Lex Talionis

by Keira Michelle Telford

  It’s grotesque, but stale air isn’t nearly the worst thing she’s ever witnessed coming out of a corpse. From her experience with Chimera, she knows that if a heavily pregnant woman should happen to end her life out here, the process of decomposition—specifically, the buildup and pressure of gases inside the body—could expel the fetus.

  Postmortem fetal extrusion.

  Yuck.

  That might not be any more vile than what she sees next, though. Nearing the very outer edge of the forest, bodies at varying stages of decay are displayed in large metal cages suspended from tree branches. Some of the bodies are coated with black tar so that the process of decomposition might be slowed. Some are wrapped up in chains.

  “What the fuck?” Silver stares up at one, the almost completely skeletonized corpse inside now slumped to the bottom, limbs dangling through the bars.

  “Gibbeting,” Ria explains matter-of-factly, unfazed by the grotesque spectacle. “It happens in London, too. If a criminal is caught and punished with death, it’s not uncommon for the body to be put on view as a deterrent for others. Perhaps these people were highwaymen, or trespassers, left here to warn others of the fate that awaits them if they’re caught on the wrong side of the border.”

  Oliver looks distressed.

  This could’ve been him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The next four hours roll by sluggishly, the somber feeling of the Angau staying with them for the rest of the journey. It gets dark, the air chills, and they could all use a hot meal and some rest. Oliver swivels round in the saddle so he can sit back to back with Carmen, and Ria falls asleep against Silver’s bosom, exhausted and hungry.

  Her body is warm and soft, and Silver presses a hand to her chest, holding her firmly, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart. The wind catches wisps of her hair at intervals and blows it up into Silver’s face. Occasionally, she murmurs.

  With every step Fitch takes, Silver’s bladder jars, reminding her of her need to pee. She’s had to go desperately for the last half an hour, but doesn’t want to wake Ria until it’s absolutely necessarily—and it almost is.

  Thankfully, the glow of lights up ahead holds the hope of getting to use a proper toilet instead of squatting behind a bush, so she decides to tough it out. They’re back on a paved road now, hedgerows on either side, fields beyond them, and there can’t be more than a few minutes left till they reach Trefaldwyn.

  Clip.

  Clop.

  Clip.

  Clop.

  They trudge on silently, finally passing a ‘Now Entering’ sign, a weathered crossbow bolt spearing the middle of it.

  “Hey, pretty lady.” She rubs her hand over Ria’s ribcage. “We’re here.”

  Ria rouses in her arms. She yawns, checking quickly to make sure neither Carmen nor Oliver are paying any attention before she twists awkwardly, laying a flurry of kisses all over Silver’s neck.

  “Oh, shit.” Silver wishes she wouldn’t stop. “What did I do to deserve that?”

  “I just had the filthiest dream about you,” she confesses, moving her body against Silver’s. “Actually, I think it was a premonition.”

  “Yeah?” Silver nuzzles her. “What was I doing?”

  “Groping me. On horseback.” She leans close, lowering her voice. “Right now.”

  Holy fuck.

  Silver glances to the fore of their tiny pack. Carmen’s in the lead, facing forward, and Oliver is slumped behind her, snoring. Seizing this opportunity to give Ria pleasure, Silver drops Fitch into a lower gear and puts the reins in her hands.

  “Do you really want this?” She reaches around Ria’s hips, fumbling for her belt buckle.

  “You tell me.”

  Silver gets the kicksies undone and thrusts a hand inside, wrapping her other arm securely around Ria’s waist. Without hesitation, she navigates her way inside Ria’s underwear and slips between her legs as Ria grabs the pommel of the saddle and angles herself upward and back, allowing for better access.

  “Jesus christ …” Silver’s fingers slip and slide over her saturated skin.

  Her clit is rock hard, engorged with blood, her opening so slick that Silver pushes two fingers inside her with barely any effort at all.

  “Damn, it’s so easy to fuck you.” She navigates deeper, Ria’s needy body gripping her, squeezing her, keeping her inside.

