cocked, matching itself to that arrogant shoulder.

  Wary, she watched him study her almost impassively before he reached for a water skin attached to his belt. He threw it at her feet.

  "Wash the taste of food from your mouth then," he said.

  It was still sloshing when she scrabbled for it, thinking he might take it back again. She was clawing it open, praying to the goddess that it might actually clean her mouth of the taste, and knowing it would do nothing for cleaning her memory of having eaten it.

  She thought he would leave her there while she drank, but he waited with a scowl while she swallowed down several bolts of liquid. She was certain she could feel the rat meat floating and bobbing in her stomach. The sensation bent her over double again, her body heaving with determination until she stumbled to her hands and knees.

  "Sweet goddess," she gasped after the last of it streamed from her. When she sat back on her haunches, he was knelt down beside her. She only realized he'd been holding her hair when he dropped it to her shoulders. She would have offered a weak thank you but he pushed to his feet and strode for the fire.

  "Hurry up," he said over his shoulder. "It's getting dark."

  She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth hardly believing he was leaving her there. In the bushes by herself, a full water skin next to her feet. Was he doing it on purpose? Was it his way of allowing her to escape and save face with his men at the same time?

  She didn't question it. Although her knees were weak from the ravages of nausea, she pushed herself to a trembling stand, the water skin a bloated bladder in her hand. Enough in there to last her several days if she was careful. Long enough to find a water source and trace it back to her village.

  But could she do it, was the question. One day's journey by horse meant more than several by foot. No. There was a better way.

  She peered through the branches of the canopy, trying to assess just how close to dark it truly was. Several stars had already burned pinpricks of light into the sky; full dark wouldn't be too far off. If she was quiet, she could pick her way through the bracken and find a place to hide close by. No doubt once they realized they'd lost their captive, they'd settle down for the night. There was no true reason for them to hunt for her except for their own sport, and she didn't think they cared enough to bother. She'd obviously been an afterthought, one the brutish Feran had taken advantage of when she turned up to save her little sister. If she hid well enough, she could wait until full dark and creep back into their camp and steal one of their horses.

  If she had any doubts about the plan, the sound of Feran's laughter on the other side of the wooded curtain decided her. As silently as she could, she crept away to the left, following what she thought was a parallel line to their camp. If anything, they would expect her to flee completely opposite to their site like any frightened girl, traveling with blind fear and streaking away like a rabbit. They would never expect her to stay within a few dozen yards.

  It didn't take long before Chelan realized she hadn't followed him back to the fire, and she could hear one of the men asking how a hunter of his abilities could manage to lose a slip of a girl so quickly. She heard Chelan curse loudly and then storm into the bushes where he'd left her. She knew she didn't have much time to find a hiding place, but she also knew she couldn't rush. She had to pick along just as carefully as she'd begun, keeping her eyes open, sweeping the glade carefully and methodically.

  There. Several yards away she found an up rooted tree. It would have to do for now, and if she was quiet, she might be able to dig into the earth where the roots had lifted and manage to squirm down flat enough that darkness would cover her completely.

  The others had joined the search now, she could tell, but she was nearly there. Half a dozen more steps, several more moments before darkness dropped upon them enough that even a cat couldn't see her in the dark. She went slowly, being careful not to step on anything that might crack or crinkle or even lift a bird from its evening roost. She became a shadow as she moved, creeping upon the uprooted tree the way a Jaguar would its prey.

  She heard Feran taunting Chelan about finding her first, and she shivered involuntarily as she imagined those meaty hands reaching out for her in the dark. But he wouldn't find her. No one would. The voices were entirely in the wrong direction. Perhaps she was even capable of stealing one of t
he horses right there, right then. Except they would be alerted. No. Best to stick to the original plan and steal a mount while they slept and were blissfully ignorant of her presence at all.

  By then it was so dark that she was having to reach out almost blindly in front of her, and she began making foolish sightless mistakes. Twice she nearly stumbled over tree roots but caught herself before she crashed into the bushes and gave herself away. By the time she made it to the hollow left of the uprooted tree, she was ready to fall into it with relief. Instead, she willed herself to move just as silently as before, flattening her stomach out on the ground and crawling forward, trying to reach the nook in the very back where the tilted tree still joined with the earth.

