by Lucas Thorn
“Ah, shit.” She reached for the girl, ignoring the stabbing pain in her hands as she awkwardly lifted the girl’s head and moved her jaw so she could see. See the scars. The shape of her ears had been cut to resemble those of a human. But now she’d seen it, it was obvious.
So obvious.
A thousand faces flashed through her mind.
Faces of Grey Jackets she’d seen. Faces she’d killed.
Some with eyes like hers.
Violet.
And it never occurred to her. There’d been no whispers in Lostlight. And there wouldn’t be. If King Jutta knew, and she didn’t doubt that he did, he’d never want that knowledge released.
The Grey Jackets, with their fierce and defiant fanaticism, weren’t human at all.
They were elfs. Elfs who’d gone to the Lord of Light. And then they’d bred. Their children, children just like Nearne, born into Rule’s crazed doctrine.
A cult of hate breeding hate breeding hate.
So many of them.
Anger formed a diamond of cold rage as she saw for the first time the clean cut which had sliced the young girl’s pointed tips free. Which carved the slender ears so they could imitate a human’s round ears.
That anger burned brighter as she saw the guilt in the girl’s eyes.
The shame.
Agony of a sacrifice she’d had no choice but to make.
“I didn’t know,” Nearne said. “I did what they said. I didn’t want to die. Not like the others who refused.”
“Shit.” Her lungs scrambled for air. “All of you. Leiberslanders. You’re all elfs.”
Nearne nodded. “We were Tainted. That’s what they tell us. Tainted. Any who don’t accept the sacrifice is Tainted forever, and it’s our duty to kill them. If we don’t, we’re not atoning for our sin. For the sin of our people. It’s our fault, you see. Our people gave themselves to the Dark. Evil was in our blood. It corrupted us. And then Veil corrupted us more. We don’t deserve to live. But if we make the sacrifice, the Lord of Light will let us stay in Leibersland. We can be safe there.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Everyone wants to be safe. The Tainted must die. Have to. I’m Tainted now. They’ll come for me…”
“Shut up,” the elf croaked. She wanted to tear her hair out. Batter the girl to death right there. There was no way this could be true. It just couldn’t. All the hate she’d held for the Grey Jackets. The hate they’d had for her in return. All meaningless. Pointless. A tragic joke created by Rule. “Just shut the fuck up. Not another word.”
The kid in the tavern.
Before she’d killed him. The two lines of blood he’d drawn down his face.
She’d known it when she’d seen it. A Musa’Jadean ritual. Performed when they were going into a battle they expected to die in.
An elf ritual. Not a human one.
Elf.
“I’m sorry.” Nearne pressed her face to the cold bloodstained floor, and the elf almost lost control as she remembered the priestesses in the temple of Veil. “Please don’t kill me.”
Stifling a cry, the elf breathed hard. Sucked air as her eyes rolled in her sockets. Tried to grip her thoughts. A cycle of conflict churning round and round in her head while her heart beat and beat in horror against her chest.
Talek. Killed by his own kind.
Nath, old and gnarled. An elf.
Dalle, eyes spitting venom. An elf.
The three brothers in the Tavern. An elf.
Further back. General Storr and his lunatic son? Elfs.
The boy who’d rescued her from Storr’s tent. His obsession with her ears now painfully obvious.
An elf.
Who else?
Maks? Geri?
They were her kind, and they’d done this to her. They’d broken her hands and promised to clip her ears. Were planning to sell her to Rule.
The diamond cracked.
And she looked down, seething, at the young girl curled up in front of her. A frightened ball, scared and alone. An urchin.
Herself.
“Nearne,” she said, voice cold and emotionless. “Get my knives. You’ll need to put them in their sheaths. I’ll tell you where they’ll go. But I’ve got two enchanted ones. Reckon you know which two I mean. I’ve got an idea, so I’ve elected to keep them aside.”
The girl looked up, terror inching away as hope widened her eyes. “You’re taking me with you?”
“Sure,” she said. Humour made dark by the impassive expression she showed. Held her arms out to the girl. “But first, you’ll have to give me a show of hands.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
It hurt.
Hurt more than anything she could remember. More than flesh had been torn. Bones had been broken. Shattered. Every movement of her hand seemed to splinter those breaks even more.
But when it was done, the elf grunted through her teeth and rose slowly. Arms dangling by her side. Blood dripping in slow pads. Looked around the bloodspattered cell, eyes briefly settling on Saja’s body.
She wished she could do something more for the young woman.
All she could do was deliver Saja’s last message, and make good on her promise to be the young woman’s curse on those who’d killed her.
Standing as she was, she felt fragile. But confident.
Pain was something to be beaten. The Jukkala had taught her that. Taught her well.
Nearne shuffled, wiping her hands on her clothes. Smearing the elf’s blood across her already bloodstained grey. “Is it okay?”
She nodded. “It’ll be fine.” Kept her voice a low whisper. “You know where the others are?”
“I think so. Mija and Rockjaw are on the other side. But there’s another guard there. I know him, and he doesn’t like me very much. Lux is somewhere else. He’s in a room upstairs. It might be hard to get to him.”
The elf tested her arms. Muscles were tight. Loaded like springs. A few bruises made her shoulders ache as she moved. But it would have to be enough. “We’ll get the ork first, then. Where’s the feller who’s got my other knife?”
“This way.”
