by Mary Mackey
After that, he left her alone in the shade to sweat and wonder what was going to happen next. All in all, being muffled up in layers of clothing was better than being naked in front of murderers, but the leggings itched like crazy. She remembered Stavan had had a similar pair when he first came to Xori; he had told her they were made from wool plucked from the fleece of long-haired sheep.
She thought a lot about Stavan that afternoon. Mostly she wondered how such a good man had ever come out of such a terrible people. She knew now that he'd kept a lot of things from her — probably because he was ashamed of them — and she wondered if, after today, she could ever touch his hair or look into his eyes without shuddering.
Time passed and the shadows grew longer. The meat was cooked and eaten, and she was even brought a share, which she fell on hungrily despite the pain in her stomach and her growing dread that Arang had been killed along with the others. Sometimes riders came into the clearing and left again, but their weapons were put away and there seemed to be no fighting going on, perhaps because there was no one left to fight. Once a tall man rode up and dumped a small, dirty bundle at her feet. When she unfolded it, she found it contained her ruined dress, her belt, and her leather medicine pouch. The charms the priestess of Nar had given her were still inside the pouch. It didn't look as if she was going to have a chance to use them, but knowing they hadn't been lost made her feel a little more confident.
She was just beginning to think about making another attempt to escape when five new men rode up, laughing and joking among themselves. One of them had a large deerskin package slung across the rump of his horse. Dismounting, he untied the bundle, tossed it casually on the ground, and went over to the others to share a jar of wine. For lack of anything better to do, Marrah stared at the package, wondering what was inside. Suddenly the deerskin moved, and she saw a woman's bare foot protrude from one end.
Horrified, she limped over, untied the leather thongs, and threw the skins aside. A young woman looked up at her, her face so bruised and covered with mud that at first Marrah didn't recognize her. Then she realized who it was.
"Akoah?" she whispered. It was the youngest sailor. At the sound of her name, Akoah's face contorted with fear. "Don't be afraid; it's me, Marrah. I'm not going to hurt you." She caught the young woman's hands and began to untie them, working out the worst knots with her teeth. When she'd freed her, she kissed her gently and smoothed her tangled hair out of her eyes.
"Akoah, talk to me. What happened? What did they do to you? Did they beat you the way they beat me?" Akoah said nothing. She was naked as Marrah had been, but other than several nasty bruises on her face and the terrified look in her eyes, she seemed unharmed.
For a long time Marrah sat beside her, holding her hands and talking to her soothingly. If the warriors noticed what she was doing, they didn't care. Finally Akoah seemed to come to her senses. Sitting up, she cast a fearful glance in the direction of the men. "We have to get out of here," she whispered.
"Yes," Marrah agreed. "We will as soon as we can."
"You don't understand." Akoah shuddered and bit her bottom lip. "Those things over there aren't really men. They're something else. They don't act like men. They do things no men would do." She moved closer to Marrah and put her mouth to Marrah's ear. "I think they may be ghosts. Bad ghosts. Things that died and never went back to the Mother." She grabbed Marrah's arm and hung on to it. "They killed both my aunts with their arrows, didn't they?"
Marrah nodded reluctantly, thinking Akoah was in no shape to hear such news, but to her astonishment she seemed relieved. "Thank the Goddess, then they're beyond harm." Marrah asked her what she meant, and tears came to Akoah's eyes. "They do things to women we don't have words for. Do it until it kills them. Better my aunts died quickly."
There was something chilling about the way she accepted her aunts' death that made the hair stand up on the back of Marrah's neck. "What do you mean?"
The young sailor wiped away her tears and looked at Marrah angrily. Her eyes were no longer wide and innocent; they were filled with loathing. "Those five ghosts who brought me here forced me to copulate with them," she whispered. "I use the word we use for animals, but not even animals copulate in such a way. They fell on me like dogs, but even a pack of dogs will leave a bitch alone if she's not in the mood. They tore me in front and in back, and when I tried to fight them off, they hit me in the face." She pointed to the inside of her thighs. "See that. That's dried blood. And I was lucky. There was another woman they forced sex on, a young priestess from Shambah, and they killed her. Ten of them went at her, and she screamed a scream I'll hear in my nightmares until I'm an old woman." She put her thumb and index finger together in the sign of the round-eyed Owl Goddess. "May She Who Brings Death curse them with no family and no joy, and when they die, may She refuse to accept their souls."
