Fire Witch

by Thea Atkinson

  "I won't," he said.

  "You won't kill me?"

  "I won't explain."

  The answer was so deadpan, so cold, that her fingers crept into her mouth of their own accord, choking off the whoop of victory that wanted out. She wanted the brute dead. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting, praying to the goddess that it be so, and quickly. Her chest burned with it and she suffered a moment of dizziness as an unbid coil of power shifted restlessly within her.

  She expected some sort of groan, a dull thud as his body met the earth, but when a pained sort of grunt met her ears instead, followed by that of rustling boots in dead leaves, she stole a peek. To her horror, she realized that Feran was again on his feet, his sword drawn, and that Chelan was hunched over himself, cradling his groin. Someone cheered while another one called out in warning.

  But Chelan didn't move. Despite the fact that Feran had planted his feet just firmly enough to root himself as he swung, despite the way that broadsword was already arcing toward Chelan's neck, the younger warrior remained still and calm.

  She watched with a sickening dread as the sword neared its mark.

  Before she realized her own intention, she shrieked at Chelan to move and tried to launch herself forward, hoping to push the brute out-of-the-way before his sword could strike home. Before she could manage more than three ineffectual steps, she found herself pinwheeling in place. Raga held her fast and whispered in her ear to be still.

  Impotent, she watched, her heart in her throat as Chelan feinted sideways. In the same motion, he sliced out with his knife toward Feran's leg, and caught the man just below the knee.

  With his body in full thrust, Feran didn't have time to recover before Chelan danced out of the way. With great deliberation, he drew his sword from his back. She told herself she could breathe again.

  "Stand down," Chelan told the older man.

  "Stand down to some pup," Feran said with disgust. "The same pup intent on killing me moments ago?" Feran's gaze fleeted toward Aislin and in the yellow light of the torches she could see how it raked over her.

  "I think I'd rather fuck your bitch over your dead body."

  The arm that had wrapped around her midriff traveled to just beneath her breast, lingering there like a whisper.

  "Don't worry," he said. "He's the best we have."

  "Which one is that exactly?" she asked, thinking as she watched the men circle each other that it was either one's game at that point. Feran's physique was broad and thick and muscled to the point that she wondered how he could be so deft in his movements. Chelan was more lithe, quick and wiry.

  "Stand down," Chelan said, "and we can forget this happened." He was in shadow now, and Aislin couldn't see him clearly, but she had the feeling he was holding himself in check.

  "What's wrong, boy?" Feran taunted. "Afraid to die?"

  "No," came the flat answer. Why he was hesitating was beyond her, but it didn't seem to confuse Feran. In fact, he seemed to expect it and was using the hesitation to his advantage. He strolled perfectly into the light, almost as though to taunt Chelan.

  "You're a fool," Feran said, "The girl is just one more example of your stupidity. Yield to me, and I'll let you watch."

  Chelan's voice came from the shadows in a tone as dark as the shadows that surrounded him.

  "If you want her, you'll have to kill me to have her."

  Feran chuckled. "I would have killed you for less," he said, and pulled a knife from a sheath tied to his thigh. Aislin could see it glistening in the firelight as he waved it in the air back and forth as though it were a like a flame moving on the wind.

  She watched as he crept sideways, step-by-step searching out a way to get to Chelan's weak side. Rago filled her ears with excited commentary, explaining how Chelan would let the bigger man take the first swing and how he would use that second of momentum to drive his knife up into the man's rib cage. Unless of course the bigger man expected it and executed a counter swing to the other side, leaving Chelan stepping into empty air.

  "So what you're saying," she said. "Is that it could go either way."

  He shrugged. "If it was a certain thing, one of them would have made a move by now."

  As it was, the dance was mesmerizing. Aislin had seen plenty of men battle over the years as they practiced the game of war on the outskirts of the village. Yet each one of those practice sessions had shown themselves for exactly what they were. No man stained the ground with blood when it was over. Each young woman who decided to train did so with the understanding that they would be going home to their families at the end of it. It was a farce created by her mother to let her subjects believe they had some part in their own protection. The truth of it was they hadn't needed any protection other than the temptress of flame for a dozen years and they all knew it. Once a man came within the village walls, and showed himself an enemy, Indiris executed him without a single qualm.

  This battle was different. She knew from the tension in the air that one of these combatants could easily live his final moments here. Whichever man was the victor, her fate would be decided with a dying breath.

  Just knowing it nearly took the strength from her legs. She found herself buckled against Raga, who helped her find a spot on a fallen tree when he realized she wasn't enjoying the battle as much as he. He settled next to her, keeping his hand on her thigh just a little too high for her liking. He couldn't have been more than thirteen seasons, and she felt a sort of empathy for him. Rather than push his hand away, she took it from her leg and held it with both her hands. He seemed not to notice the shift, so interested in the pending battle that he was leaning forward with his free arm on his knees.

  "Now," he whispered and she knew that the time had come. She swung her gaze to the two men in the middle of the circle just as Feran launched himself forward, the full length of his sword in a broad swing that seem to be aimed straight toward Chelan's neck.

