“Ah, I know you now. You are Longbow’s white goddess. I recognize you by your mouth. He said it opened as quickly as your legs.”
“Carum would never…”
“A man on the rack says many things, my dear.”
“Few of them true,” Jenna added.
Lord Kalas walked over to her. He put his hand lightly on her head as if to stroke her. Then, without warning, he grabbed a handful of her thick white hair. The hidden dirk clattered to the floor.
“Women playing at warriors bore me,” Kalas said, pulling a smile over his discolored teeth. It was piji nut, not age, that had yellowed them. Piji addiction was a slow rotting. “And you, pretty girl, do it badly. We moved your Carum Longbow to the dungeon ten days and nine would-be rescuers ago. So all your climbing has been for naught save to strengthen your long, pretty legs.” He tapped her right knee with the flat of his blade.
“By Alta’s hairs…” she began.
“Alta’s hairs are gray and too short to keep her warm,” said the smooth, mocking voice. “And that is what we have you by—Alta’s short hairs.” He laughed at his own crudity. “But if you insist on playing a man’s game, we will treat you like a man. Instead of warming my bed, you will freeze with the others in my dungeon.”
Jenna bit her lip.
“I see you have heard of it. What is it they call it?” He yanked her head back once again and brought his face close to hers, as if for a kiss. Jenna could smell the sickly sweet odor of piji.
“They call it Lord Kalas’ hole,” she said.
“Enjoy it,” Kalas said and pushed her to her knees. He turned from her quickly, and his lizard-skin cape sang like a whip around his ankles. Then he was gone.
* * *
—
The guards pushed Jenna down the stairs. They descended it quickly—much more quickly, Jenna mused, than her laborious climb up. Her hands were so tightly bound behind her, she had lost the feeling in her fingers by the second level. Her one consolation was that the man with the torch went ahead, and so the shadows of their moving bodies were ranged behind them. If he had been at the end of the line, there would have been a second bound woman on the stairs, with braids down her back and a brocade tunic and leggings with a hole in the knee. And a head that still ached.
Jenna promised herself that she would do nothing to make any of the guards look back, for she knew that Skada was following. Whether in dark or in light, Skada was never far away. They were pledged by ties deeper than blood, bound by magic older than either of them could guess. From the first blood of womanhood to the last blood flowing in Jenna’s veins, Skada would be with her. But only where shadows could be counted.
They came suddenly to the stairs’ end where a heavy wooden door barred the way. It took three keys to unbolt the door, and when it was finally opened, Jenna was thrown in without ceremony.
The dungeon deserved its name. Lord Kalas’ hole was dark, dank, wet, and smelled like the hind end of a diarrhetic ox. Jenna had marched behind sick cattle in the Retreat of Long Acre and she knew that smell well. She kept herself from gagging by flinging a curse at the departing guards.
“May you be hanged in Alta’s hairs,” she began when the wooden door slammed shut. So she finished the swear at a splinter of light that poked through the barred window. “And may She thread your guts through Her braids, and use your skull…”
“It’s not that I mind women cursing,” came a low, cracked voice made almost unfamiliar with fatigue. “But you should try…”
“…to be more original,” Jenna finished for him. “Carum! You’re here.” She spun around and tried to find him in the dark. As she peered into the blackness, she began to distinguish some shadows, though she could not tell which one was Longbow and which the nine other half-starved men who had preceded her. Of Skada there was no sign at all, but with only the patch of window light, Jenna had hardly expected to see her dark sister.
She felt fingers working slowly at her bonds and heard a muttering.
“Besides, haven’t I told you before, you have the legend wrong. It’s by Alta’s heirs—the sons and daughters She bore—not the long braids you copy.”
Jenna rolled her eyes up and sighed. Even in the dark, Longbow lectured. He loved to talk and plot, lecture and argue, while she was always the doer of the two. His “bloody right hand,” he called her.