  Ria bites on her lower lip, trying not to make any sound, the heel of Silver’s palm rubbing against her swollen clit, working her to climax in only a few more seconds—a peak so sudden and powerful it surprises both of them, her whole body shaking.

  “I can’t believe what you do to me.” Ria shivers, Silver withdrawing from her.

  “I can’t believe what you just let me do to you out in the open like this.”

  “Neither can I really.” Ria hands her back the reins and fixes her kicksies. “But since I was about to come right before you woke me, I thought it was only fair that you should finish the job yourself.”

  “Justify it however you want.” Silver grins, urging Fitch away from the hedgerow and back up to speed. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since Manchester.”

  They reach the top of a little hillock in the road, finding Carmen waiting for them on the other side, at the edge of a residential area.

  “I don’t want to know.” Carmen turns her horse onward. “Just hurry up.”

  At first glance, Trefaldwyn seems serene and idyllic. It’s a quaint Welsh town a mile from the Mercian border, and it’s full of lovingly restored, centuries-old buildings, many of which are red brick or timber-framed. At second glance, however, the reality of life here becomes apparent.

  Emerging onto Broad Street—the main drag—they ride past many of the town’s most popular shops. One specializes in arrow heads, while another sells an array of creatively designed knives. Plenty more cater to the making of bows, boots, grenades, and other minor explosives, as well as a hemp shop, and a pharmacy. The pharmacy has a sign in the window that advertizes Mercian prices for heroin and cannabis, and everything else in between.

  At the end of the upwards sloping street, a two-storey, red brick building with blue painted doors and a central clock tower looms, lights on inside. It completely bisects the street, drawing all attention toward itself.

  It’s the town hall, and it’s ten o’clock.

  Ten o’clock and the whole town is deserted, except for a stable attendant—a teenage boy who’s dozed off at his post—guarding a public stable. A large sign on the front of the stable gives notice of the hourly, daily and overnight parking rates, while another limits the stable owner’s liability: Park at own risk.

  “Well, this is a lively place.” Silver looks for faces in windows, but everything is shuttered up. “The height of excitement.”

  “There must be a curfew in effect,” Ria surmises, as Silver directs Fitch toward the stable.

  The attendant is sleeping on a horizontal wooden beam at the open front of the stable. The entrance is to the left, the exit to the right, individual stalls marked out inside, with feeding mangers and tethers for reins. Each of the stalls is numbered, and the boy is supposed to be in charge of a ticket machine that prints you up a receipt with your stall number on it after you’ve paid. But right now, he’s not in charge of shit.

  The beam he’s lying on puts him at Fitch’s face height, so Silver walks Fitch right up to him and loosens the reins, allowing Fitch to lean forward and inspect him. In doing so, he gets his horsey lips and tongue all over the boy’s cheek and tries to munch on his straw-colored hair.

  The boy wakes with a fright, screeches, falls backwards off the beam, and lands in a steaming pile of horse manure—much to Silver’s amusement.

  “Stranger danger!” He leaps to his feet and starts blowing on a whistle kept on a chain around his neck.

  Within seconds, a gang of Deltas—men and women, armed with bows—burst out from the town hall to investigate the reason for the alarm. Among them
, Silver finds a familiar face.

  Aiden.

  He lowers his bow when he spots Silver, but eyes the rest of her party suspiciously, recognizing only Carmen. “I wasn’t told you’d be bringing friends.”

  After peeing out a volume of liquid that would rival the capacity of Fitch’s bladder, Silver sits down to eat, much relieved. According to Aiden, Honey sent word that she’d be arriving, but had only mentioned one Taint traveling companion: Ria.

  So, while they congregate around a giant oak table in the main meeting room of the town hall and tuck in to a hot meal, Silver gets him up-to-date on events since their last conversation, including Bentley and Chapin’s premature departure.

  He takes it all in silently.

  Finally, “I understand why this is a difficult journey for you,” he addresses Silver. “You’re not a British citizen, and you don’t have an Authenticard. But what about you lot?” He sweeps his eyes around the table, landing on Ria last. “Why can’t you hop on a train at one of the southern Mercian cities and go straight home?”

