by Blake, Bruce
One. Two. Three.
Her likeness reappeared, the concern it had shown having become panic—the same expression she’d worn at the moment his sword ended her time in this world. The muscles in Kuneprius’ jaw tightened and he released air through his nose. The bubbles swirled her image before his eyes but dismissed neither her visage nor the alarm it wore like a mask.
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
The creak of a board usurped his attention and the vision of the girl shut her eyes.
Thorn?
Water splashed into his ear and the side of the bowl slammed into his cheek, throwing him off balance. He held onto the table, keeping himself from falling as the bowl and pitcher crashed to the floor, water spilling onto the cracked boards as the earthenware broke into pieces.
Kuneprius gasped a breath into his lungs, coughed out water. He used his forearm to wipe wetness from his face and straightened, anger flaring through him.
“Thorn! What are you—?”
The golem loomed over him, three paces away, the Small God held under his arm. The odor of clay invaded Kuneprius’ head as his nostrils flared and his eyes widened with the sudden realization something was desperately wrong.
“What’s…?”
His lips continued to move, but the noises they made ceased. The golem’s always stern expression bore into him, weighing on him; Thorn looked confused, as might be expected from one ripped from their sleep.
The clay man grabbed Kuneprius by the arm, fingers digging deep into his bicep and sending pain up into his shoulder. A moment of confusion blurred his thinking as the abomination yanked him away, dragging him across the floor toward the door which was open and hanging at an odd angle.
The golem had broken through it without Kuneprius noticing.
How long did he stand in the room watching me?
The thought passed through his mind, but disappeared as other, more pressing questions forced it out.
Where is he taking us?
Why?
They went through the doorway and into the hall before he got his feet moving, relieving some of the pressure of the clay man’s grip. The big man’s long strides carried them quickly to the top of the stairs.
“What are you doing?” Kuneprius knew the query would go unanswered, but he asked anyway.
As expected, the golem ignored his words and pulled him down the staircase. Kuneprius directed his attention to his footing, making sure he didn’t trip and tumble his way to the bottom. Under the clay man’s arm, Thorn made a noise in his throat. Hearing it made him aware of the lack of other sounds emanating from the previously boisterous tavern crowd. Goose bumps crawled along his arms and Kuneprius looked up.
His gaze first took in the Small God, but he saw nothing of Thorn but his legs. Beyond him and the golem’s muscled back, he spied the first corpse lying at the bottom of the stairway.
It was the serving girl, the one Kuneprius presumed to be the barkeep’s daughter. Her ale-stained white apron was red, her eyes stared toward the ceiling, her body twisted at a grotesque angle. If the golem hadn’t been pulling him onward, Kuneprius would have stopped and gawked in horror.
As they reached the bottom of the staircase, he found so much more to be horrified by.
Corpses littered the tavern, some draped across tables, others tangled with chairs or each other, still others leaning forward in their spots as though they’d dozed off after drinking too much ale. Spatters and gouts of blood painted the walls and floor.
Kuneprius gaped. The stench of fresh blood penetrated the odor of clay, the coppery taste of it found his tongue and threatened to gag him. His feet refused to move, scraping on the wooden floorboards as the golem dragged him through the slaughterhouse.
The barkeep’s head sat on the bar, tilted to one side and resting on his ear, the body nowhere to be seen. Kuneprius recognized others he’d noted when he came to get food for himself and Thorn, not an unsheathed dagger or inch of bared steel amongst them.
The pieces of the puzzle came together in his mind.
They saw Thorn. Somehow, the golem knew.
His foot caught on an arm no longer attached to a body and he danced away from it, a squeak emanating from his tight throat. They passed the other server—the barkeep’s wife—her head twisted around to look behind her at a man torn in two from shoulder to groin; his insides drooped out over his belt.
He killed them all.
“W…why? Why did you do this?”
