“But you took my words as challenge, Shi’a’na; do not deny it! You think of them as your own despite your words, despite the tribe that bears your anger.” From her side, Lyshus growled again.
Now, Shi’a’na’s mouth opened. “He would dare?”
No tribemate was supposed to interfere in a fight between queens. It was why Shi’a’na had been able to free the queens of the old drushka and fight the great Shi. Lyshus’s growls did not affront Shiv. Instead, she grinned, happy someone at least could share her feelings. “But he is a queen, too.”
Shi’a’na frowned, and Shiv felt her disgust. She could accept the child of her body being born a queen. At the time, she had not imagined rejoining the old drushka and thought someone would need to take her place one day, but Shiv’s tribe of queens was too much to accept.
She would never accept it, no matter what she said.
Shiv’s anger and sadness and fear melted inside her to become like a human forge. A haze fell over her vision, and she leaped at the creature in front of her, the queen who would take all that was hers, who would deny her a tribe, a life of her own. The lash of her mind was turned aside easily, and her leap became a fall as the other queen threw her to the side. Calming words and feelings were flowing from this queen, but Shiv did not want to hear them, feel them. She wanted to stoke that ember that lived deep inside this rival queen, the one that wanted to respond to challenge.
Shiv leaped again, and again she was turned with ease. Her fury mounted. As she prepared to attack again, the other queen cried out in anguish, and Shiv sensed a different attack. She felt for the source, wondering which queen had involved herself in their fight, but the attack wasn’t coming at Shi’a’na. It stabbed at the Anushi tree.
Lyshus knelt on the limb, his mind battering the heart of the Anushi, using the power unique to him to attack the tree, and through it, its queen. Shiv snapped out of her rage as if she had been caught in a sudden storm. The trees were sacrosanct. No matter what happened to individual drushka, even queens, the trees would remain.
“Lyshus, no!”
Shi’a’na was on her knees, and Shiv could almost see the inky tendrils of Lyshus’s peculiar power winging through branch and limb, poisoning the sap, the blood of the tree. All of Shi’a’na’s drushka cried out, but Lyshus looked on the kneeling queen without pity. Before Shiv’s eyes, he blurred, growing, and Shiv felt herself growing too as he passed some of the power into her and her sapling. From where she had left it in the branches, she bade it climb down before it fell. When it reached the ground, it would be large enough to carry her.
“Enough!” Shiv put her mind behind the word, making it a command. Queen he might be, but he was still tied to her, her tribemate, and too young to not obey.
His power ceased, and he looked to her. He was as tall as her waist, taller than a child three times his age, maybe more, as she was taller than she had been. Not as large as Shi’a’na, but nearly as much as the youngest of the old drushkan queens.
Shi’a’na wrapped her arms around herself and looked at Shiv, at Lyshus, with horror in her eyes. Shiv wanted to comfort her, but she felt the shawnessi coming, felt her people beginning to recover. She had to get away, to get Lyshus away. The drushka did not have many crimes, but attacking the tree was one of them. She grabbed Lyshus and sprinted, winging through the tree so fast she was nearly in flight. Her own tree caught her as she leapt free from Shi’a’na’s branches. It now stood as tall as the palisade of Gale, and she bade it carry her and Lyshus to the swamp as fast as it could.
* * *
Lydia gawked when the drushkan guards fell to their knees, howling in pain, but Fajir moved like the wind. She was on one downed guard in a moment, smacking an open palm into his face so that he plummeted from the branch.
“Stop!” Lydia ran to where he’d fallen, relieved to see him alive on a branch below. She reached for Fajir, knowing she was reaching toward her death, but she had to at least slow the woman down.
Fajir kicked another drushka over the side. The third struggled to draw her weapon, but she was staggering and keening. Fajir tried to wrench the wooden spear from her grasp, but it clung to her hands, and Fajir punched her in the face, making her nose erupt in a golden river.
“Come, Nemesis.” Fajir didn’t wait for an answer but ran along the branch.
