by Bruce Blake
She stroked his cheek tenderly.
“What happened isn’t your fault.”
She leaned in again, pressed her lips against his, but he didn’t reciprocate. Pulling back, she looked at him, the tenderness gone from her face. Khirro shook his head.
“I can’t.” He wanted to, Gods knew how much he did. That night with Emeline had been the only time—and alcohol kept him from remembering it—but this didn’t feel right. Not here, not now. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” An edge crept into her voice. She stood and wiped the dirt and fir needles from her clothes. “One day you’ll have to stop fucking your dream and try a real woman.”
Khirro watched her walk away, part of him wanting to call her back, but he repressed the urge, buried it beneath a layer of guilt too thick to let anything else in.
Elyea sat beside Ghaul and a twinge of jealousy surprised Khirro when she leaned over and kissed the warrior. Someone would fulfill her need tonight. Ghaul returned her affection without compunction or conversation. Angry with himself, Khirro watched until Ghaul reached out to remove Elyea’s shirt, then he turned his back on them. When sleep finally claimed him, it did so to the sounds of their love making.
Athryn and Shyn spoke occasionally while the others kept mostly to themselves, speaking only to answer questions as they prepared to leave the giant’s camp. Whenever Khirro looked at Elyea, she diverted her eyes. He wanted to tell her it was all right, he understood that she had a need he couldn’t fill, but he didn’t. It wasn’t true. Every time he looked at Ghaul, the soldier smiled broadly, like a child who stole a treat and got away with it.
They searched the camp but found nothing of use, and Khirro was surprised to find himself mildly disappointed that they didn’t find any bones split lengthwise and sucked free of marrow. Many of his mother's fables had already proven to have basis in reality, he half-expected this journey to prove them all true. He glanced at the giant’s headless body and his disappointment fled. How could he so quickly forget how close they came to finding out first hand?
Athryn approached Khirro, only a slight limp impeding his normal grace, and held the vial out. Khirro took it from him.
“Thank you,” the magician said, then went back to finish storing his gear.
In those two short words, Khirro sensed the man’s great sadness. No wonder after losing his brother, but surely he still hoped the Necromancer would bring him back as he would Braymon. No, he’d lost something else, too, and holding the vial, feeling the magic swirling within, reminded him.
It will always be there. Every time there’s magic, he’ll want to have it back.
He wondered how Athryn felt—like a soldier losing his sword arm, or a singer his voice. Already this journey had produced such sadness.
And there would be more.
Khirro took a chunk of salt pork from his pack before fastening the flap. He chewed the tough meat and pondered the story of the Mourning Sword Athryn had told. A fantastic story, but the detail which stood out to Khirro was that Darestat had been there a thousand years ago, when the sword earned its name. Old beyond reason, an acolyte of Monos himself, betrayer, and possibly in league with the enemy. The thought of the Necromancer chilled his spine. Why would this man resurrect the king? Because they asked? Khirro’s head sagged. Every time he put his mind to the task cursed upon him, it became so much more than simply reaching Darestat’s keep.
A noise jarred Khirro from his thoughts. He cocked his head, listening. None of the others heard. Athryn and Shyn chatted about where to find water to fill their skins while Ghaul and Elyea finished packing.
Again.
This time Shyn looked up. Something moved through the forest, something big but distant and uncaring of the noise it made. Shyn signaled the others as Khirro crossed the clearing to join them. Ghaul gestured for them to be quiet and pointed toward the hill at the south end of the encampment; they freed their weapons. Khirro looked at the Mourning Sword, realizing he had been a poor soldier and forgotten to wipe the blood from it, yet the black blade shone clean. He turned it in his hand and the runes pulsed red once then faded. When he looked up, he’d fallen behind the others; the noise was closer at his back. He hurried to catch up.
At the top of the grade, they hid behind the sparse cover of some thorny berry bushes and waited. A few minutes passed before the forest parted and a giant stepped into the glade.
Giantess, Khirro corrected himself.