Fear and despair clenched his throat so tightly it hurt to speak. An unnoticed tear rolled along his cheek. The other man the golem had killed was bad, and the two children worse, but this…
The clay man made no answer, merely continued through the massacre toward the door, pushing corpses and body parts aside whenever they got in his way. His gray feet left red footprints anywhere they touched a clean spot on the floor.
They crossed the threshold into the dark night, passing the splintered door that was the golem’s first victim upon entering the inn. He’d torn it from its hinges, shattering its boards and splitting the jamb, the force had been so great. What must the patrons have thought when they saw this monster stride in and begin killing those nearest to him?
“They didn’t deserve this, Ves. They did nothing wrong.” Tears flowed freely from Kuneprius’ eyes, a line of snot trickled from his nose. He craned his neck to look back through the doorway, desperate to see someone left alive. Nothing moved. “They wouldn’t have told. They didn’t know what they saw.”
The golem dragged them across the courtyard toward the trees, as unresponsive and uncaring of his words as always. In that moment, whatever hope he held a sliver of his friend might remain in the monster—that there was any chance of having his dear Vesisdenperos returned to him—vanished.
His body sagged and he allowed the golem to haul him toward the forest, stumbling as he went. Kuneprius raised his head skyward, tears smearing the shining light of the Small Gods into streaks of bright white. The evenstar stood out amongst them, brighter, stronger, intense and powerful. He tried to tear his eyes away, to stop casting his gaze upon the banished priest, but Ine’vesi refused to let him go.
To Kuneprius, it seemed the night laughed.
XXII Juddah—Anger
The sun had begun its downward journey toward the horizon as Kooj snored quiet canine snores on the porch beside Juddah’s chair. The dog was recovering nicely from the hurts done it by the man, and Juddah let his hand drop to the scruff of the shaggy beast’s neck, dug his fingers into the thick fur.
“Good boy, Kooj,” he murmured.
His gaze flickered from his prisoner digging in the yard to the back of the woman’s head where she perched on the edge of the steps in front of him. She’d been sitting that way for quite a spell without a word to her rescuer and host. With her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward, facing toward the shoveling man. If Juddah didn’t know she was blind, he’d have accused her of staring at the fellow while he worked, something he hated people doing to him. It was a part of why he lived outside town—to keep folk from looking at him.
The well-digger made no more sound than the woman, the day’s regular tumult of chirping birds, buzzing insects, and wind stirring the grass broken only by the dog’s breathing and the rhythmic scrape of spade moving soil. Juddah had to admit: despite the swollen bruise on the fellow’s face, he continued being a good worker. Maybe he’d have to find a few more jobs for him before his time was through.
But that’d mean he’d be around the woman longer.
Juddah’s back teeth ground together at the prospect. After seeing her fall into the man’s arms, he’d worked hard to keep them apart, but every time they got close, one or the other’s hands found its way onto an arm or a shoulder. He’d considered bringing her inside at night, having her share his bed, but hadn’t found the courage, so he’d left her in the barn with him.
It made him wonder what they got up to when he wasn’t watching.
But it wasn’t nothing. Whatever they did stopped her talking to him. She’d said but a few words since they arrived from Jubha Kyna; thrice the sun rose without a polite ‘hello’ or a ‘thank you for rescuing me’.
The muscles in Juddah’s jaw flexed. He huffed a breath out his nostrils that stirred his moustache hairs, then rubbed absently at his nose, scratching at the tickle it created. His gaze trailed down the back of Ailyssa’s neck with its stubble of short brown hair. In the sun’s glare, he saw flecks of gray in it he hadn’t noticed before, shining like grains of sand on the beach. A line of pink, soft-looking flesh appeared below her hairline, disappearing beneath the collar of her smock.
Juddah licked his lips.
Though he couldn’t see it, he knew the smooth skin continued under the plain dress streaked with travel dirt and barn sleeping. Her whole back’d be the same—silky, supple, with a woman’s fragrance and the subtle tang of salty perspiration. And the front—
Juddah shifted in his chair at a stirring in his drawers; Kooj lifted his snout off his paws, peered up at his master.
