Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  “Five nights ago a man left the Crimson Company still wearing their colors and clothing. He’s not stopped long for rest or food. He walked away from his oaths without facing the judgement of his brothers…and some of them will come looking for him. He’s killed many before joining them, countless in service to them, and he’s killed after leaving.” I fixed Baneet with a hard and knowing stare. “He is hungry, but he’s been that before. It doesn’t bother him. He’s tired, but he’s lived through that before. He learned to put it in its place before. And he is angry, but he never learned to do much with that.” My smile widened.

  “You know of the Crimson Company, yes?”

  Baneet nodded, and it may have been a trick of the jungle light, but his color waned.

  “Good. Then you know what happens to deserters. What you don’t know is the company hates to let word spread of this. No one leaves. Those that try are cut down. And should any make it away, a weight of gold, large enough to fill your hands, is offered for any information about the one to escape.”

  His eyes took on that hungry gleam again.

  “But don’t think you’d live to spend it. Because they’d cut you down soon as the coins filled your palms. As I said, they do not want any tales spreading that someone could leave their ranks.”

  Baneet’s lips thinned as he pressed them tight. I gave him no chance to think about what to do, continuing with my story.

  “The man they’re looking for is standing right in front of you. And if he doesn’t kill you now, they certainly will now that you know. You’re sure to cross paths with them on your way ahead. They will question you soon as they set eyes on you. You can lie and live. Or you can tell them the truth and hope to collect more gold than you’ve seen in your life. Do you pray?”

  Baneet nodded.

  “Which god?”

  He whispered something I couldn’t hope to hear even though I stood an arm’s length from him.

  I didn’t wait for him to clarify. “Hope he or she is feeling merciful, then. Now, I’ve given you something worth more than all your packs, yes?”

  Baneet exhaled. “You’ve given me a big problem, sahib, that’s for sure.”

  “And I’ve given you the answer on how to avoid it. How to keep your life. If the gold isn’t worth it, surely your life is?”

  Baneet nodded harder. “It is to me, sahib.” The donkey snorted. Baneet fixed the beast with a narrow stare. “Quiet, ass.” He gave the animal a gentle pat despite his tone. “Well, soldier-sahib, I’m with a problem now. If I tell you of the way ahead, what saves poor Baneet for what’s ahead for me?”

  “Your discretion.”

  The elderly trader turned his head and spat on the ground. “Baneet can do that.” Charandass snorted as if challenging the claim. The old man glared again at the beast, smacking its flank once with a half-hearted blow. “You gave me a tricksy truth, sahib. So, Baneet will give you one too. Truth, nothing less, but tricksy too, hm?”

  I nodded, silently accepting. It was better than nothing.

  “Something is out there.” He pointed a finger back toward the way he’d come from. “I saw nothing, but the people from Kahinae warned of things on the jungle path. Something is taking people and beasts. Some tell Baneet it’s Rakshasa—monsters that eat the flesh of all things. Or monster jungle cats from hell. Some tell me that it is Naga. Serpent men taking the form of men and women to trick others to their lairs.” He put his hands to the sides of his neck, flaring them and hissing like a cobra. “One man told me it is bandits taking young women and killing the men with them. Some tell Baneet it is all of these things. Which thing is true? I don’t know. Do you? Maybe all. Maybe none. But this the people told me. That much is true.”

  Monstrous man-eaters, snake-men magicians, and more. And yet I found the threats easier than dealing with my brothers. A crooked smile made its way across my mouth. “Thank you, Baneet.” I reached out and clapped a hand to his shoulder, finally removing my grip from my sword. “I’ll be fine sorting out the truth from the lies in that. I hope the path ahead for you treats you well and you avoid the Crimson Company.” I lowered my head in silent thanks and moved past the man.

  “You too, swordsman-sahib, wanted-sahib. I will keep my head with what you told me. I hope you keep yours when you go on the road to nowhere. Come, Charandass. Leave him to the monsters and bandits. We go to peddle Baneet’s goods to better places, hm?”