  She was rubbing handfuls of soft humus over her face, trying to blacken any bit of skin that might show in the shadows when she heard a deep-throated growl coming from just next to her. In the moment, she registered the terrible funk of wild beast and the only thing that competed against the growling rumble was the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

  Two heartbeats later, something clawed into her, ripping skin from several places in her bicep and leaving hot tracks of pain down her arm.

  After that, there was no way she could keep quiet.

  She scrambled for freedom from the beast, giving up any hope of stealth as she propelled herself over tree roots and brambles. Fingers dug into soft moss of the forest floor as she tried to find her feet and she stumbled twice before she managed to launch herself several yards away, clinging to a tree trunk in the darkness, eyes straining to see. She flattened herself out against the tree, wrapping her arms around it as she struggled to regain composure enough to quell the heavings of her chest that forced her breath out in noisy rasps. She needed to hear. She needed to know whether the thing beneath the tree would come for her before the men did. If she was lucky, they would be too far away to notice her distinctly noisy bumblings.

  Holding her breath, she paused, freezing every muscle in her body so that she could concentrate on each sound and realized all other sound had ceased as well. They had heard her. No doubt waiting for her to make another foolish noise. She racked her memory trying to recall whether or not she had shrieked in pain and fright, but couldn't come up with anything except the recollection of that primal terror. She exhaled slowly and evenly, knowing that even as she did so she would have to make a run for the horses. There was no sense even pretending now that she had fled away from the camp. Best to take whatever chances she had while she could take them.

  At least the thing beneath the tree had stopped its snarling. A badger, no doubt. A terrible beast in its fury, but satisfied that it had done its best to ward off the dreaded invader settled back in for a good night's sleep. She poked tentative fingers into the muscle of her bicep, testing for damage. It was already swelling, and when her finger reached a bleeding raw section, she winced. It would have to be cleaned and bound, but that would have to wait.

  She braced herself with a slow, purposeful inhale and then let it go as she took a step toward the camp. She could see the flames of the campfire through the branches and knew that the horses were hobbled to a fallen tree nearby. There was no time to waste. Even now, she imagined they were picking their way through the woods toward her and if she didn't hurry, she needn't bother at all.

  She was visualizing the path she would take through the trees when she heard the rustling of branches from behind her. It wasn't a sound anything would make except for a man or woman, and she knew if she made one movement, whatever shadow that might conceal her would shift enough to call attention to the fact that it shouldn't be moving at all.

  Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears she imagined that whoever was behind her could hear it. She didn't dare swallow, she didn't care breathe. All she could do was continue planning around, imagining herself running through the trees, popping this way and that, until she met the campfire and the horses just beyond. She visualized herself jumping up on the first one's back and kicking it into action.

  "I see you," came a voice and every muscle seized within her at the sound. She knew exactly whose it was.

  The cold realization that it was Feran who had found her fed her feet the courage to step away from the tree and streak her way into the route she had picked through her in her mind. She knew each branch she needed to push away, every tree root she had to jump over. She knew she would have to ignore any pain that blistered over her skin as the thickets scratched at her legs and face. She barreled onward, oblivious to anything but her destination and the fire that shone like a beacon through the trees.

  She was snarling her way through the last knots of branches and tangles of roots, pumping her arms and batting away everything that came within reach when she heard him launch himself along with her. Blind panic took over despite her careful intent to remain calm and focused, and when she caught the scent of him creeping up at her from behind, she knew she was losing and bolted sideways, abandoning her plan. She was a rabbit, now, streaking along to the forest on pure, fear-soaked adrenaline.

  Fingers tangled in her back of her hair and yanked her backwards; she sobbed out loud from frustration more than pain. It was over. Whatever she had been saved from before, she would suffer in spades now.

  She was drawn ruthlessly against his stinking body, his fingers unknotting themselves from her hair and slipping around her mouth, letting one foul finger probe her tongue. His other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her even closer against his unyielding hips.