“S’okay, boy,” he said breathily. “Go back to sleep.”
Ailyssa tilted her head as though listening, but returned to sightlessly watching the well-digger. Juddah let his gaze follow hers.
The man stood in the hole, hidden by the earth and grass from mid-chest down. Sweat shimmered on his bare skin—he’d removed his shirt in search of relief from the afternoon heat—and ropy muscles swelled and flexed beneath his flesh. Watching him, Juddah almost understood why a woman might want to lay with the fellow instead of with him. Young and attractive with taut flesh, he didn’t have a protruding belly or hair in all his places.
She’s old enough to be his mother.
And he probably doesn’t smell of pig fat, neither.
Juddah’s lips pressed together tight behind his tangle of facial hair. He imagined how she must run her fingers over his arms and chest, tracing the shape of his sculpted muscles, how she’d put her lips on his, stroke his cheek. Her breath’d shorten into tiny, passionate gasps as his teeth found her neck, his hands went to her—
Juddah jumped up, setting his chair rocking backward near to the point of tipping. It fell back into place with a thud startling Kooj to his feet and making Ailyssa jump. He glared across the yard at the stranger digging his well, choosing to ignore both the dog and the woman. Anger swirled in Juddah’s gut, growing and expanding along with the swell inside his breeches.
“What’s wrong?” Ailyssa asked, head tilted toward him, blind eyes fixed on a spot too far to the right.
Juddah ground his teeth, unsure for an instant what he meant to do, but another glance at the fellow convinced him.
“Get up,” he demanded hooking one hand under the woman’s armpit. Before she had the chance to obey, he’d pulled her to her feet.
“What—” She stumbled going down the single stair, but he kept her from falling. “What are you doing?”
“Something I should’ve done in the first place,” he growled and pushed her across the yard toward the barn.
“No,” she cried, raising her voice. “No, please.”
Juddah stared across at the man digging the well; he’d stopped shoveling to watch when he heard the woman’s frightened voice. He didn’t move to aid her—chained to the stake as always, he’d realized he had no help to offer—but neither did he utter a word. As far as Juddah knew, the fellow couldn’t speak at all.
Unless he’s alone with her. Don’t seem to have any problem with words then.
He threw the barn door open and pushed the woman through. Her feet tangled and she spilled to her knees, more scuffs of brown dirt adding to the mess on her smock. Regret shot through Juddah when she hit the ground, concern he’d hurt her, but it vanished when he caught sight of the bed of straw where he’d spied her falling into the man’s arms.
Where they did their dirty deeds.
Juddah seethed, warm blood filling his cheeks beneath his beard, making his face burn with anger and jealousy. He snatched a handful of Ailyssa’s smock in his fist and pulled at her.
“Get up.”
She clambered to her feet, dragged up by his mighty arm. When she regained her balance, he propelled her toward the wall opposite the shelves of odds-and-ends, jars and jugs, directing her to the rope he used to tether the cow. When they approached it, he allowed her to walk into the wall instead of stopping her. She let out a startled squeal and the sliver of regret flared in his chest; he frowned it back into his gut.
“Hold out your hands,” he demanded.
Ailyssa shook her head, pulled away until her shoulders pressed against the boards. She crossed her arms, hiding her hands.
“Give them to me,” he roared, the volume and tone of his voice making her cringe the way he’d hoped.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she said and uncrossed her shaking arms.
Juddah caught both her wrists in one meaty paw, gripping tight enough he felt the bones rub together. She made a sound in the back of her throat but didn’t cry out; he relented on the firmness of his hold and grasped the rope in his free hand, wrapped it three times around her arms and tied off the end. When he finished, he gave the rope a tug to make sure it was secure, then took a step away.
“What did I do, Juddah?” Ailyssa asked.
The hint of a whimper in her voice both satisfied him and shamed him. He swallowed hard, the continuing growth of the bulge in his pants encouraging him.