  Flesh eaters and murderous men were fine to me. I could handle those.

  Night came to the jungle and did nothing to silence the world nor spare me the humidity. I couldn’t bother to spit a curse, stripping the remaining dry band tied to one of my arms. It did little to wipe away the day’s sweat from me. I tied it back in place and trudged on, wondering if Baneet had stumbled across anyone else along the jungle path.

  Did he tell them of me? Did he keep his tongue between his teeth? A clever trader would find a way to earn the coin I’d promised them. The Crimson Company was as good as their word. They’d pay him and leave the coin on his corpse. He could easily convince another man to pass on my whereabouts for promise of payment and then pluck the gold from his body after my brothers fulfilled their end of the bargain.

  Bright orange light flickered through the trees ahead, making me forget all about the wandering trader. Lighting a fire on poorly trod paths was stupid at best. The people behind the camp would bring trouble down on themselves if even parts of what Baneet had told me were true.

  The cold practicality I’d earned from a mercenary’s life told me to leave the flames be. Whatever people huddled around them would be a problem for me. The same lines of thought told me the camp would be the best place for me to find food and learn more of what lurked around the path I trod. I exhaled, making my choice, and headed toward the fire.

  Dull pain flared through the bones in my ankles as I set my feet to walk without making a sound through the brush. A fire to match the one before me burned through my calves as I crept nearer. I shut it from my mind, remembering the —teachings of the jungle— woodsman who’d taught me how to move through and over lands while leaving little trace of my passing. The memory and practice brought me away from the aches of my body.

  I reached the trees where the weakest edges of firelight hung, peering through the spaces between the trunks to gauge what rested ahead. Six figures sat around the fire. Each of them dressed in shades of a green too hard to make out properly in the dark even with the light around them. I made out patches of blue found in the black of night sky patched into their clothing in places. Their faces were nothing remarkable—the kind of men who were left to be forgotten in village market crowds and along the dusty nameless roads of no-name places. I caught glints along the hips of each man—swords.

  Each wore a piece identical to the last. A curved scabbard of hardened leather, unadorned, and looking to be made well enough to be serviceable to anyone on the roads. I believed the swords inside would be the same. Nothing to boast about, but they would cut flesh just fine whether it be man or beast.

  I broke my stalker’s posture, bringing minor relief to my legs as I moved into view. “Dhakre.” I raised an open hand, placing my other above my heart. The greeting ensured I appeared as nonthreatening as possible. My weapon lay comfortably on my back, out of grip, but still in view. It would let the men know I meant no harm, but I was no stranger to it either.

  One of them roused, coming to his feet and dropping a hand to the hilt of his own weapon. He stopped short of pulling it free. “Who are you? Why do you come to our camp so late in the night…armed?” His eyes narrowed on my back. He had a pinched face and the small eyes to match. The man could have been a rat in another life and had the short hair to match.

  “I’m traveling.” The simple answer would be enough.

  “From where? To where.” The man kept his hold on his sword.

  I pulled the hand from my breast and gestured over my shoulder with a thumb. “Behind.” I pointed away from me the
n. “Ahead.”

  The man blinked, his grip faltering on the blade. He traded a look with his companions before bursting into laughter that drowned all other noises within the jungle. The others joined him in a rolling chorus.

  A friendlier man would have shared a smile with them at least. I was nothing of the sort. My face remained as still and passive as the stones lining the fire.

  “Vitham.” The man standing before me turned to the next closest, ushering him close with a gesture of his hand. “Go wake the women. Tell them we have company for the night and get some food going, hm?”

  Vitham grunted, keeping his voice and discontent too low for me to pick up, but he trudged along to do as he’d been told. He moved toward a single tent of thin mesh and a fabric I couldn’t make out. It had been erected into a box-shape just taller than Vitham’s full height. He vanished behind the netting.

  The man who’d greeted me removed his hand from the hilt of his weapon and extended it toward me. “Welcome, yaara.”