  “I’m Russian and unpermitted,” she admits. “I can’t take any public transport, nor go to the police for assistance. I’d be arrested immediately and sent to prison.”

  “What about you?” Aiden addresses Oliver.

  “I’m skint, sir.” He talks with his mouth full. “I ain’t got a penny. Any road, I can’t use my Authenticard ‘cause I’s wanted for running off the way I did. The man what bought me got every right to track my card and order my return.” He gulps down some water. “That’s why I’s going to London.”

  “And you?” Aiden sighs, turning to Carmen. “What’s your story? Truthfully. People don’t just get up and leave their home to travel halfway across the country—braving Mercia no less—for the sake of a girl they hardly know.”

  Knowing that’s not always the case, Ria shares a smile with Silver. Silver’s smile doesn’t stick, though. Carmen’s answer to Aiden’s question wipes it straight off her face.

  “I’m sort of a fugitive.” She chases a pea around her plate.

  “Excuse me?!” Silver glares at her, demanding an explanation. “What did you do?”

  “I terminated a muck snipe in Canning Town for bumping off a bangtail.”

  Befuddled and annoyed, Silver isn’t able to unravel any of that. “Speak English.”

  “I killed a man for murdering a prostitute.” She doesn’t sound remotely apologetic about the fact. “I can’t use my Authenticard because I’ve been reported dead and the card was canceled.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Silver drops her head into her hands. “All this time you’ve been telling me I shouldn’t trust Ria because you don’t like the color of her blood, and yet you’re a murderer! That’s rich.”

  “It wasn’t murder, it was justice.” Carmen sounds tetchy. “You understand that, dontcha?” She makes a pointed but subtle reference to Silver’s past.

  “Hmm.” Aiden lets all this new information percolate in his brain. “So, let’s see, I’m harboring an illegal immigrant, an unpermitted Russian, a teenage runaway with an outstanding arrest warrant, and a dead murderer.” He massages his forehead. “Bloody fabulous.”

  “It’s only for one night,” Silver assures him. “We’ll leave in the morning, but I’d love to know where I can get my hands on a fucking car. Not that Fitch isn’t an awesome animal or anything, but his top speed doesn’t exactly break the sound barrier.”

  “You can drive?” Aiden looks perplexed.

  “Yeah, duh, but I haven’t seen a single vehicle outside of Manchester.”

  “You wouldn’t. Motors have been heavily restricted since the end of the last epoch, when gasoline was scarce. You need a special permit to obtain one, unless you can get your hands on one illegally, but the militia controls them all so it’s virtually impossible.”

  “Virtually?” Silver presses him.

  “Well, stealing a motor is always an option, but no-one here would bother because none of us knows how to operate the ruddy things. The only way we’ve ever come across them is by accident, and then we strip them for parts.”

  Disheartened, Silver finishes her meal.

  “Look”—Aiden checks his watch—“I’ll put the word out about a motor, but I can’t make any promises. In the meantime, it’s late, and I’m sure you could all use a good night’s sleep. I’ve arranged a room for you in one of our bed and breakfasts, but since I wasn’t expecting a quartet of strangers, it’s just that: one room. Ben and Pinny were going to be put up by a friend of theirs, but he won’t take Taints. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do.”

  Making do isn’t such a problem. The bed in the charming, country-style room turns out to be king size, and will comfortably accommodate the three women while Oliver sleeps on the couch.

  All the furniture is made from hand-carved wood—the bed, the couch frame, a trunk filled with spare blankets—and the fabrics are soft and luxurious. The antique rug is well-worn and threadbare in places, and the curtains are sun bleached. It’s perfect, and none of them could’ve hoped for better.

  “Looks like we’re bundling tonight.” Ria can’t wait to leap into the cozy-looking bed, with its thick duvet and feather pillows. “Who’s going in the middle?”

  Silver puts up her hand. “I call dibs. This has always been a dream of mine: sharing a bed with two pretty women.”

  Ria thumps her arm playfully, the hit being little more than a tap.

  “Kicksies stay on,” Carmen warns them both. “And no funny business.”

