“But only one man killed your partner,” he’d said. “Why hunt the rest of us?”
She hadn’t been able to make him understand. In the end, she’d told him it didn’t matter. If he let her live, she promised to kill him, his family, all of them. He’d only stared before leaving her alone with nothing but her thoughts.
She’d shrieked every obscenity she knew in his wake. They would either kill her, or she’d kill them all. Why was that so difficult to understand? She chafed against her bonds. She couldn’t stand this. She was alone, and that wasn’t right. She had to be killing, or she had to die. It was easy, simple. But vermin couldn’t understand. She flashed back to Cordelia, of the offer to go to Gale. She could be there now. She still wouldn’t have Nico, but she wouldn’t be alone.
“Fool,” she called herself. If solitude was the price of vengeance, she had to pay it. And she would only be alone until death. Then she could see Halaan again. But none of that would happen while she was tied up in this cursed tent!
They wouldn’t let her go. They wouldn’t kill her. There had to be another way. Her mind raced. She had no Nico, no Cordelia, no allies at all. Before despair could set in, a thought came to her. She had two of the strongest allies in the world. A Sun-Moon worshiper was never alone!
“Lords?” she asked quietly, pushing her thoughts toward her gods as she’d been taught to do since childhood. The Lords had touched all their followers in some way or another, a comforting presence throughout their lives. Now she felt a tingle as they sensed her plea and reached for her. “Free me,” she said. “Free me, and I will kill them all for you!”
They shuffled through her memories and stopped on the face of the dark-haired woman. “Samira,” they said in her mind. “Simon Lazlo’s friend.”
Her belly went cold, and she licked her lips. They feared Simon Lazlo, though he surely wasn’t worthy of such feeling. He’d threatened the Lords before he’d left Celeste. He should have died for that, but the Lords were silent.
“I’m sorry, child,” they said at last. “You’re on your own.”
Their presence retreated, and she gasped. They would not aid her? Because of Simon Lazlo? But she was their weapon. She had put off her quest for revenge for them. She had killed in their name! And now that she needed them, they abandoned her?
Now she was truly alone. No Lords, no Nico. No Cordelia. And no Halaan, never him again, not in this paltry life. Nothing left but her.
Her breath came hard. “Kill me!” she cried. “You must!” She fought the urge to sob and lost. “I will kill you! Your children! I will…” Speech became lost amid her tears, and she simply screamed.
* * *
Lydia listened to the screaming coming from the tent and closed her eyes, her heart filling with pity even after everything she’d heard about Fajir.
“Why don’t they just do it?” Samira asked from beside her.
Lydia glanced over, but even Samira’s frown was fading. She couldn’t stop the way she cared about people, even if she loathed Fajir. Or maybe she just wanted to put Fajir out of her misery. Lydia took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Look.” Lydia pointed to the center of camp. The elders and Chafa Yuve were coming out of the tent where they’d been debating Fajir’s fate. “Here they come.”
Samira hurried to where the elders gathered. Everyone in camp went, too. The Engali hadn’t taken a prisoner in a long time, especially someone accused of murdering members of their clan. Mamet had made it back from her Celestian raid alive, but some hadn’t been so lucky, and Fajir had confessed to killing them. Lydia thought she’d confess to anything if it meant her death. She wondered if the elders had come to the same conclusion.
Mamet followed behind the elders. They’d wanted to hear everything she had to say; she was the only one who’d spent any time with Fajir. She seemed shaken as she crossed to Samira and Lydia; her forehead shone with sweat. Samira pulled her in for a hug. Lydia was dying to ask what happened, but Yuve held up his hands for silence.
“The Sun-Moon worshiper Fajir has committed three crimes which can be proven,” Yuve said to the crowd. “She attempted to kill Mamet in Celeste and tried to kill Samira and also Lydia outside the camp. Since only Mamet is a member of our clan, the elders have decided we must consider that crime only.”
The crowd murmured and glanced at one another, frowning. “What about the murders she confessed to?” someone called.