  I exchanged grips with him. “I’m glad for the place to rest, but I’m not your friend, just someone passing through.”

  “I’m Sukh, brother to the miserable man you just watched walk away.” He gestured to where Vitham had gone. “Now you know my name and I can have yours. Then we can be friends, ah?”

  I doubted that but I saw no point in creating problems where there were none. “I might as well be named after the thing on my back.” I tilted my head and gave a knowing look to my blade.

  Sukh’s mouth parted and moved soundlessly like he couldn’t find words. After a second of fumbling, he spoke again. “You are called Sword?”

  I finally smiled, a thin and strained thing. There was no honesty in it, but it held what little humor I could manage. “No, but it’ll do.”

  Sukh’s face lost all expression as he thought on this. He relented and nodded. “It’s enough to call you by. Come, Sword. Sit.” He motioned to a stump across from where his men sat.

  It would keep me in line of sight of them. All of them. And just out of arm’s reach, but not that of a sword belonging to a man quick enough on his feet. For all the words and welcome of a friend, they didn’t trust me. Smart. The feeling ran both ways.

  I took the seat as Sukh had suggested, resting my hands on my knees as I stared at all of the men before me.

  No signs of fatigue filled their faces. They were used to long nights and travel. Traders would have had more than a lone tent in their camp. I saw no signs of wares or other goods. No animals. Only their clothing and the swords. Escorts?

  Vitham returned from the tent, leading a woman by one of her wrists. He took care in bringing her along but something in the way she walked gave me pause.

  Hesitance.

  She moved, but each step carried measured reluctance as she followed him. Vitham brought her between the other men and myself. He gave his brother a curt nod before returning to his seat without a word, busying himself with picking at one of his fingernails.

  Sukh motioned the woman forward but she remained in place. It didn’t seem to bother him a bit as he waved a dismissive hand toward a pail resting several paces from the fire. “Warm him up some of what’s left.” He made the request as if talking to a servant, not a client.

  Not escorts then. I rose from my seat, reaching out toward the pail. “I can warm it up myself.”

  The woman gave me a quick look before turning her gaze back on the contents of the bucket.

  A thin and crooked smile spread across Sukh’s face. His men mirrored the look.

  “It’s no trouble, sahib.” The woman brushed back her lone braid, letting it fall to the small of her back. She was dressed in a shift with patterns of red and yellow flowers I couldn’t name. The hem fell to just above her ankles and had been worn frayed. Dirt stained it in places. She couldn’t have fully reached her second decade of life yet.

  So why is she so far from home with these men?

  “It’s lentils and rice—not so cold. I’ll let it sit by the fire and it will be ready soon enough, sahib.” She smiled, a forced thing that didn’t reach her eyes and the expression faded just as quickly as it’d come. Her eyes widened and locked on mine as she set the pail near the flames.

  The silent message said enough. She wasn’t here by choice.

  I told her the same thing I had to Baneet. “I’m no sir. Don’t bother heating up the food. I’ll take it as it is.” A mercenary’s life accepted hot food as a luxury, not a given. You learned to eat cold or not eat at all. And the picky and choosy found themselves more likely to die from an empty belly before a sword could ever find its way through it.

  She made no move to offer the food as such, casting a look to Sukh and his men. Her lips pressed thin. “Please, sahib.” Another forced smile as she retreated from me, bowing her head.

  I grunted in agreement, not wanting to cause any trouble. “Any rumors—stories—of the way ahead?” I hoped that would ease the men. There are few things tired travelers love more than gossip and reasons to complain.

  Sukh leaned back and blew out a breath. “Well, yaara, there’s a lot among these trees to talk about.” He scratched a finger against one of his ears. “Gau-wallah, far-out and uneducated folks think there are monsters here. I heard even a Rakshasa has been feeding on the bodies of those who go out alone or get lost. Some say there are demon cats from hell, things with an appetite for young women in the dark.” Sukh brought his index fingers to his mouth, mimicking a pair of fangs as he hissed.

  The little performance drew low chuckles from his men.