Marrah wanted to say something, but she was too frightened to do anything but take Akoah's hand and squeeze it. As she did, her own fingers trembled. She knew now what had nearly happened to her. The idea that Akoah had been forced to have sex with five men made her sick.
They were both silent for a moment. Then Akoah sighed. "Well, I can't keep thinking about what they did to me or I'll go crazy." She ran her fingers through her hair and began to pick out the leaves and bits of grass. "Right now I'd give anything to wash their stink off, but I suppose if I tried to get to the creek, they'd stop me."
Marrah looked at the warriors, who were still sitting around the campfire ignoring them. Ever since the brown-bearded man had thrown her the bracelet, they had been letting her do pretty much whatever she wanted except escape.
"Let's give it a try," she suggested. She helped Akoah to her feet and led her toward the creek, praying that their luck would hold. The men looked up as they passed, but they didn't stop them, although one rose to his feet, took up his spear, and followed along, making it clear there'd be no chance to run for the woods. At the edge of the creek, Marrah pulled off her hot, sticky clothes and threw them in a pile. Later she learned that she'd been lucky not to be beaten for stripping in public, but the warrior, who still considered her a savage, just grunted and looked in the other direction.
Hand in hand, the two women stepped into the warm water. Akoah flinched as it touched her thighs, but soon she relaxed with a sigh and began to wash herself. When she and Marrah had removed the last bits of blood and mud from their bodies, they took turns washing each other's hair.
So far, the guard had left them in peace, but when they climbed out to sit on the bank and dry off, he pointed to Marrah's clothes and insisted she climb back into them at once. When she tried to offer her tunic to Akoah, he pulled it out of her hand with a rough reprimand. Evidently Marrah was to be dressed so that only the tip of her nose showed, and Akoah was to remain naked. The warrior put his spear tip in the middle of Akoah's back, in what was by now a familiar gesture, and prodded her back toward the pile of booty, and Marrah followed. When they were alone again, sitting on the blanket with their arms around each other, Akoah turned to her.
"Bless you for the comfort you've given me," she said. "I'll hate them forever, but at least I feel clean." She paused and looked at the warriors, who had fallen to playing some kind of gambling game with their hands. "Do you think they'll try to force sex on me again?" Marrah said she hoped not. Akoah sighed. "Why do you think they attacked me? It couldn't have been for pleasure, because there was no pleasure in it. It wasn't anything like sharing joy; it was more like they were sneezing or pissing or beating me up with their penises. They must be ghosts. No real man would take something as sweet as his penis and turn it into a club. Only a ghost would hurt a woman so much." And with that, she buried her face in Marrah's dress and began to cry quietly until at last, exhausted, she fell asleep.
Akoah slept through most of the rest of the afternoon, but Marrah couldn't, although she was almost sick with weariness. Every once in a while her eyes closed for a few seconds, but every noise brought her
bolt upright. Sometimes the sound that woke her was only the cawing of a crow or the laughter of the warriors, but often it was the thud of horses' hooves. She had never heard that rhythmic clopping until today, but already it spelled danger.
The sun was just about to set when three riders appeared. They must have come from far away because the fur of their horses was wet with sweat. Galloping up to the campfire, they dismounted, handed over their beasts, and exchanged some greetings in low voices. Then they turned and headed toward Marrah and Akoah.
"Wake up," Marrah whispered. Akoah opened her eyes, smiled, and then, remembering where she was, clutched at Marrah and sat up.
"What's wrong? Have they come for us?"
"I don't know. I hope not."