Yuve shook his head. “We have no proof. Fajir is clearly heartsick, perhaps even sick in her brain. Those who have lost their minds say many things which aren’t true.”
The crowd murmured again, sounding angry but not enough to revolt. Mamet’s face tightened, and Samira hugged her harder, her own expression darkening.
“The elders have decided to put her fate in the hands of the wronged.” Yuve looked to Mamet.
Now the crowd muttered approval. The woman who’d asked about the murders smiled and nodded. Lydia’s chest went cold. What a load of shit! The elders were supposed to be the ones with all the wisdom, and yet they passed the judgment to a twenty-year-old? She fought the urge to speak up, not wanting to get thrown out of camp. Instead, she looked to Mamet, wondering how she could help.
Mamet licked her lips as everyone stared. “I have to think,” she said quietly.
Murmurs and frowns erupted again. “What did she say?” someone asked.
“Give her a minute,” Samira said, turning Mamet away from everyone.
Lydia stayed with them as they took a few steps. “I’m so sorry, Mamet. Is there anything I can do?”
Mamet glanced at her with a look of gratitude. “I don’t know. I have no idea what to do.”
“What do you mean?” Samira asked. “You know what you have to do.” She gripped Mamet’s arm. “And you won’t have to be the one who kills her. I’ll do it.”
Lydia doubted it would be that easy, but if Samira was angry enough…
“No,” Mamet said. “If I decide she should die, I must be the one to…” She wiped her lips and passed a hand through her short dark hair. “Do it.”
“If?” Samira asked.
Lydia tugged on her arm. “Samira—”
“No! What do you mean ‘if,’ Mamet?”
“Taking a life isn’t easy,” Lydia said. “It shouldn’t be.” She knew Mamet had been in a battle for her life before, but this was different. This was execution, and it would haunt a soft soul like Mamet for the rest of her life. And for all Samira’s anger, Lydia bet Samira couldn’t just do it, either.
Mamet looked to Lydia. “Do you know what Fajir might do?”
For half a second, Lydia didn’t understand, thought Mamet was asking her opinion, but no, this was about the power. She sighed. No matter what human group she stayed with, someone would always ask. Maybe she should have gone to live with the drushka. They didn’t see the point of looking into the future since it would keep coming no matter what.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Lydia said. “I can’t give you options. If I see that she lives, I won’t be able to tell you why, but it will still happen. And if I see her killing people later, my looking won’t stop her.” She tried to think of another way to put it, a theory the yafanai had. “As long as I don’t look, you have a choice.” Or at least, the illusion of choice. She didn’t add that people often blamed her if the future didn’t turn out the way they wanted.
Mamet smiled weakly. “How about an opinion, then?”
Lydia let out a slow breath. “Well—”
“You’re going to say we should spare her,” Samira said, glowering.
Lydia frowned at her, not wanting to say it now.
“Lydia has a forgiving heart.” Mamet laid a palm on Samira’s cheek. “And you have a protective heart. I wonder what Nettle and Cordelia would say.”
Samira snorted, and Lydia had to chuckle. Samira had never really forgiven Cordelia for hitting Simon Lazlo in the fields outside of Gale. After that, they’d never had muc
h time to get to know each other, not like Mamet had.
Still, Samira shrugged. “They’re both fighters. They’d vote kill.”
“I don’t know. They surprised me with how far they went to prevent killing.” Mamet looked to the tent that held Fajir. “She wants to die. Perhaps a more fitting punishment would be to make her live.”
Samira frowned harder. Lydia thought of Fajir’s screams. She’d only ever met one suicidal person before, a shopkeeper who’d visited the temple and wondered if he was going to go through with a plan to kill himself. Lydia had paused before looking, doubting her own assuredness that the future could not be changed. If she looked, and she saw him kill himself, she told herself she would grab hold of him and not let go. She’d demand he be restrained and watched.
But if that were true, her vision of the future would start with her leaping from her cushion, and there would be no way he could kill himself. She considered just grabbing him without looking, making the future for a change instead of seeing it. But she’d surprised herself by taking his hands and saying, “Gale would be sadder without you. You…make the world better.”