  Chelan ducked and rolled sideways, coming to his feet in a crouch with a knife in one hand and his sword in the other. It seemed he had prepared himself for whatever was to come at him be it close enough to use a knife or far enough that he had to use a sword. Feran made the shift so quickly, pirouetting on his feet as expertly as any fire dancer and thrusting with his sword the way a man would a knife. It met Chelan's blade in a clash of metal that reverberated through the trees.

  The rest of the forest had gone quiet. Not one man in the party made a sound as the two groaned and grunted in battle, their swords meeting and relinquishing their hold over and over again until the torches begin to peter out one by one and the fire needed feeding. She could tell they were tiring, that each exertion of lifting their sword and swinging it took such great toll that neither had the energy to meet the other with any intensity. Twice they backed away from each other and stood with their weapons hanging at their sides, chests heaving as they stared each other down, knowing that if they could just catch one breath, they could end the other easily.

  But just when one launched himself back into play, the other marshaled enough strength to defend himself. She was beginning to think that they were perfectly matched when Chelan dropped his sword to the moss at his feet. A strange sound trembled over the crowd of men that could have been one of shock or of excitement. She saw Feran freeze mid stride, cocking his head at Chelan as the fire played over his face and showed just enough of it that Aislin could tell he was just as confused as she was.

  "Is it over?" she whispered against Raga's shoulder.

  He shook his head. "I don't know."

  Feran's leg spasmed as though he wanted to take that last step forward to launch himself at Chelan.

  "What is this?" he said, wariness riding his features.

  "Give it up," Chelan said.

  Feran laughed. "Give it up so you can murder me in my sleep," he said. "I'm no fool, young pup." He cast a glance over his shoulder, meeting Aislin's eye with a look of malevolence that made her shudder.

  "I don't want to ki
ll you," Chelan said. "But I will."

  Aislin watched as Feran licked his lips. She thought for one second he might back down.

  Too late, she realized he had positioned himself during the fight so that he was only a few feet away from her. She saw him take in the short distance in one assessing glance. The look that stole over his face made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of backing down.

  "Such a waste," he said with disgust. "Too bad for the both of you."

  She only had time to register the step he took, the raising of his sword as it began its arc toward her neck, the sense that Raga had seen it coming and fell away from her in an expertly executed feint.

  She expected to feel the searing pain of metal against bone, yet it didn't come. Even as she sat frozen by fear to the log as Feran hurled himself at her, she saw Chelan from behind him, launch himself into the air and drop upon Feran's back with both of his hands on the hilt of his upturned blade.

  Feran fell at her feet, one hand clawing for her leg and the other scrabbling for his dropped sword. She screeched without meaning to and beat on his shoulder, feeling blindly for the knife that she was certain Chelan had buried into his back. It was only when Feran's fingers met her throat that she realized Chelan hadn't intended to stab the beast at all, and now she was fighting for her life with a man intent on strangling her right in front of he who had wasted his opportunity.

  She lurched backwards with Feran on top of her, and met the ground with a thud that stole her air, both his hands circling her throat and squeezing what remained from her lungs mercilessly. She was aware of the entire camp turning to chaos, that the half-dozen men had swarmed around her, falling onto both men with simultaneous cheers and curses. She felt someone's hand curling around her wrist and tugging at her the way a wolf at prey might. Feran's hands eased of the pressure, and then a hot and sticky stream of blood spread across her cheek. She half expected the pressure of weight to ease as well, but it crushed her even more as the remaining three men wrestled to handle Chelan.

  "Get her out of here," she heard him shout and the tugging on her wrist intensified until she slipped out from beneath the melee. Rocks and tree roots dug into her back, crunching her spine as she was dragged free.

  Even as she was trying to find her feet, Raga was pushing her from behind, forcing her to stagger and reach out for support. His slim arm wrapped around her waist.

  "The horses," he said.

  She didn't dare look back, but she had the horrified feeling that the mutinous men were already making quick work of Chelan. A knot tied itself into her stomach. She owed him some small debt, surely; then she realized she wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if it hadn't been for a lot of them pillaging through her village. Sympathy was something better left for man less blameless.

  Raga had managed to shove her hard enough that her legs finally processed the urgent signals from her mind, telling her she had to run without looking back, going only forward until she felt the prickly flesh of horse beneath her palm. She was trying to climb on top of the nearest one when Raga hissed at her.

  "Not that one," he said. "Let them go," he said. "All but two."

  He unhobbled the horse nearest her and then slapped it forcefully on its rump. It snorted and reared, infecting its companions around him. That was when Aislin realized what he intended. She hurried to repeat the same actions on the other horses, realizing he was much faster and had three of them already done. She was going for the fourth when he shouted at her.

  "Just get on," he said with a note of frustration in his voice.

  She didn't question, just grabbed the reins from where they were tied around the fallen log and threw them backwards over the horse's neck. The beast was huge, much larger than any mount she had ridden in her own village and she found she couldn't pull herself up onto his back.