“What good,” Longbow continued, “is my bloody right hand if she’s tied?”
“What good am I at all,” said Jenna angrily, “if I’m caught? By Alta’s…no, by my sword, which I have unfortunately lost, and my dirk, which is also gone, and my temper, which is fast going, I can’t think in the dark.”
“You can’t think with your hands tied. You do very well in the dark,” Longbow said.
There was a slight murmur from the floor, as of cold water over stones. Jenna realized that the other men in the dungeon were laughing. It might have been their first laugh in days, and it stumbled a bit in their mouths. She knew from long experience that men in dangerous situations needed laughter to combat defeatism. So she added a line to Longbow’s. “You do fairly well in the dark yourself.” But then she spoke rapidly, as if to herself. “But why so dark? Why is there no light here?”
One of the men stood up. First Jenna heard the movement, then made it out.
“Lord Kalas’ jest, lady. He says one’s enemies are best kept in the dark.”
Jenna was trying out variations on the bad joke in her head, but none had reached her lips when Longbow announced, “There, you are free.”
Jenna rubbed first one wrist, then the other. “And when do they feed us?”
“Once a day,” Longbow said. “In the morning, I think. Though, as you can imagine, day and night have little meaning here.”
As casually as she could manage, Jenna asked, “And do they bring a light then?”
Carum was not fooled by her tone. He already knew something of her shadow sister. Anyone who spent time with a mountain warrior woman had had a chance to see blanket companions at work, and Carum had spent a great deal of time with Jenna over the past five years of almost continuous warfare. But he did not understand their relationship, not entirely. He thought Skada merely a lowlander who fought furiously at Jenna’s side. He had never seen her by day, only at night. There was some strangeness there.
“Is she here?” he whispered. “Your dark sister? Did she slip in somehow? Or is she outside with a legion?”
“She’s around,” Jenna answered. “By herself. You know she dislikes company. Now, about that light?”
“They bring a single torch. And they set it on the wall—there.” He pointed near the door. “And all the good it does is to show us how degraded we have become in ten short days.” He laughed, a short, angry bark. “Is it not ironic what a little bit of dirt and damp and dark and a delicate diet can do to beggar a man?”
“Carum, this does not sound like you.”
“This does not look like me, either,” he answered. “And I am glad of the dark this moment, for I would not have you, my white goddess, see me thus.”
“I have seen you many ways,” Jenna answered, “and not all of them handsome. Do you remember the Long Acre march? And the fording of Crookback’s Ravine?”
The one other standing man put his hand on Jenna’s arm. “They put something in the food, lady. It takes a man’s will away. It eats at his soul. And Longbow has eaten the food longer than the rest of us. Do not tax him with his answers. We are all like that now—high one minute, low the next. I am the latest to arrive, save yourself. And I feel the corrosion of will already.”
Jenna turned toward the shadow man and put her hand on his cheek. “Carum Longbow, it will be better by and by. I promise.”
Longbow laughed again, that hoarse, unfamiliar chuckle. “Women’s promise
s…” he began before his voice bled away, like an old wound reopened.
“You know I keep my promises,” Jenna said under her breath to him. “All I need is that light.”
Longbow’s voice grew strong again. “It will do you no good. It does none of us any good. They hold the light up to the hole in the door and then make us lie down on the floor, one atop another. Then they count us aloud before they open the door. After each lock is opened, they count us again.”
“Better and better,” said Jenna mysteriously.
“If you have a plan, tell it to me,” demanded Longbow. “Tell it to all of us,” came a voice from the floor. The others chimed in with gritty, tough, angry voices.
Jenna smiled into the dark, but none could see it. “Just be sure,” she said slowly, “that I lie on top of the pile.”
The men gave their muttering laughs, and Carum laughed loudest. “Of course. It would not do to have the white goddess underneath.”
Jenna laughed with them. “Though there have been times…” she said.
“Now that,” said Longbow, his voice again on the upswing note, “you do well.”