As the three drew closer, Marrah saw that one of them was the same brown-bearded man who'd thrown her the bracelet, the other man was a middle-aged warrior with a nasty scar across his left cheek, and the third was a young woman of perhaps seventeen. This was the first beastwoman Marrah had seen and she inspected her closely, but it was hard to make out her features. The woman was dressed in a long, shapeless brown tunic, leggings, and dark brown shawl, which she had draped over her head, partly concealing her face. The shawl was secured with a sort of headband made of coarse, twisted black hair that ended in several red tassels that fringed her forehead. Like the men, she wore leather boots tied at the ankles, but hers were embroidered with shells. There were more shells on the arms of her tunic, as well as copper and clay beads, but it was her adornments that surprised Marrah the most — they were heaped around her neck in string after string, jingling softly like tiny bells: some copper, some stone, some animal teeth; she wore bracelets too, three rings in each ear, and a ring on each finger. As if all that weren't strange enough, her eyes were circled with black grease, her cheeks and lips were stained red, and blue tattoo marks as delicate as vines spiraled down her cheeks.
"A priestess!" Akoah cried, jumping to her feet. "She must be a priestess! Who else would wear so many adornments? Oh, Marrah, we're saved! Look at that paint, that medicine bag at her belt!" Marrah tried to grab her hand, but Akoah pulled away and ran forward calling out greetings and prayers. "Hail, sweet priestess; hail, dear one who comes in Her name!"
"Akoah, come back!" Marrah begged. "She's not a priestess, she's wearing sun signs; she's — " But the warning came too late. As Akoah drew near the beastwoman, the warrior with the scarred face stepped between them, lifted his knee, and sent her sprawling to the ground like a bothersome dog. Then he stepped over her without a second look.
Akoah lay on the ground, blue-faced. Her lips were white and she didn't seem to be breathing. "You old goat turd!" Marrah cried. "What have you done to her?" She started forward to help Akoah up, but the beastwoman called out to her in Shambah to be still. Startled by the sound of a language she could understand, Marrah froze.
The woman and the men came closer. One of them — the man with the scar — said something to the woman, and she bowed and replied in their language. Exchanging satisfied glances, the men folded their arms across their chests and stepped back. From that moment on they remained in the background, although Marrah was always conscious that they were close at hand, armed and fierce-looking as wolves.
The beastwoman turned to Marrah and gave so deep a bow that the red tassels on her forehead bobbed up and down. "Greetings in Her name, dearest sister," she said, in a firm, sweet voice. "I'm Dalish, daughter of the unfortunate Nashish, may her soul have found rest in the Mother. She and all my relatives were murdered by these hunks of human shit you see standing behind me, who fortunately are too stupid to speak Shambah. They've asked me to translate for them and told me if I say one word except what is absolutely necessary they'll cut me into small pieces and leave me for the crows, but over the years I've managed to convince them that it takes ten times as long to say anything in Shambah as it does in their own ugly tongue."
Marrah was so amazed by this unexpected speech that she couldn't think of a reply. "You're one of us?" she stammered.
The woman looked mildly insulted. "Of course, thank the Goddess. Do I look like one of them? If I'd been born to their people, I'd be as mindless as their women. Oh, you'll see them soon enough, those nomad women skulking around like whipped puppies with their damn shawls over their faces, jumping to attention every time one of their husbands or masters beckons." She straightened her shoulders proudly. "But I was trained to be a priestess. At six my grandmother dedicated me to the Bird Goddess, and I had four sweet years serving in Her temple before the nomads rode down on my village, burned it to the ground, and carried me away."
"My friend thought you were a priestess."
Dalish smiled wryly and looked at Akoah, who was sitting up looking bewildered. "Ah, yes, it still shows, doesn't it." She turned to Akoah. "Sit still, darling," she said in such a nasty tone of voice that Marrah jumped. "I'm sorry I have to talk to you this way, but those pieces of shit behind me have to think I'm on their side. If you move, they may decide to beat you to a pulp. It's their way of expressing affection."
She turned back to Marrah. "We have to get down to business before they get suspicious. Why don't you start by telling me your name and where you come from, and then I'll pass along the information as if it's taken us this long to get to it."
"My name is Marrah, daughter of Sabalah, and I come from the village of Xori."
