Bisecter

by Stephanie Fazio

  It’s not long before the man and I are alone amid the bodies strewn across the ground. I’m breathing hard, sick from the smell of blood.

  The man walks over to the first Halve he killed and yanks his arrow from its body. He doesn’t even flinch at the squelching sound.

  I walk between the lifeless bodies, stepping over blood streaked across the road, to the first Halve I killed. Wrapping my hands around the hilt, I tug Brice’s dagger out of its stomach. The feel of the blade rising from the Halve’s innards makes bile rise in my throat.

  “Don’t!” The man lunges toward me just as brown blood lurches up from the wound, covering my gloves and dripping into my sleeves.

  He looks at my hands, first with wild panic, and then tilts his head as I stand before him with my dripping knife.

  “The blood, it doesn’t poison you.” It’s more of a statement than a question. His expression is a mixture of bewilderment and relief.

  Fear twists my gut. There is no lie that can explain why the Halve blood doesn’t hurt me. But even as I watch the man’s bushy eyebrows furrow in growing impatience, something about him makes me want to tell him the truth. Maybe it’s the hint of darkness that seems to lurk behind his gaze that makes me think this man has encountered creatures far more evil than me. Besides, if he was going to tell the Duskers about me, he would have done so rather than risking his own neck to rescue me. Before I can think better of it, I tell the man about what I am.

  There is a long pause when I’ve finished speaking. His eyes meet mine, and I almost keel over from pure shock when I don’t see any hint of hatred or disgust. He doesn’t fear me.

  “We need to get off the road,” is all he says. His expression is unreadable.

  A Halve that lies belly-down in the dirt at the edge of the road is not yet dead. It twitches as blood leaks from a wound in its neck. Its body convulses for a few more seconds before it goes still. I turn away in disgust, but as I turn, something wedged beneath its body catches my eye. It looks like a scroll of script tree bark.

  The man has noticed it, too. He tries to roll the body of the Halve over. Sweat trickles down his forehead as he grunts from the effort, but the corpse is at least twice his size and too heavy for him to budge.

  “Let me.” I bend down, digging my fingers underneath the Halve’s tough flesh.

  I anchor my foot against a stone and then pull up. The body lifts straight up into the air and then lands with a dull thud several paces away.

  A choked sound of surprise escapes my lips. This time, I was ready for my strength to be enough to move the body. But I wasn’t prepared to lift it ten feet in the air….

  I’m not even breathing hard.

  The man and I look at each other. His mouth hangs open.

  “I didn’t mean….” I look down at my hands as though they’re something separate from the rest of my body.

  “Incredible,” the man whispers.

  I give him a sharp look, but his awe seems genuine.

  “Aren’t you afraid of me?” I ask.

  The man stares up, as if measuring the distance the Halve’s body reached at its highest point.

  “No,” he says. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  There is a sick feeling in my stomach as I walk over to where the Halve’s body has come to rest. The scroll of script tree bark is still clutched in the beast’s fist. I use my knife to pry its hand loose and slide the bark out. A sense of foreboding makes my hands tremble as I unfurl the scroll.

  “What in the—?” The man looks over my shoulder at the drawing.

  In the center of the scroll is a drawing done in perfect likeness…of me.

  An unpleasant chill travels up my spine.

  “It’s you!” the man exclaims as I stare at the image.

  “I know,” I force my mouth to form the words. “It’s mine.”

  Brice gave me the drawing months ago. He made it for me when he was away on a long scouting trip. I kept it in my sleeping cave, on the shelf beside my bed. I hadn’t moved it since Brice gave it to me.

  The man pulls the lute from around his neck and plucks out a tuneless song. “Where did it come from?”

  “My sleeping cave in the Subterrane,” I shake my head, trying to make sense of it all. “But why would a Halve take it?”

  “Maybe when they plundered the caves, they took whatever they found there. I guess this one just took a liking to your picture. It could have been the eyes.” The man shrugs, but as he goes to put the lute away, his hand wavers.