He’d seemed surprised, then he’d brightened and paid her for her trouble before hurrying out of the temple. She’d sat there stunned, realizing that he thought she had looked into the future and seen a bleaker time that didn’t have him in it. He was just another person who didn’t understand how her power worked. After that, she hadn’t had the heart to follow his future, but a few days later, shopping with Freddie, she’d seen him selling his wares. She always wondered after that if he’d tried harder to make Gale a better place, thinking that was his destiny.
“Can I talk to Fajir?” Lydia asked.
“Why?” Mamet and Samira said at the same time.
Lydia didn’t really know, save that she was now involved in the whole affair. She’d been there when Fajir first attacked, when she’d been captured, and when her fate had been laid on Mamet. She thought she should know all the facts before she gave her opinion, but she didn’t want to set Samira off again.
“Curiosity,” she said, hoping that would satisfy.
Samira seemed skeptical, but at least Mamet nodded.
When Lydia first stuck her head inside the tent, Fajir leaned well back, frowning as if Lydia was the worst thing she’d ever smelled. Lydia couldn’t help a snort of laughter. With the way Fajir herself smelled, Lydia doubted she could detect anything else.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Lydia said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
Fajir sneered. “Then go away, vermin.”
“Charming.” Lydia sat just inside the tent and let the flap shut behind her. Enough light came through that she could still see, but she’d brought a candle anyway, trying to make the air even brighter.
“What do you want?” Fajir asked.
That was the question, wasn’t it? “I’m Lydia.”
Fajir simply stared.
“I’m from Gale, originally.” Lydia put her hands in her lap, then dropped them to her sides before clasping them again. Where was all the serenity she’d learned at the temple? Maybe it had simply been too long ago.
Fajir offered nothing, so Lydia blurted, “Why do you want to die?”
Fajir eyed her warily.
“Those marks on your cheeks mean you’re a widow, right?” Lydia asked. “A Sun-Moon worshiper whose partner died? By an Engali? Is that right?” Fajir still said nothing. Lydia fought the urge to sigh. “So, you came here to kill other Engali?”
“Yes,” Fajir said, leaning forward, her bonds creaking. “Now set me loose so I can continue, or kill me where I sit.”
“Your fate is up to Mamet.”
Fajir smiled. “I remember the smell of her blood. Will she face me in combat, or is she too much the coward?”
Lydia smiled back. People had tried to goad her before in the temple, and it hadn’t worked then, either. “You talk about killing and dying in the same tone. You don’t care which you do?”
“Tell them I have killed many of their vermin cousins: young, old, fit or not. I’ve killed some in combat and some as they slept. I won’t stop. Ever.”
Now Lydia smiled wider. “You do care, or you wouldn’t be pushing me so hard. You want them to kill you, and you can’t stand being toothless.” She put a hand to Fajir’s forehead and pushed, sending her off-balance. She fell sideways with a curse, wriggling against her bonds.
A stab of pity wandered through Lydia, but as she watched Fajir struggle and glare, the pity changed to something else. Perhaps they should let her die. That was what she wanted, and she wasn’t helping anyone by being alive.
But then Lydia thought of Mamet again, of what executing someone would do to her: sleepless nights, bad memories. Lydia had enough of those for everyone. She thought of Freddie’s beautiful face and sighed. The more time passed, the more the image faded, but Lydia still missed her keenly. A pain like that never fully disappeared. And though it wasn’t the same feeling, Mamet was too young to be seeing Fajir’s face for the rest of her life.
And Mamet might challenge Fajir to single combat. A fair fight would appeal to her. And Mamet might lose, might die. She was too young for that, too.
Lydia hauled Fajir upright before leaving the tent. Fajir hollered after her, the same litany: kill her or let her kill again. And to the Engali, those might be the only choices. They didn’t keep prisoners for long. Those who committed crimes were punished in other ways. The plains didn’t have jails.
“What did she say?” Samira demanded.
“You mean you didn’t have your ear pressed to the tent?”
Samira flushed slightly. “Mamet wouldn’t let me.”