  “Met a peddler passing through not too long ago. He told me there might be serpent men here. Snakes who can pass as men and lead you astray, then”—he lunged, grasping at thin air—“they take you and eat you whole. I think the trader traded brains with his ass.” Sukh glared at the woman, motioning with a flick of his wrist. “I think it’s warm enough now.”

  She bustled away, fetching a wooden bowl larger than both of her hands cupped together. The woman ladled two handfuls of rice and yellow lentils. She passed me a spoon carved out of a branch and a skin of water.

  I kept my voice low enough as I bowed my head in thanks. “You should go back to your bed.”

  She glanced again at Sukh and his men.

  “Now… Are there others in the tent?”

  She smiled, her gaze falling to one of her hands.

  I followed the look, seeing two of her fingers extended. Two more. “Go to the tent, find a way to get to sleep. When morning comes, stay quiet, stay there, and do not leave.” I gave her a stare harder than my sword’s edge.

  She left and I dug into my meal with practiced disinterest. My attention drifted past the men onto an imaginary spot behind them. The lentils hadn’t been warmed enough and the rice had turned into something like mash, likely having come from broken grains than whole ones. The food lacked anything in spices besides the faintest traces of salt. I wolfed it down all the same, setting the bowl and spoon down in front of one of my feet.

  One of the men at the center of the group trailed his gaze from the silken red bands in my hair down to my red shirt. He pointed a finger at the rest of my clothing. “Oi, yaara, your clothes…” he trailed off, rubbing his chin before dragging the back of a hand against his mouth.

  I knew what he’d ask next but waited for him to say it.

  “Why is everything you wear red?” The man plucked at his cloak, holding it up for me to see in the firelight. “We’re in a jungle, not a field of poppies. You wish to hide in a field of flowers then you’re in the wrong place.” Another light chorus of laughter from the group.

  I raised a brow. “Who’s hiding? I’m running…yaara.” A few silent breaths passed between us all as the group mulled over what I had just said. The man who’d asked me the question must have been wondering what to follow with.

  “What are you running from—monsters?” He smirked, elbowing one of the men at his side. His friend mirrored his crooked smile. “Why
are you wearing so much red? It looks like you dyed your clothes in blood.”

  I smiled—wide—letting my teeth catch what light the fire offered. It was the grin of a hungry tiger or a wolf and the men before me knew it.

  A few bristled at the look, shying away.

  I didn’t give them the time to stew over their thoughts.

  “They come in numbers and in bands of red

  to kill your foes one by one

  and do not leave ‘til all are dead

  they take their coin in half up front

  and the rest when it’s all said and done—”

  I left the little rhyme unfinished, knowing the opening would be more than enough for any who’d traveled even a few days out of the most rural of villages.

  Sukh’s eyes widened first and largest as recognition flooded him. “Blood-red clothes and a sword on your back. You’re alone, yaara. I don’t see any brothers by your side.” He looked to the men by him—smiling. “What are you running from—who?” Sukh ran a thumb and two fingers idly along the hilt of his sword. “They say there are men who dress just like you. They say these men kill for kings and lesser lords, dipping their clothing in the blood of those who fall to them. Is that you, yaara? Are you one of the Crimson Company?” His men stiffened at once at that question. All of their hands slowly came to rest on their weapons.

  “I was.” I let the answer hang in the air, not bothering to put my own hand on my weapon. The bowl at my foot ranked higher in importance. I tapped its edge with my foot, gently tipping its mouth over onto my toes.

  “They say no one leaves the Crimson Company.”

  I held my smile at Sukh. “They say that. What people don’t know is some have tried. Those men are hunted down like rabbits and killed. Good coin is offered to those who point the way to a runaway brother. Very good coin.” I shifted a foot, ensuring the bowl sat properly on my boot.

  Another of the men in Sukh’s group piped up. “The Crimson Company’s worse than any Rakshasa. A monster will only kill when it’s hungry or threatened. Those men will kill even at the clinking sound of coin.”