Lydia didn’t hesitate. If Fajir wasn’t going to kill her, that made her the only one who could stop Fajir from killing anyone else. She followed, calling out for Fajir to wait, wanting to check on the drushka howling around them, but Fajir gave her no chance. She began clambering down the tree.
“You won’t get away!” Lydia called. “There’re too many drushka.”
“We must find a way down. They’ll kill you when they recover, kill us both.”
“You don’t know that!” Lydia shouted. “We don’t know anything. I have to help them.”
“They’ve gone mad, Nemesis!”
Maybe Fajir was right; maybe whatever had prompted the rage Lydia had seen in Shiv’s eyes had spread to the other drushka.
“We’ve got to get to Simon Lazlo and Cordelia Ross,” Lydia said. “They’ll know what to do.” She headed toward the nearest branch and used it to climb to the one below, Fajir following her. If they could get as low as they could, maybe they could shimmy down the massive trunk. It probably had plenty of handholds, but Lydia was not a climber. She’d scaled a few trees in her youth, but none had been as large as this monster. Still, she and Fajir eased their way down, and soon, the keening from the drushka faded and stopped. The limbs of the tree drooped as if exhausted, and Lydia was able to scramble down, almost sliding, but the ground was still very far away.
“There,” Fajir said, pointing.
One of the branches sagged nearly all the way to the ground. It would still leave them with quite a drop, but it seemed safer than trying to climb down the trunk itself.
When they began the descent, Lydia’s foot slipped. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest, but she managed to catch herself. The branch was more slippery than the trunk, the cracks in the bark not as large, and Lydia skidded more than once, grating the flesh from her palms.
Fear made her giddy, and the world seemed to tilt around her. “We need to go back!”
Fajir caught her wrist. “Careful.”
Lydia’s breath came in short gasps. She caught a glimpse of the ground below, and it seemed hundreds of feet away, falling farther right before her eyes. She clamped them shut and tried to breathe deep.
“Go, Nemesis,” Fajir said, her own voice breathless.
“I’m going as fast—”
“Now!”
The branch began to move, shuddering. It didn’t have the slow, careful movements Lydia had seen before; it shuddered and creaked, the tip flicking like a whip. One of Lydia’s hands came free, and she scrambled for another hold, digging her fingers in until they either had to go through the bark or break trying. Fajir was yelling at her to move, but she couldn’t, her fear pushing her until she embraced her power out of the need for somewhere to flee.
The future was always silent, leaving her room to breathe. She saw herself from a short distance away, watched as the branch whipped to the side, and she went flying. Oh, this was going to hurt.
The air rushing from her lungs broke her concentration, and pain cascaded through her body. She tumbled through something rough, dirt and grass and bushes that grabbed at her hair, her clothing. The world became a blur of light and shadow and agony. When she skidded to a halt, she tried to breathe, but it wouldn’t come easily.
Stars danced in Lydia’s eyes, and her throat felt as if it had been stuffed with hot lead. She coughed weakly. Something wet slid across her face, the slight movement igniting other blips of pain. Her nose ached like fire. When she moved her head, stars swam in and out of focus. Was she using her power again? Why else would the world become a long tunnel? A black haze creeped over her vision but not before she glimpsed a hand reachi
ng for her.
* * *
As Fajir saw it, she had two choices: leave Nemesis where she lay or kill her. She had studied many injured soldiers in the field, deciding whether they would survive being moved. Nemesis’s face was bloody, her eyelids flickering before closing. She was no doubt concussed, but her limbs seemed unbroken. The labored breathing was a concern but might be a simple product of the fall and not a broken rib poking into a lung. There was a good chance she would awaken on her own and stumble back to Gale and an even better chance that the drushka would come for her first.
But if they had gone mad, they might kill her. Why not save them the trouble?
Fajir knelt beside the still form, ready to pinch Nemesis’s nose and mouth shut or put a knee to her throat. Perhaps she’d flip Nemesis over and grind her face into the dirt until death shuddered through her.