She stood three feet shorter than the slain giant when a head sat on his shoulders; matted tresses hung to her waist as did the massive teats sprinkled with coarse black hairs. If not for the sagging mammaries, Khirro might have mistaken her for a shorter twin to the first giant, with only slightly fewer whiskers.
The companions froze as the giantess entered the camp, the carcass of a deer slung over her shoulder, though not any deer Khirro had ever seen—dark brown with white spots and a single three-pronged horn protruding from between its eyes. She hummed to herself, a guttural sound not as deep as the giant’s voice. When she lifted her eyes and saw the campsite, the humming stopped.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Khirro and his companions stood at the top of the hill, breath held, tensed to attack if necessary. The giantess stared.
Has she seen us? Smelled us?
Impatience got the better of Ghaul and he took a step toward the creature, but Athryn stopped him with a hand on his chest and a shake of his head.
The deer carcass tumbled to the ground as the beast’s arms fell limp. She took a step, a whimper sounding deep in her throat. She cried out what might have been a name and stumbled toward the corpse, gaze fixed on the body of her slain friend, or brother, or husband.
Elyea tugged Khirro’s sleeve, pulling him away from the scene, guiding him over the top of the hill. Before cresting the rise, he looked back and saw the beast collapse to her knees beside the slain giant. When she noticed the ragged flesh where his head should have been, she wailed toward the branches above, her monstrous voice filled with sadness, then slumped across the corpse, sobbing.
When the giantess passed from their line of sight, they bolted into the forest, the beast’s anguished wails following on their heels, tugging at Khirro’s heart.
An hour later, they still heard the wails of the giantess, distant and fading. She made no attempt to follow.
“Not yet,” Ghaul said when Elyea commented about it.
“Ghaul’s right,” Shyn said. “When her grief has been slaked, she’ll thirst for revenge. We best put many miles between us before that happens.”
“But which way?” Elyea asked.
“South still,” Khirro said without hesitation. The others looked at him, unused to his confident tone. “The ruined village is only a day from here. The tyger told me.”
They stopped walking and stared at Khirro.
“What tyger, Khirro?” Elyea asked, the first words she’d spoken to him since he rejected her and, despite their tone, they lifted a weight he hadn’t realized he carried.
Khirro sighed. “A tyger visits me in my dreams, tells me what to do.”
Athryn grasped him by the shoulder, eyes gleaming behind black cloth mask. “When did you first dream of this tyger?”
“A month ago, I guess.”
“Since the journey began? Since you have had the vial?”
“Yes.”
“What does this tyger look like?” Ghaul asked. “Is it pink with wings? I might have seen it, too... when I had too much mead.”
Khirro ignored him. “It’s huge, with paws as big as my head. Its fur is white, with black stripes. He comes to me as a friend.”
“He is,” Athryn said taking his hand from Khirro’s shoulder. “Each man’s soul takes the form of an animal, Khirro. That is what you see in your dreams.”
Khirro raised an eyebrow. “The tyger is my soul?” The thought instilled pride in him—the soul of a tyger.
“No.” Athryn shook his head, dashing his conceit
. “It is Braymon’s soul which comes to guide you.”
The vial radiated warmth against Khirro’s chest, as though agreeing with Athryn’s words. They stood silently; the distant wails of the giantess had ceased.
“I’m not one to argue with a man-eater,” Shyn said, sweeping his arm across his body, gesturing for Khirro to lead the way. “South it is.”
Ghaul shook his head but said nothing as Khirro took the lead.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The branches overhead offered little protection from the deluge. The ground turned to mud, sucking at their boots as they walked, slowing their progress. By Khirro’s estimation, it was mid-afternoon the day after they fled the giant’s encampment, but it might well have been evening for the lack of light penetrating the trees. No one spoke as they tramped through the muck, the patter of rain on flora and armor and clothes conversing with the splash of boots in mud the only words.
So far, there had been no signs the she-beast followed them, but they pushed on as though she did. Both Shyn and Ghaul were convinced she’d come after them; since they agreed so infrequently, Khirro assumed they must be correct. They also agreed the giantess would be able to track them, given they’d seen no wildlife since setting foot on the cursed earth of Lakesh, yet the giantess returned to camp with a deer over her shoulder.