  Raga was already on his mount and was trying to pull her up onto the huge beast from the other side of its back, his arm extended and reaching for her hand. She could hear sounds from behind her that indicated someone was crashing through the woods, coming straight for them. She forced her legs to spring as high as she could, finally gripping Raga's forearm with her hand and was squirming, trying to find enough purchase to hoist herself onto the beast when she felt forceful hands on her behind, pushing her in one fluid movement up onto the beast. A solid body landed behind her, slick and hot with sweat.

  "Good thing for me your clumsy," Chelan said, kicking the horse into a trot as he pulled her firmly against his chest and wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her fast. He clucked encouragingly to the horse and spurred it forward so easily she knew it had to be his.

  He smelled of blood and sweat and she couldn't imagine a safer scent to surround her. She didn't even mind the possessive way his fingers spread across her belly, warming her in a way that stilled the trembling that wanted to shiver through her.

  She wasn't sure whether she was relieved or upset at the outcome, but she felt her body mold against his as they fled for the outskirts of the forest to find the grassland plains that would make for better escape. She noted with despair that they were riding away from her village and knew her chance to return home had turned to ash by what had happened at that fire. She wondered if she could have done anything differently, if she could have urged her dormant power with more command would she be at this man's mercy now. She mulled it over repeatedly as they rode, until she thought she could hear the whisper of a fire sizzling to life in her breast and finally began to believe her mother had reached out to her, offering her comfort the only way she could.

  They had ridden for half the night before anyone spoke, and since the words came to her in low rumbles, she realized she had fallen asleep sometime a few hours after the initial flight and that the change in the previous silence was what had woken her. She almost stretched instinctively as she came aware, but remembered even as her muscles began to tense that she was on a horse in the middle of nowhere, with two men who had abducted her from her village. Those same men were talking in hushed tones as though they didn't want her to hear. That meant she should absolutely try to listen. She rolled her head against Chelan's just so that she could free her ear from against his heart beat.

  "How do you know?" Raga's voice, still high-pitched and newly pubescent. She'd missed the first part of the conversation, obviously.

  "The red hair," Chelan said.

  There was a short silence after that as Raga apparently processed the information.

  "So you couldn't let him kill her, then?"

  She felt him shrug as he answered. "I didn't exactly have time to explain," he said.

  "So there's no other reason?"

  "What other reason would there be?" Chelan said.

  "I just thought –"

  "You shouldn't think," Chelan said as his arm tightened around her. "Sleep well?" he asked.

  So he knew she was awake. No use pretending anymore. "Where are we?" she asked him.

  "About a day away from Olcana."

  "What's Olcana?"

  "My home," he said shortly. "At least it used to be."

  The metallic torque around his neck dug into the back of her head as he adjusted himself higher on the beast's back. She had the feeling from his tone of voice that he was just as uncomfortable about going to this Olcana place as she was.

  "And what happens at your home?"

  He sighed, and she felt his palm run down the length of her braid, tugging at it with what she thought was playfulness when his fingers reached the end. She thought she felt him touch his lips with the tuft at the end then it dropped to her shoulder as he spoke.

  "When we get to Olcana, I turn you over to my leige."

  She tried to twist around to argue, but he seemed to anticipate her movement and his fingers slipped around her neck, flattening against her breastbone and pinning her against his chest. It wasn't exactly a threatening hold, but her skin burned where he touched it. Only when she stopped squirming, did
he let his fingers fall again to her belly. He adjusted her hips so that they ground against his, making them fit together. She could feel his thighs tense and let go as he guided the mount with effortless command. Something in her belly turned to liquid.

  "Turn me over?" she said, her voice revealing her anxiety. No telling what faced her next. "What happened to bringing me home?"

  "You're the reason we were there in the first place," he said.

  Beside them, Raga clucked at his horse who had decided it was time to stop and refused to move on. "You don't know that," he said.

  "I do know," Chelan answered. "I just didn't realize the truth until Feran said it."

  "Good thing you didn't let anyone sport with her, then." Raga's voice trailed off as he said it. "Wait," he blurted. "You took her."

  Chelan tensed at that; she could feel every muscle in his leg spasm around hers. He hadn't, actually, but how would he explain himself now? She waited, breath captured in her throat, to see if he would admit it.

  "Conn will have to accept that."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  Chelan sighed heavily. "Then I expect he'll kill me."

  She should have asked why she was the reason they had invaded the village in the first place, but all she registered was that someone might kill him.

  "But you didn't--" she started to say but he pinched the fleshier part of her belly, making her cry out instead. She butted him in the chest with the back of her head and felt a sense of gratification when he groaned.

  "That's tender," he complained.

  Raga steered his mount close enough that she could smell the oil in his hair. "They beat you pretty bad?"

  "Bad enough." Came Chelan's short reply.

  She imagined the kind of violence and chaos he'd had to endure after she'd run, and realized just how hard he would have had to struggle against three other warriors in order to escape the melee. She almost felt sorry for hitting him.