  While Oliver takes his turn in the bathroom to get ready for bed, Silver eyes Ria optimistically.

  “Are you taking anything off?”

  “Probably not as much as you’d like me to.” She unfastens her waistcoat, smiling bashfully.

  On the other side of the bed, Carmen shirks off her leather jacket, exposing the black silk ribbon tied around her left wrist.

  “Why do you wear that?” Ria enquires, the question nagging to be asked since she’d first caught sight of the ribbon. “You’re much too young to be a whore runner, so who is it? Your mother? Your sister? You lover perhaps?”

  “I live with a Madam,” Carmen replies curtly, disclosing little about her private life, remaining aloof.

  “She’s in love with a whore.” Silver laughs. “I don’t know why she won’t just say that.”

  It’s not Silver’s intention to sound disparaging, but Ria’s own insecurities lead her to imagine mockery where there is none. Is it so ridiculous to love a whore?

  The rest of the conversation goes on without her, while she retreats into private thought.

  “She’s not a whore, she’s a whore runner.” Carmen defends her lover. “A bawd, a procuress, a flesh broker. Take your pick.”

  “Whatever.” Silver chuckles. “But wait a second, aren’t whore runners meant to be older? Like, experienced. Over the hill, used up, worn out, and—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Carmen dismisses the stereotype. “Not mine. She’s only forty-two, and she’s never been put on her back for coin.”

  “Forty-two?” Silver raises a questioning eyebrow. “Shit, she’s more than twice your age. That must be one hell of an ego boost for her.”

  Carmen shrugs. “She’s activated, and the virus slows aging, so her biological age doesn’t mean diddly squat. I keep telling her that, but she’s still really sensitive about it.”

  Spotting an opportunity for diversion, she twists that notion around on Silver, trying to get off the topic of her girlfriend’s maturity.

  “To be honest, that’s why I don’t understand why you wanted to be wiped. I mean, you were infected without the nanites. That’s what people here dream of: a way to receive all the benefits of the human betterment package without having to be in a government database and pay for the privilege of it.”

  “It made sense to me at the time.”

  “But you must be in your mid-thirties, yeah?” Carmen persists. “Everything’s sort of downhil
l from there, isn’t it?”

  Silver winds up to give her a dead arm, but she darts around the bed and avoids it. The conversation comes to a close then anyway, as Oliver returns from the bathroom, completely unaware that he’s sharing a room with three Sapphists.

  Well, two and a half Sapphists at least.

  After exchanging a few quick goodnights, they all settle down to sleep—something which proves elusive for Silver. Tired of lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling, she eventually rolls over to Ria.

  “Careful.” Ria tenses, worried that Oliver will catch them in a clinch.

  “It’s okay.” Silver snuggles against her from behind. “He’s sound asleep.”

  Accepting that—the proof of it in his snoring—Ria relaxes and welcomes Silver’s warm embrace. They sink into a comfortable silence, Silver’s arm wrapped around her middle.

  “What’re you thinking about?” Ria asks minutes later, stroking the back of Silver’s hand, aware that she’s still wakeful.

  “Life, I guess. A week ago, I was the general of an army. My every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of violence: different, more elaborate ways to kill Chimera, and how to seek revenge against the people who destroyed my city.”

  “And now?”

  “Now …” Silver sighs deeply, kissing the back of Ria’s head. “I’m in a foreign country, away from everything I’ve ever known, and all I can think about is you.”

  Ria rolls onto her back, looking up at Silver’s face. “Five days ago, I was a prisoner. I was being raped on a regular basis by Slade’s men, and by Luther before them.” She trails her fingers down Silver’s cheek. “I haven’t been this close to another woman in so long.”

  Silver repositions, cradling Ria’s head in the crook of her arm, gazing down at her. “I hate thinking of you being touched like that.”

  A single tear forms in the corner of Ria’s eye. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough for all the things you’ve done.”

  “You don’t have to.” Silver catches the tear with the tip of her tongue and kisses it away. “I already told you that.” She moves her lips to Ria’s neck.