Khirro knew they neared the ruined village, felt it in the pulsations of the vial against his chest. It would be a relief to find a familiar place, one he’d seen in dreams and when the Shaman showed him the way, but he wondered what kind of people had lived in a village in the haunted land. The thought raised goose flesh on his arms.
Ahead, the seductive wiggle of Elyea’s hips was gone, suppressed by her attempt to keep mud from pulling the boots from her feet. Khirro shook his head. He didn’t understand women at the best of times, and she was no normal woman. Was she attracted to Ghaul or simply seeking physical satisfaction? How could he possibly fathom the motivations of a woman thrust into the life of a concubine before her first bleed?
She views her body as a commodity, something to trade for food, to earn a living with. Or maybe to say ‘thank you’ with.
He hadn’t thought of that before. What if he tried to say thank you to someone for saving his life, only to be rebuffed? She had good reason to feel slighted, for going to Ghaul, and for not speaking to him, if that was the case. Thinking this, he hurried forward, the broad leaves of a bush slapping his face and dumping water down his collar as he fell in to walk beside her.
Elyea looked at him as he matched her stride, her hair subdued by the rain except for a stray strand stuck to her forehead, directing the flow of water down her cheek. Khirro looked at her, at the water running down her face, distorting the freckles scattered across her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. For the first time, he noticed her slight overbite and the bump on the bridge of her nose, but her eyes remained unchanged: emerald, intelligent. She wasn’t as pretty with her hair tamed by the rain, but somehow more beautiful, more real.
“I’m sorry,” he said looking at his feet.
“For what?”
“For the other night.”
She put a finger under his chin and raised his head so their eyes met.
“It’s all right. I couldn’t give you what you needed and you couldn’t give me what I needed. Maybe one day.”
A smile tugged the corner of Khirro’s mouth; his cheeks burned with embarrassment at her words and her touch. Sensing his discomfort, she moved her hand away and returned her eyes to the front. He did the same.
“You were right about Emeline,” he said, boot splashing in a deep puddle of muck. “I need to let her go. She was never mine.
“I know.”
He shook his head. “I just don’t know what happened.”
Elyea paused for a breath before responding. “Did you rape her?”
“No, I... I don’t think so.” He trudged along, expecting her to comment, to chastise him, but she didn’t. “We drank too much. I passed out.”
“Then you probably didn’t. In my experience, men don’t often forget their first time, no matter how much they drank. Nor do they perform well under those circumstances.”
“But if I didn’t, then who?”
“Could be anyone.” Her tone turned sour. “Maybe your father. Or hers. That would explain why they blamed you and sent you away.”
Khirro didn’t want to think about possibilities like those—they were somehow worse than being accused of rape. But Elyea was right that he’d likely never return to his village, and Emeline had said she didn’t want to see him again, so why spend time yearning for a dream never to come true? He stole a glance at Elyea. There were other women in the world, after all.
“Up here,” Ghaul shouted from ahead where he’d been scouting, his form a dark silhouette amongst gray trees a hundred yards away, ghostly arms waving over his head. “I’ve found the village.”
The village turned out to be eight broken down huts, uninhabited for an unimaginable number of years. Only one had enough roof left to provide cover from the rain which continued pounding down through the night. Water streamed in through a half dozen holes, muddying the dirt floor, forcing them to huddle in one dry corner. Athryn stood in the doorway taking his watch while the others tried to find sleep.
Khirro shifted on the hard floor, back pressed against the uneven stone wall. Elyea lay in front of him, her breathing soft and steady, already asleep. He felt her lying close, her breath stirring his hair, the smell of her wet clothes filling his nostrils. He wanted to caress her, but fought to control the urge. This was neither the time nor the place. The gentle hills of her shoulder and hip were a dark silhouette against a gray background; his imagination filled in the details. In his mind he saw her strawberry hair, the swell of her breasts, her soft, white skin sprinkled with freckles. His breath shallowed as a tingling began between his legs, radiating into the bottom of his gut.