Fajir lifted the small body in her arms and stood. She wondered at herself as she carried Nemesis north, away from Gale and the drushka. Nemesis hated Gale, and the drushka had turned on her, so…
She hurried northwest of the city, out of sight of the palisade before she laid Nemesis in the grass beside her. Neither one of them was dead, and that was…not how this encounter was supposed to go, at least not in any of Fajir’s dreams. She’d pledged to kill Nemesis, and she’d had a chance, and now…
Ever since Nico had left, Fajir’s purpose had been clear: kill every plains dweller she met until one of them killed her. Then she’d been captured, but her purpose was still with her. She’d fulfilled it for a while under the bondage of Nemesis and her friends. Then when she’d been a guest of the drushka, escape turned all but impossible. She was doomed to captivity until she fulfilled Nemesis’s silly destiny. After that, if she lived, she doubted Nemesis and the drushka would let her go back to killing plains dwellers. Nemesis would see her captured again since she could not stomach killing Fajir herself. She did not even want to see it done. Nemesis venerated life in a way that turned Fajir’s stomach.
And so, she had to die.
Fajir stayed where she was, her limbs stubbornly refusing to kill.
Well, in captivity, perhaps she’d found another purpose. She’d comforted herself with dreams of killing the drushka, of killing Nemesis, but as she tried to recall those dreams, small details of another dream returned to her.
It had started with Nemesis standing in the long grass of the plains. Fajir had briefly thought of leaping on her, killing her, then they’d been dancing and laughing atop a white boulder under an endless sky.
Fajir sneered. Had a few weeks of captivity made her so weak? She should kill this piece of trash now, and her confusion would stop.
Still, her limbs would not obey.
Fajir shuddered. Perhaps… She stroked her chin as she stared at Nemesis’s bloody face. Perhaps she was only keeping Nemesis alive until this destiny had come to pass. Then Fajir would kill her. Fajir, and no one else.
With a nod, Fajir lifted Nemesis again and carried her farther from Gale. She didn’t know how much further in the future this destiny was, so it was best to be prepared for a long wait. They’d need food, water, and some way to start a fire. That meant…plains dwellers.
Bile filled Fajir’s mouth. She would rather kill both herself and Nemesis than beg from them. But she could steal from them. From when she’d first tracked Horace and Simon for her Lords, she knew a clan lived close to Gale. She’d see what they had to offer. Nemesis had begun to shift as if dreaming, a sign that she would wake soon. If Fajir was going to kill any plains dwellers, best to do it before Nemesis woke so she wouldn’t have to listen to any subsequent whining.
She headed farther west, bearing Nemesis easily. The woman was far shorter than her and small, though her curves put Fajir’s to shame. No wonder she eschewed fighting. Her balance would be all over the place if she didn’t build up the right muscles. Her hair had come undone from its tidy knot and blew around her face, the effect spoiled by the blood leaking from her nose. The nose wasn’t crooked, probably not broken, just slightly squashed. She’d have a mighty bruise. After Fajir stole some water, she’d wash Nemesis’s face, but before then, maybe her injured state would come in handy.
Fajir headed toward a large rock in the distance, the spear-like tor that the plains dwellers used as a meeting place. Fajir skirted around it and soon found what she was looking for, evidence of a camp nearby. She ranged away from it, scanning for tracks. At last, she found a smaller group of tracks, fresh. A hunting party.
She grinned as she sneaked closer to them. They laughed and joked as they walked, scaring away game. Perhaps they were youths at play. She left Nemesis where they couldn’t help but spot her, then knelt in the grass and waited.
Four of the plains vermin walked together; they had the blush of youth and were probably out to practice their skills but were chattering instead. She craned her neck. Their weapons were real enough and wouldn’t refuse to leave their hands as drushkan weapons did. They carried bags across their shoulders; they’d brought her weapons and supplies. How thoughtful.
When they saw Nemesis, the youth in the lead cried out and rushed forward, the others following. Their elders should have taught them more carefully, chided them for leaping into the unknown. Now they’d never live to hear those lectures.
A shame.
The thought almost made her pause, but she let her instincts take over as the group bent over Nemesis. A doubled fist to the back of the neck laid low the one in the back. The second began to turn, and Fajir’s open palm connected with his chin, sending him after the first.