“You know what you did,” he said between clenched teeth. “Now I’m gonna do what I should’ve done at Jubha Kyna.”
His tongue darted across his lips, wetting them, and one hand went to his crotch. He leaned toward Ailyssa, sniffed to inhale her fragrance, but he detected only dirt, his own sweat, and the odor of old manure. His gaze traveled along the front of her, but the way she pressed herself against the wall, arms clenched across her chest, prevented him from seeing even the vague curves the plain smock sometimes allowed him to glimpse.
He reached out, intending to grab her elbows, move them aside, but stopped himself and glanced toward the barrels lined up by the far wall. He could use one of the blades they contained to cut the smock from her; he’d be able to have his way with her, if he wanted. The man remained chained to a stake in the yard, so no one could stop him putting his hands where he desired, his mouth, other parts of him.
His breath shortened to a rough pant and he leaned closer, moving his face near to Ailyssa’s. Her unseeing eyes darted, not knowing where to be directed. Fear gleamed on their milky surface, and he recalled the first time he’d gazed upon her face when she’d perched on the edge of the bed at Jubha Kyna.
The muscles in his jaw relaxed. His stiffening staff shrank in his grip.
Nothing had changed. If he allowed her to touch him, she’d still know his body, his private bits. But now, she wouldn’t discover them because she wanted to, but because he made her.
Juddah lowered his arm, drew a shuddering breath and let it out, the air moving his whiskers. Ailyssa turned her head away.
“I…”
He meant for more words to follow the one, but they refused to pass his lips. The flush of embarrassment returned to his hidden cheeks and he stumbled back a step, gut knotting at what he’d almost done.
He knew better, more effective ways to relieve his anger, his frustration, his shame.
Turning his back on the cowering woman, he stalked across the barn, threw the door open with a thud, then slammed it shut behind him.
Across the yard, the well-digging man saw him emerge and returned to shoveling. Juddah stomped across the grass toward him.
***
Ailyssa withered against the wall, struggling to keep herself from shaking as her knees went watery and she sank to the dirt floor. She inhaled heavily, using the gulp of manure-and-must-tinged breath to calm her nerves somewhat.
Whatever Juddah intended, whatever she’d done
in his mind to deserve it, had passed. He’d left the barn and, though a thick rope bound her, she was safe.
For now.
She rested against the rough boards, the racing beat of her heart slowing as the baby birds hidden in the rafters returned to their normal twittering after the disturbance. The white haze hid everything from her, but she doubted she could imagine what drove Juddah to drag her into the barn, even if she possessed the ability to see.
From the beginning, she’d sensed a volatility in him and it frightened her, but she ignored it more often than not. Without him, she wouldn’t have escaped the awfulness of Jubha Kyna. Instead of the unpleasantry of being kept in a barn, she’d be spending her days beneath stinking farmers who wanted nothing more than to penetrate her despite the loss of her blood. For rescuing her, she owed him a debt.
But at what point would the debt be paid? How long must she put up with this treatment now she had a way to get her sight back and another man to help her?
The thought gave her pause as the last of the fearful tension left her.
What will the Goddess think of me relying on a man again?
She didn’t know what to think or feel about the Goddess anymore. After so many turns of the seasons dedicating her life to worship and servitude, she’d have expected things to turn out differently. Sometimes she thought the Matriarch had deserted her, other times she thought this a test.
Sometimes she wondered if the Goddess existed at all.
The sacrilege seeping into her mind shocked her, but the clank of chain and rustle of footsteps in tall grass made her forget.
Juddah’s coming back.
***
Moving with purposeful noise, Juddah stopped a horse-length from the man digging his well—too far away for the swing of a spade to reach him. The rage and shame roiling in him threatened to burst through his lips, tensed the muscles in his arms, and curled his hands into fists, but he didn’t speak. Hitting the fellow again would help assuage his anger, but also build his shame and delay the digging of the well.
If he let go of control, the man would soon fill a potato sack in the barn, and he didn’t want that to happen, not with so much work left for him to do.