One touch wouldn’t hurt. She won’t mind; no one else will know.
The sensation in his loins made him brave. He reached his hand toward her waist slowly, carefully. Elyea sighed in her sleep, startling him, and he pulled his hand away too quickly, smacking his elbow against the wall and sending pain shooting up his arm. He hissed a curse between his teeth. The impact made his fingers tingle—a distinctly different feeling than the one in his pants. He lay still, waiting to see if she’d wake, but her breathing remained rhythmic.
Khirro took a breath of his own, wondering what he was doing. Not so long ago, he thought Emeline would be the only one for him, now barely a thought of her came into his head. He tried not to wonder what had actually happened, it was easier to accept blame than imagine possibilities like Elyea had suggested. At least in accepting responsibility, it made sense for his parents to give him up to the army while hiding his brother. If he’d done what Emeline accused him of, he didn’t have to ask the harder question: why did they want him to leave?
By the door, Athryn shuffled his feet as rain continued to fall. Khirro reached his hand toward Elyea again, feeling it shake in the darkness. Breath held, he moved his fingers closer until they brushed flesh. He drew away for an instant, then touched the tips of his fingers to bare skin again. He thought of the gentle curve of her hip but as his fingertips kissed across warm skin, he found the flesh tougher than he’d imagined. And hairy.
“Not my type, Khirro,” Ghaul grumbled from the other side of Elyea where he lay with his hand on her hip. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
Khirro jerked away, banging the same spot on his elbow against the same knob of wall. He gritted his teeth at the pain and cursed to himself, then shifted to face the wall. The darkness hid his embarrassment and disappointment, but he still couldn’t face them. Ghaul said nothing more and his snores soon overpowered Elyea’s gentle breathing.
The tip of Khirro’s nose brushed the wall as he scoured his mind for soothing thoughts that might let him sleep. He crossed his arms in front of
his chest and felt the warmth of the vial. Somehow, the curse thrust upon him by the Shaman had become the least complicated thing in his life. It didn’t judge him for being a farmer, nor for possibly impregnating a woman not his wife. It didn’t shun him for being a coward or a poor warrior. All it wanted was for him to take it to the Necromancer.
Hours later, when Athryn woke Ghaul to take over the watch, Khirro pretended to be asleep. Not long after, he managed to convince his body it was true.
No tyger spoke with Khirro in his dream. No one stalked him. Instead, he dreamed of a woman lying on a bed of straw, knees drawn up and belly full of child. Her face looked like Emeline one instant, Elyea the next. Khirro watched, panicky because he knew nothing about birthing a baby.
The woman screamed and cursed. Sweat streamed first from Emeline’s forehead, then Elyea’s. Her skirts were pulled up above her knees and Khirro peered between her legs at what his mother would have called her woman’s flower. It didn’t look like a flower. It bulged and undulated as the woman screamed again. He didn’t take his eyes from the spot between her legs to see if the sound came from Emeline’s mouth or Elyea’s.
Khirro blinked his eyes firmly and knelt between her knees, not knowing what to do but feeling compelled to do something. In life, he’d only seen women’s genitals four times: Emeline’s, which he didn’t remember; his mother’s when they bathed together in his youth; Elyea’s when they found her and again when she danced in the rain; and a girl from his village named Maree who made him pay with a piece of candy to see it when he was six and she twelve. He never had a close look at any of them, but none looked remotely like the one before him. It didn’t look like a flower but more like the maw of some toothless animal.
Emeline/Elyea grunted and strained. Khirro stared as the slash between her legs pulsed and stretched. He reached out tentatively, hand shaking, but didn’t touch it. Another scream filled his dream and a hand, small and brown, pushed out of the opening. Khirro pulled away. The tiny fingers searched the ground, grasping, dirt and straw sticking to wet flesh as it groped. The stubby fingers dug into the straw and pulled, freeing first a forearm, then an elbow.