  “They didn’t come from the direction of the Subterrane territory, though.” The man gestures in the direction the Halves approached from.

  He’s right, I realize with a jolt. The Halves were coming from the north, which means they can’t be the same ones that attacked the Subterrane. Unless they went around the Subterrane territory and then circled back….

  The wide, black eyes mirror my stare as I hold the drawing at arm’s length.

  “Let's get out of here,” the man says.

  Burn vultures have smelled the blood and are circling above us.

  I clutch the drawing in my hand as I follow him off the road. We move deeper into the trees until we’re out of the Burn vultures’ sight. The man sits down on a boulder and lays his double-bladed axe on the ground beside him. He grips the neck of his lute as he studies some moss on a rock. Finally, he says, “You are well-prepared for a scared young Dweller who was not expecting to flee her Subterrane.”

  The moment he finishes speaking, his eyes flick upward to judge my reaction.

  My cheeks grow hot. I stutter over an explanation, but nothing coherent emerges.

  “You’re a pretty decent shot with that sling of yours,” he continues. There’s a gleam in his eyes, like he’s enjoying my discomfort. “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast before. Knife work needs some improvement, though.”

  I’m at a complete loss for words.

  I surprise us both when I ask, “What’s your name?”

  The faintest hint of emotion flashes across his face before it’s gone, which makes me wonder if I just imagined it. After a long pause, he says, “Dayne.”

  Dayne. I had hoped his name would reveal something of where he came from, but it doesn’t.

  After another brief pause, he continues, “And you, Hemera, have not been honest with me.”

  My stomach turns at the way his eyes bore right through me. I twist and untwist the ropes of my sling.

  Dayne stares at me with raised eyebrows. “Let’s have the truth this time.”

  Taking a deep breath, I decide to venture close enough to the truth that Dayne will believe me.

  I begin pacing, unable to stay still. “What I told you before was mostly true. My Subterrane was destroyed by the Halves, and I survived by running into the forest. I’m traveling to Tanguro because if anyone from my Subterrane is still alive, the Halves will bring them there.”

  I try to keep my face blank even though my heart is racing. It seems best not to mention Brice’s name, or say anything else that’s too specific until I know more about this stranger.

  At the very least I expect Dayne to ask me more questions, or demand that we go back to the ruins of Subterrane Harkibel to prove my story. I fidget while I wait for him to say something. If he tells the Duskers about me….

  Dayne surprises me when all he says is, “You’ll never reach Tanguro without help. There are all sorts of dangers on the road your sling will not protect against.”

  I stop pacing.

  Dayne continues, “Even if you somehow make it, how do you plan to rescue prisoners who are guarded by dozens, more likely hundreds, of Halves?”

  I sink down onto the ground. It’s true, I hadn’t considered how I would rescue Brice. I sort of just assumed it would all work itself out if I managed to reach Tanguro. Now, that plan seems foolish.

  “What you say may be true,” I say, “but there’s nothing left for me where I came from. I’ll do everything I can to get n
orth or die in the attempt.”

  My brave words are weakened by the slight quaver in my voice.

  “So, you’re going to take down a hundred Halves with two bits of rope and some pebbles?” Dayne’s lips are pursed.

  I scowl.

  “Excuse me, but I need to be on my way,” I tell him. “Thank you for your help back there.”

  I walk away from Dayne. My foot catches on a root in the path, and I stumble. I grab at a bush’s thorny branch to steady myself, but its shallow roots tear free. I tumble to the ground with the bush clutched in my arms like a prickly baby.

  I grit my teeth together. Well done, Hemera.

  I can hear Dayne chuckling as I right myself, which makes the blood in my temples pulsate.

  “Wait!” he calls as I stalk away with the last shreds of my dignity.

  He’s beside me in a moment. “I will accompany you on this crazy journey of yours.”

  “Why?” My eyes narrow in suspicion. “If the journey is as dangerous as you say, then why not travel as far away as you can get?”

  “Who knows? Maybe I’ll find someone worth saving at Tanguro, too.” His face grows serious again. “Besides, you need someone to teach you how to use those daggers of yours.”