Jenna ignored him and walked over to the door. She held her hand up into the little sliver of light. Skada’s hand appeared faintly against the far wall. Jenna waved, and was delighted to see Skada return it.
“Will you be ready?” she called to the wall.
The shadowy figures ranged along the floor grunted their assent. Carum called out, “I will.” But Jenna had eyes only for the hand on the wall. It made a circle between thumb and finger, the goddess’s own sign. For the first time Jenna felt reason to hope.
* * *
—
Jenna forced herself to sleep, to give her body time to recover from the long climb she had had to endure. Curled up next to Longbow, she forced herself to breathe slowly, willing each limb to relax in turn. She knew she could put herself to sleep within minutes even on the cold, damp, sandy floor. If it was an uncomfortable bed, she had been in worse. She stopped herself from remembering the night she had spent in the belly of the dragon beast of Kordoom. Or the time she had passed the dark hours astraddle the horns of the wild Demetian bull-man.
When she slept at last, her dreams were full of wells, caves, and other dark, wet holes.
* * *
—
The clanging of a sword against the iron bars of the window woke them all.
“Light count,” came the call through the slit. “Roll up and over.”
The prisoners dragged themselves to the wall and attempted a rough pyramid, not daring to complain. Jenna was the last to sit up, and she watched as the sturdiest four, including Carum, lay down on the floor. The next heaviest climbed on top of them. Then two almost skeletal forms scaled wearily onto the pile, distributing their weight as carefully as possible. At last the slightest, almost a boy, scrambled up to perch a bit unsteadily on top. All this Jenna could see with the help of the additional light shining through the door slit.
The sound of the guard’s voice counting began. “One, two, three…”
“Wait, you misbegotten miscalculators,” came the smooth mockery of Lord Kalas’ voice. “Don’t deny me the best. You have all forgotten our lady friend, our latest guest. There seems no room at the top for her. Had you planned laying her somewhere else?” He laughed at his own words and his men echoed his laughter a beat behind.
The exhausted prisoners rolled off their pyramid and ranged around Longbow. He started, slowly, to explain what must be done.
“Start with five on the bottom this time,” suggested Lord Kalas. His voice threaded out with a bored drawl. “Sooner or later another will come along to be added to your pyramid of lost hopes. Though why anyone would want to rescue Carum Longbow is beyond me. However, heroes being heroes, I expect another one soon. And then I shall have a full pyramid again. I do like pyramids. They are an altogether pleasing figure.”
The prisoners began again.
“Why do you do this?” Jenna whispered to Longbow.
“We tried denying them their pleasure,” Carum said, “and they simply refused to feed us until we stacked ourselves at their command.” He lay down on the floor, in the middle of four men. Four crawled on top of them. Then the boy nestled on them, and Jenna climbed carefully on top of the pile, leaving a space between the boy and herself. She settled gingerly, trying to distribute her weight.
“Will they bring the light now?” Jenna whispered to the man under her.
“Yes,” he whispered back. “Look, here it comes.”
Two men—one with a torch—entered the room. They had their swords drawn. Lord Kalas, disdaining to draw his own weapon, entered after them.
The light-bearer stood at the head of the pile of bodies, counting them aloud once again. The second went to a corner, sheathed his sword, and took a bag off his shoulders. He emptied its contents onto the floor. Jenna made out a pile of moldy breads. She wrinkled her nose. Then she looked up at the wall nearest the door, where shadows thrown by the flickering torch moved about.
“Now!” she shouted, flinging herself from the pile.
She calculated her roll to take her into the shoulder of the guard at the pyramid’s peak. His torch flew into the air, illuminating another hurtling body that seemed to spring right out of the far wall. It was Skada. She rammed into the unsuspecting Lord Kalas, knocking him forward just as he had unsheathed his sword.
Jenna reached for the guard’s weapon as Skada grabbed for Lord Kalas’. They completed identical forward rolls in a single fluid motion, then stood up, their newly captured weapons at the ready.