  "You know how to excite a man," he hissed in her ear.

  She tried to elbow him in the ribs, but he gripped her wrist even as she struggled, pulling her arm around his back and pinning it there.

  "I want to see you," he growled against her neck "Every bit of skin." He hoisted her onto his hip, carrying toward the camp.

  He found the fire in a few short strides. She tried to prod into his wound with searching fingers, but he managed to hoist her over his shoulder. The smell of horseflesh rose on the air and she wanted to sob against his back.

  "Don't worry, vixen," he said. "I won't waste your time like the young pup. I have a lot more staying power."

  At that, he flung her on the ground and was on top of her so quick she didn't have time to even roll to her side and jump to her feet. One filthy finger found its way into her mouth even as his free hand worked at her shift. She bit down, tasting earth and moss and the remnants of old blood. He yelped and pulled his finger free, only to deliver a wet slap against her cheek. He planted his filthy finger and thumb on either side of her mouth, squeezing mercilessly until she felt her lips grind against her teeth.

  "You like it rough?" he said. "Just so happens rough is my style."

  He flipped her over so that she was face down in the moss. She tried to imagine the fire, willing herself to feel its heat, to cradle it in commanding hands and stuff it inside his mouth, send it blazing to his lungs. The fire roared to life beyond her and she sobbed. More than she'd ever managed, and still not enough. Her chin plowed in to a damp spot even as her cheek ground against a cold stone. But her hands were free. Thank the goddess, her hands were free and there was a stone just right there. She felt him lift her shift to her waist and dig his fingers into her hips. If she was going to do it, it had to be now. In a few moments, she knew she'd be far past fighting at all.

  Her palm had just settled down onto the chunk of rock when she realized the fingers gripping her hips had stopped their probing, that the stinking weight over her back had eased off so gently it was as though he'd never intended to do her violence at all.

  It was then that she heard the distinct sound of Chelan's voice, the undertones of threat as clear as the feel of cold stone in her hand.

  "I told you she was mine," he said and she realized that he was crouched behind Feran.

  She felt Feran's fingers leave her bare hips as he eased away from her. She scrambled to pull down her skirts and crab her way backwards against a tree trunk, pullin
g her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. The darkness was no longer complete. The rest of the men lurked nearby, holding aloft torches from the fire. Feran was still on his knees in the firelight, his arms pulled back in supplicating surrender as Chelan held a broad knife against the man's throat.

  Even so, he seemed far from passive.

  "He who finds, keeps," Feran said. Even in the shadows, Aislin could tell his breeches were unlaced, but that stiff member she had felt pressed so insistently against her had gone flaccid.

  "Give a man time to lace his britches," he complained.

  Chelan's only answer was to grip Feran by the hair and pull his head back, arching his throat even more toward the blackened sky. Aislin held her breath, waiting for the sickening smell of blood to wash over the air.

  "I should end you," he said.

  She wished she could see Chelan's face, she wished she could see anyone's face besides that of the brute who had attacked her. As it was, she could see him all too well. His hands were still raised, but she could see his fingers wiggling just outside of Chelan's periphery. She had the feeling that although the man was on his knees, he was far from the point of surrender.

  She stumbled to her feet and charged him, fully intending to scoop a torch from the fire and cram it down his throat. If she couldn't call the fire from him, she'd send it to him.

  Someone hooked her by the waist, and she smelled mud and body odor. Raga.

  Chelan reacted as though nothing was amiss. She watched him from Raga's arms as he held the man fast. Feran too, remained composed, held calm by the play of imminent death on the air.

  "You kill me, you'll have to answer to your brother," he said.

  "My brother will understand."

  "Will he?" Feran said. "How will you explain the death of his best warrior for the sake of a skinny red-haired bitch?"

  Chelan's expression shifted; Aislin could see something peculiar cross his face as he cocked his head to look at her. It was only a moment, a heartbeat even, but she saw the spark of realization ignite behind his eyes. Then it was gone and he was staring down at Feran again with cold intensity.