  I huff, still irritated that he doesn’t think I’m capable of reaching Tanguro alone. On the other hand, though, it’s obvious he knows how to survive in the wilderness and fight the Halves. Such skills could prove useful in helping me to rescue Brice….

  “Alright,” I say, after a short deliberation. “But we better get moving.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Dayne falls into step beside me. “We need to get farther away from the North Road and find shelter before the sun turns.”

  I glance at my new companion out of the corner of my eye. Where is he from? Where was he headed? What’s his business in these parts? He’s not from Subterrane Harkibel, and he’s not wearing the Duskers’ armband that grants permission to travel….

  Dayne outpaces me, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I touch the corner of Brice’s drawing as we walk.

  I remember when Brice gave it to me. It was after he returned from his longest scouting mission yet. I could barely eat or sleep for the entire month he was gone. I had no idea when he would return. Worse, we had argued before he left the Subterrane.

  He wouldn’t tell me where he was going, saying only it was on the Captain’s orders. From the way he was talking, I knew he expected to encounter Halves. I begged him to take me with him. I didn’t want him to face that danger alone, but more than that, I was desperate to begin what we both had fantasized about for years—taking our revenge on the monsters who had stolen my mother and his parents.

  Brice said he loved me too much to let me put myself in that kind of danger, and that he wouldn’t jeopardize the Captain’s trust by letting me come with him. When I told Brice I would come, with or without his permission, he threatened to tell my father. We yelled at each other and said things we didn’t mean. The next low day, Brice left.

  When he returned, our reunion had been full of tears and apologies. He gave me the drawing he made of me, telling me that not a moment had gone by during his absence when he hadn’t thought about me.

  After that, we spent hours just wrapped in each other’s arms, relishing in our togetherness. It was like the hurtful words we exchanged before he left had never happened.

  “Hemera.” Dayne’s voice snaps me back to the present. I startle at the way he’s studying me with his intensely blue eyes.

  He’s about to say something else, but then turns his ear toward the trees. Dayne puts a finger to his lips. Something about the look on his face makes me go still.

  “Hemera,” Dayne’s voice is so low I have to lean forward to hear him, “can you climb that touch-me-not without setting it off?”

  I follow his gaze. The tall branches sprout clusters of small, round pods, each filled with hundreds of the knife-sharp spikes that give the tree its name. Any pressure against the pod will burst its soft outer shell and send all of the spikes flying outward. The spikes pierce the first object they meet and are impossible to dig out.

  “I can climb it.”

  “Then do so. Quickly.”

  I follow Dayne’s order, resisting the urge to ask what’s going on. I climb up the trunk as quickly as I can manage in my heavy cloak. When I reach the branches covered with touch-me-not pods, I slow my pace, careful to avoid brushing against them.

  There’s a fork in the branches that will not put me in danger of touching the pods. Just as I pull myself into the fork, I hear voices below.

  I look down to see how far Dayne has climbed, but I’m alone. Peering through the leaves, I see Dayne on the ground far below, one hand resting on the handle of his axe.

  The voices grow louder as three large, bearded men come crashing through the trees. They’re so engrossed in an argument with each other they nearly walk right past Dayne.

  One of the men sees him, though, and shouts, “Here, here! I tol’ you we were on the righ’ path!”

  The men circle Dayne like Burn vultures. A shudder passes through me, which jostles the branches nearest me. I hold my breath, but none of the pods move enough to touch each other.

  “He’s just a lil’ ole guy,” says one of the other men. “Prolly not carryin’ too much, but maybe he has information.”

  Even though my view is partially blocked by the thick leaves, I can see the men’s rotting teeth. There is no doubt these men are criminals from the Banished Lands. They look like they haven’t bathed in weeks, maybe months.

  “I would be happy to provide you with any information I can,” Dayne says. His voice is musical compared to the sounds of these barbarians as they tramp through the brush.