The third was kneeling at Nemesis’s side, so Fajir rocked back on one leg and kicked, hitting her forehead and knocking her down, too. The fourth was wilier, drawing a bone sword and stumbling back, but his feet connected with Nemesis’s body, and he tripped, falling flat on his back, sword tumbling from his fingers. Fajir snatched it up and bashed his face with the pommel.
All four lay still, and they were all…breathing.
Fajir took off their packs, stuffed as many supplies as would fit into two of them, then swung those around her shoulders. She took the sash from one so she could tie the sword to her waist, then she hefted Nemesis and hurried to the north, huffing under all of her burdens.
She’d left the plains dwellers breathing, a fact that made her growl as she jangled along. It was the haste, she told herself, but that wasn’t all. Nemesis was infecting her even while asleep! When they’d gone far enough to suit Fajir, she dumped Nemesis on the ground and used the water from one canteen to splash her roughly in the face.
Nemesis’s eyes flew open. She tried to sit up, then groaned, holding her head. Fajir’s anger was still up; she could feel the heat in her neck, but she leaned forward, easing a hand under Nemesis’s head. “Here.” She held the canteen out.
Nemesis sipped from it slowly. “Where…what?”
“Be silent.” Quickly, Fajir told her what had happened from the moment the tree flung them. She’d been fortunate enough to roll upon going airborne and had landed safely.
When Fajir spoke of the plains dwellers, Nemesis’s head snapped up. She winced but kept her steady gaze. “Did you kill them?”
“No,” Fajir said. “Are you happy?” She tried to be as snide as she could but was unsure what answer she was looking for.
Nemesis sat back, gaze unreadable. “Yes. Thank you.”
Fajir breathed out. Good; that reaction was good. If Nemesis thought Fajir had spared those plains dwellers just to please her, it might make her more controllable. “Fine.” She rooted around in the packs until she found a rag. “To clean your face,” she said as she handed it over.
Nemesis raised a hand to her nose and winced. “How bad is it?”
“Not broken. And though you were unconscious, you have only a small wound to your head. You may have a broken rib. You were lucky, Nemesis.”
“My name is Lydia,” she said as she put a hand to her side and winced. “What do I do for a broken r
ib?”
Fajir smiled, happy to be speaking of something besides feelings and not killing. She helped Nemesis bind her ribs with one of the straps from the packs. “Even if it’s not broken, being bound will remind you to favor that side.”
“I don’t need the reminder, thanks,” Nemesis said as she tried to stand. “Did the drushka chase you out here?”
“No. I didn’t wait to see what they did after they went mad.”
Nemesis nodded slowly and glanced around. She seemed afraid. Good, that would make her easier to control, too. “So, what’s the plan? I’m guessing you won’t go back to Gale, and since you brought me out here, you don’t want me going back either.”
“They might have killed you, too, but are you thankful for my rescue? Clearly not.”
Nemesis snorted a laugh. “Sure, thanks for saving me from the drushka, who are probably fine now, and who you definitely didn’t run away from just because they were holding you prisoner.”
Fajir shrugged. “You could have looked into the future to see, but you didn’t. If you’re going to deny your power, Nemesis, you’re going to have to trust your instincts, as you did when we fled the tree.”
“I thought we could get to Gale,” Nemesis whispered.
“I was never going to Gale. Surely you knew that when we began to climb.”
Nemesis nodded.
“And still, you didn’t object when I followed you. You don’t want anyone to kill me.” The words caused an uncomfortable warmth in Fajir’s chest, and she searched Nemesis’s face for confirmation, but Nemesis looked away.
“Why am I here?” Nemesis asked. “Were you waiting for me to wake up just so you could be a sarcastic ass? So you could cut my head off with your new sword?”
Fajir’s stomach turned. “I’m not some barbaric, plains-dwelling vermin.”
Nemesis quirked an eyebrow. “You tried to strangle me once with your bare hands.”
The memory made Fajir shift uncomfortably. The deed now seemed to belong to someone else. “Is it wise to remind me of that now?”
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