Dalish turned to the men, bowed, and said something, and the brown-bearded man made a low, grumbling noise.
"Irehan the cowardly wants to know where Xori is."
"It's a fishing village on the shore of the Sea of Gray Waves."
Dalish frowned. "So far? I think I'm going to wait a bit before I tell him that. You and I have other things to settle first." She indicated Marrah's arm with the faintest of nods. "For example, where did you come by that gold bracelet? No, don't look at it; keep looking at me. I don't want them to guess I've asked you yet."
Marrah did as she was told. "I got the bracelet from a" — what had Dalish called them? — "nomad who washed up on our beach on my coming-of-age day." She began in a halting, embarrassed way to tell the story of how she and Stavan had met. Given what she had seen today, it seemed shameful ever to have loved him, and yet she had and still did. Before she could explain how he was different from the others, Dalish cut her off.
"Enough. I get the picture. He was your lover, yes?" Marrah nodded. "I take it he wasn't a thirty-year-old giant with a long black dagger tattooed on his penis?" Under any other circumstances Marrah might have laughed, but she was in no mood to laugh at anything. She shook her head.
"He was about seventeen when I first met him, tall, but no dagger."
Dalish was silent for some time, and when she finally spoke it was in a completely different voice. "Now listen to me and listen very closely, because if you don't do exactly as I say, you may get us both impaled. You saw what they did to the men of Shambah, yes? Just nod if you understand. Good. Well, that will be us if you don't pay attention. I'm about to risk my life for you, and I don't want it to go to waste."
She sat down and motioned for Marrah to sit beside her. "First, I want you to look confused so those bastards will believe that I'm having to explain things to you several times. I see that you don't know the word 'bastard.' Well, you will soon enough. Hansi is the best language in the world for swearing, but I'll try to restrain myself until you've picked up enough to appreciate my curses in the original."
Marrah sat down and did as Dalish had ordered. It was no trick to look confused. She was, thoroughly.
"I'm going to say this fast, so listen and remember. First: you're here and in one piece only by a miracle. That warrior who took you in battle was going to rape you — force you to have sex with him — and make you his slave girl, but his uncle liked your looks and decided to keep you for himself, so he brought you back here to await his pleasure. Meanwhile Irehan — the one with the brown beard — caught sight of that gold bracelet and demand
ed to know where it had come from. It's not an ordinary bracelet, you see. It has clan signs on it, important clan signs. The signs indicate" — she lifted her eyes just a fraction of an inch so they rested on the bracelet — "that it once belonged to Achan, only son of the Great Chief Zuhan."
"Yes," Marrah said, "it — "
Once again Dalish silenced her with a motion of her hand. "Never mind. You can tell me later how you came by it. The important thing for you to know is that you came within a handspan of being executed. When Irehan saw that bracelet, he quite reasonably assumed that some member of your immediate family had killed Achan and stripped it off his body as a spoil of war. Swift revenge is a nomad specialty. Irehan was actually in the process of picking out a stake to impale you on when I suggested there was a chance Achan might have given the bracelet to you. Since his mind works slowly, he had to stop for a while and think that one over, and while he was thinking, a messenger arrived with an interesting piece of news."
She paused. "I'm going to say something now that may make you want to cry out or make some gesture of delight. Instead, you must — you absolutely must — keep a face of stone." She shot a quick glance at the warriors, as if reassuring herself that they still had no idea what she was saying. "Your brother is still alive."
If Marrah hadn't been forewarned, she would have cried out with surprise and joy, but although the blood rushed to her face, she somehow managed to keep on staring impassively at Dalish.
"The warrior who rode him down would have slit his throat immediately, except that Slehan over there — the one with the scar on his face — had told them to take at least one live prisoner. They were planning a final thank-you sacrifice to Han, and all the men of Shambah had already been murdered or had run away. So they trussed your brother up like a little pig and carried him back to the main camp where — surprise! — they discovered that he wouldn't do for two reasons: In the first place, he had old redberry fever scars, and sacrifices of gratitude have to be perfect; and second, he was wearing a gold earring, which, like your bracelet, was marked with Achan's clan sign."