  “See this ole’ hand?” one of the men growls, holding up a gloved fist that looks to be covered in dry blood. “I kill’d the last guy with this. He was polite and frien’ly-like, just like you. It wasn’ enough, though,” he shakes his head in mock disappointment.

  “We need supplies,” the second man adds. “And the direction of caves that migh’ be in need of…our assistance….”

  The man strokes his fist and grins as his sentence trails off. Dayne steps back, and I imagine it’s to remove himself from the range of the man’s stench.

  The third bandit growls, “You are goin’ to lead us to the nex’ Subterrane. Can’ waste all day walkin’ aroun’ with no idea of where we’re headed. You have one hour to lead us straigh’, or we kill you.”

  I still don’t know whether to trust Dayne, but if I do nothing to help him, he’ll soon be dead. These thieves have no reason to spare Dayne’s life even if he does tell them where to find whatever is left of Subterrane Harkibel.

  My hand runs along the handle of the knife in my belt. I could never get down from the tree without the men hearing me. My sling would have been an option, but I have no stones left. Looking around, I see bunches of the spiked touch-me-not pods dangling within reach.

  I wrap the belled sleeve of my cloak around my glove for added protection and reach up toward one of the branches. I pluck the stem that hangs above one of the pods and cradle it in the folds of my cloak, holding my breath the whole time.

  The men’s voices are getting louder and angrier. I place the pod in the leather pouch of my sling, and push back the heavy, clumsy sleeves of my cloak. I take aim, careful that my winding arm doesn’t jostle any of the surrounding branches and send the spikes flying toward me.

  At the precise moment, I sling the pod about twenty paces away from my tree. There’s a whoosh as the pod’s spikes pierce through leaves and wedge themselves into tree trunks. Without waiting for the thieves’ reaction, I let another pod fly ten paces to my left. The third one goes about as far as the first, but in the opposite direction.

  I peer through the dense leaves to the ground below. The bandits stand back-to-back and are arguing with each other about the source of the noise.

  “I tell you, t
hey’re closin’ in on us!” one of the thieves growls. “They mus’ ’ave followed us from the las’ cave. I tole’ you tha’ we shoulda kilt those dirty kids! Now they ’ave us surroun’ed.”

  “Those chil’ren weren’t fit to walk to the edge of their crop fields, let alone follow us. You moron, it’s the ’alves. They’ve sniffed us out!”

  I wind my arm once, releasing a touch-me-not pod as close to the men as I dare. There is growing panic in their voices as they back away from Dayne. One of the men moves to a space beneath my tree where my visibility isn’t blocked by the leaves. I re-load my sling and aim a pod at the bandit’s face.

  My ammunition hits its mark. The man stumbles backward, dazed. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream as the spikes fly into his face and neck. That’s enough for the other two bandits. They run.

  Dayne moves into my line of focus, picks up the fallen bandit’s knife, and slides it into his chest. The man’s screams are cut off.

  I shudder at the ease with which he ends the man’s life. Killing Halves is one thing, but—

  “Alright, Hemera,” Dayne calls up to me. “You can come on down.”

  When I reach the ground, the suspicious glare Dayne wore when we first met has disappeared.

  “That was some quick thinking you did up there,” he says. “I thank you.”

  The hard lines that streak the corners of Dayne’s mouth soften into something that almost—but not quite—resembles a smile.

  “Well, I owed you from before, anyway.” I look away, embarrassed.

  Dayne clears his throat. “Shall we continue on?”

  When I hoist my bundle onto my back, the map slips out and lands near Dayne’s feet. Before I can snatch it back, Dayne stoops to pick it up. He unrolls the script tree bark and studies it.

  “Er, someone, a friend in my Subterrane...it belonged to him.” I twist a frayed thread of my cloak around my finger. I never mentioned anything about this map in my earlier story.

  Dayne looks up from the map and studies me.

  I should stop talking. But instead, I say, “He was sent on a scouting mission the day before we were attacked. He gave me the map to hold onto for him. He said prisoners were being taken to Tanguro, and he planned to go there when he returned. It was pure chance I still had the map when the Subterrane was attacked.”