Lydia’s thoughts were too grim for her to chuckle. “She tried to goad me into either killing her or demanding someone else do it. I agree with Mamet that leaving her alive in captivity would be a more fitting punishment, but…” She sighed. “Maybe she could be rehabilitated?”
Samira barked a humorless laugh. “Not likely. And it’s too risky to keep her tied up forever. If she got loose—”
“You’re right.” Mamet ran a hand through her hair. “The first time I saw her after the torture, I wanted to kill her. But I was…”
Samira took her hand. Lydia wanted to hug her. Samira had told her of Mamet’s crushing fear of Fajir as well as her rage. According to Samira, Mamet had woken up in a cold sweat every night they’d been together. But Samira had shared that in confidence, and Lydia didn’t know if Mamet knew that. Lydia didn’t want to shame her by bringing it up. It could be that Mamet was simply too afraid to face Fajir again, even to kill her. Understandable.
Mamet glanced at Samira and then at Lydia as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
“I’m going to take a walk,” Lydia said, wanting to leave them alone to talk. “If you need me, I won’t be far.” She squeezed both their hands before wandering to the edge of the tents, but not beyond. Not yet.
* * *
In the valley of the Shi, Pool’s stagger shook Cordelia out of her shock. She tore her eyes off the mammoth tree as Pool groaned in pain. The Shi was attacking her again. Nettle and Reach hissed in kind as the pain passed through them all. Cordelia shrugged it off, grabbed Pool, and shook her until her sharp teeth rattled together.
With a gasp, Pool opened her eyes. “Sa?”
“We have to move.” Drushka were pouring from the Shi’s branches like ants, adding to the horde in the valley, and there were more coming from the wall of foliage. Cordelia tried to think of a plan. Her worry wanted to drown out the thrill of battle, but she couldn’t let it. She reminded herself that she didn’t matter, and right now, she couldn’t let herself think about Nettle and Reach. All that mattered was getting Pool close enough to make the Shi angry. They had to prompt her to grab Pool and fight one-on-one.
Cordelia ran, dragging Pool into a stumbling jog. If Pool won, the Galean captives would be saved; she had to keep her mind on that.
Reach ran along behind them, singing to heal Pool’s mind and help shield her from the Shi’s attack.
Nettle grabbed Pool’s other arm and helped her run. “Into the beast’s mouth!” she shouted. “Ahya, Sa, my love?”
Cordelia barked a laugh that had more fear than humor behind it. “I love you! I love all you crazy bastards!”
Nettle gave her a look filled with love and fear. Cordelia summoned her anger. She remembered the Galean bodies swinging in the swamp and thought about all the shit the Shi had put them through when all they wanted to do was live their lives.
And she had one last card up her sleeve.
Cordelia let go of Pool’s arm and swung the railgun in front of her, carrying the last of Calamity’s heavy artillery. Without a word, she pulled the trigger, and the railgun’s battery whined as the bullets pounded forth. She swept it side to side, and drushka fell in waves as if reaped with a giant scythe. Many staggered back or ran, tripping those behind and getting caught in a spray of bullets that tore through body after body. A path opened, and Cordelia ran into it, Pool behind her.
“Nettle, Reach, run for the swamp!” Cordelia called. They couldn’t help past this point, could only be killed, and she was suddenly consumed with the fear of watching them die. Still, she didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if they obeyed. Part of her knew they wouldn’t. She kept firing and running until the bullets ran out.
She cast the empty railgun aside and drew her wooden blade. The drushka surrounded them, howling with the rage of the Shi. Cordelia swung wildly, hanging on to Pool with one hand as she kept pressing forward. She didn’t see Reach or Nettle in the press of clawing, shrieking bodies. Some drushka veered away from Pool, and none were armed, perhaps too scared of killing a queen. Cordelia lifted Pool and staggered on, but too many bodies dragged on her shoulders, and her armor whined under the strain. Even if these drushka knew nothing of armor, they’d find a way inside soon enough. She only hoped they clawed her to death before they ripped her apart.
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