Longbow and the other lordlings had at the moment of impact collapsed their pyramid and leaped to their feet. They surrounded the guard with the bread, and stripped him of his sword and a knife in his boot. Carum now held the torch aloft.
“There were eleven of you,” Lord Kalas said. “I counted you myself. Where did this twelfth come from?”
Skada laughed. “From a darker hole than you will ever know, Lord Kalas.”
Jenna hissed through her teeth, and Skada said no more. For the mountain women had been sworn never to reveal the secret of the shadow sisters, nor tell of the years of training where they met and mastered the dark side of their own spirits.
Lord Kalas smiled. “Could it be…but no…the mages tell of a practice in the highlands of raising black demons, mirror images. I thought it was a tale. Mages do not lie, but they do not always tell all the truth.”
Skada made a mocking bow. “Truth has many ears. You must believe what you yourself see.”
“I see sisters who may have had the same mother, but different fathers,” Kalas said, his mouth twisted in a scornful smile. “It is well known that mountain women take pleasure in many men.”
“Do not speak of my mother,” Jenna said threateningly. “Do not soil her with your piji mouth.”
Kalas laughed and in the same moment dashed the torch from Longbow’s hand. It fell to the floor, guttered, and almost went out. At the same moment, his sword fell from the darkness at his feet. He bent down and picked it up.
“Piji,” Kalas said, “stains the teeth. But it gives one wonderful night sight.” His sword clanged against Jenna’s.
“Dark or light,” cried Jenna, “I will fight you. Stand back, Carum. Keep the others away.”
Lord Kalas was well versed in the traditional thrusts and parries, but he counted too much on his night sight. What he did not know was that Jenna had learned her swordplay first in a darkened room before progressing to the light. And though she could not see as well as he in the blackness, she had been taught to trust her ears even before her eyes. She could distinguish the movement of a thrust that was signaled by the change in the air and the hesitation of a breath. She could smell Lord Kalas, the slight scent of fear o
verlayered with the constant piji odor. In less than a minute it was over.
“Light,” Jenna called.
Carum picked up the torch and held it overhead. Out of the damp sand, it fluttered to life again smokily.
Lord Kalas stood without his sword, and Jenna held her blade point in his belly. Behind him stood Skada, her blade in his back. If he moved, he would be spitted like a sheep over a roasting pit.
“Sisters indeed,” said Skada. “But, as you have noted, not quite alike. I do not have your blood on my sword—yet.”
Jenna turned to Longbow. “Keep the torch high and stand at the head of the line. Skada and I will be at the back. Look forward, my lord. Always forward. Skada and I will follow.”
They went out of the dungeon in a line. Outside it was daylight, and Skada, in an instant, was gone. The sun was at its height. But Longbow, as Jenna had asked, never once looked back.
THE HISTORY
In the sixth century AEFM (after the establishment of the First Matriarchy), in the second decade of the so-called Gender Wars, there rose a woman warrior of phenomenal battle skill but little formal education. Her name has been variously given as Jenna, Janna, Manna, and Jo-an-enna. She came from a mountain clan known for its great beauty, height, and fair coloring who worshiped the white goddess Alta of the World Tree, hence the name Jo (lover)—an (white)—enna (tree). Swearing blood sisterhood with a woman of the smaller, dark-skinned valley clans, Skada or Skader or Shader (the low-tongue word for dark or shadow), Jo-an-enna and Shader offered their swords to Queen Faita IV. But the blood sisters did not take well to military discipline and were, according to contemporary legion records, dismissed from the regular forces. They were given their swords, a sack of flour, and muster-out pay of forty pesta, as was common. There was a dishonorable mark inked in and then partially erased after their names. Whether the fault lay with one or both is impossible to say at this date. Blanket companions were traditionally treated as one entity in the rigid military system of the day.
The Big Book of Modern Fantasy Page 71