They crept down the short corridor, the elf’s eyes searching the gloom.
Three cells down this side. A small guardsroom bunched at the end of the corridor, curving around to her right where she guessed Rockjaw would be held.
The man Nearne had killed lay flat on his back. Katsu’s Laugh protruded from his throat.
She nodded toward the blade. “You’ll have to get it,” she told the girl. “I can’t use my hands.”
“Oh.” Nearne clearly hadn’t thought about it that way. She looked away from the body, struggling for an excuse.
“Look at his face,” Nysta whispered sharply. “Look at it! He’s gone. He’s not there anymore. He’s just meat. Like a fucking side of pig roasting on a fire. Only he ain’t cooked yet, is all. And if you look at him and feel sorry for him, you remember he would’ve killed you if he could. It was a battle, Nearne. A battle you won. And there ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. Victory ain’t nothing to be sick about. Just wrap your fucking hand around the handle and pull it free. Do it quickly. Don’t think. Just do!”
The girl sucked a deep breath and held it. Crept forward.
Reached.
And plucked the knife free.
Her face screwed in disgust at the sound of steel sliding through wet meat, but when she turned to face the elf, her lips were a tight thin line. Determined and hard as she held the knife out.
“You killed with it,” Nysta said. “It’s yours now. Give it a name. A good name. Make it mean something to you.”
“A name?”
“Sure. If you treat it like a tool, then that’s all it’s good for. But if you give it a name, it means something. It has purpose. You look after it. You clean it often. You oil it. You keep it sharp. You do that, and it’ll always be there for you when you need it.” She thought of the many knives snug in their sheaths. The weight of them adding confidence to every step.
“Are you sure?” Nearne looked at the knife differently, suddenly seeing something in the weapon. Something she’d missed. Something which meant she was no longer upset by the streaks of sticky red fluid coating the thin blade.
“I’m sure. Keep it close.” She showed her teeth. “Reckon you’re gonna need it.”
The girl took the knife and held it to her chest. Not quite like a new toy.
“Thank you.” Her small face set itself in a look which unconsciously mimicked the elf’s. “I’m going to call it My Ears. And I’ll use it on everyone who took them from me. And anyone who tries to take me back. Is that stupid?”
“No,” the elf said, unsettled by a stirring of emotion in her belly at the simplicity of the girl’s choice. “It ain’t stupid. Reckon it’s perfect.”
They moved from the room, Nysta taking the lead. Passing quickly through another door, the elf moved with a gait designed to minimise the sound of her footsteps. Was momentarily surprised to find Nearne imitating with an efficiency promising talent.
Hearing a low sound, she motioned for Nearne to drop a few steps behind her. Squeezed around the corner and saw a guard with his back against the wall. He slumped on a stool set a few steps away from the only cell on this side. Beside him, the door leading out was ajar, allowing the crisp night air exploring the fort to whittle at the humidity.
And also allow any stray screams to alert any Grey Jackets left behind.
The guard snuffled, muttering once to himself.
Eyes closed.
She remembered a time she’d been given guard duty around Veil’s temple. She’d fallen asleep. Had woken to find herself surrounded by masked Jukkala trainers.
Who’d kicked the shit out of her.
Hard enough for her to piss blood for a few days.
Studying the sleeping man, she felt a ribbon of near-satisfaction as she anticipated ending his life.
Normally, she’d figure he’d be easy to sneak up on. But the stool was uncomfortable, and he twitched often. Moved a little, shoving his shoulder up under his cheek and twisting his neck awkwardly to get comfortable. A futile movement, but one he attempted often enough to keep his peripheral senses mostly aware.
Which meant while he might not hear her approach, he might feel it.
She glanced back at Nearne. Wide-eyed, the girl still clutched the knife tight to chest like it was something precious. And looked back at the elf like she had something to prove and was eager to prove it.
“Wait here,” Nysta said. “There’s only one. I need to see if I can do it. If I fuck up, you get back in the cell. Tell them I dropped you. Then, when they ain’t looking, you leave. Get the fuck away. But don’t head into the town. Draug are most likely still picking it clean. Wait a while in the hills. Higher up, the better.”
Nearne’s eyes carried steel. “I’m not hiding,” she said. “Not now.”
Knowing it was pointless to argue, the elf nodded. Said; “Sure. Do what you want. But, right now, wait here.”
And moved.
She was halfway down the corridor before he flinched.
There was something in everyone, she figured, which triggered an instinct for survival even in their sleep. Whether it was the shift of the air as she moved close, or the splash of light as A Flaw in the Glass cast its venomous green light across the walls. Or if the soft pad of her feet was a touch too loud as she rushed forward.
Whatever it was, it powered him to wakefulness and he sprang upright, tugging an axe from his belt and opening his mouth to vent a shout.
Another day, she’d have sent Go With My Blessing spinning into his open mouth. Or diving through the belly of his throat. Tear his last scream to silence.
But not today.
Today, the only thing she had to throw was herself and a curse as she launched herself across the last few metres to close the bridge between them.
Buried her knee into his abdomen, cutting the shout short. But didn’t muffle it entirely. If anyone chose to investigate, she reckoned this would be a short fight.
A Flaw in the Glass sliced the air between them, tearing through nothing as he dodged. His eyes flicked from her face to her hands. Widened in puzzled surprise.
It had taken a long time. Longer than she’d wanted. But Nearne had knelt by Saja and used Entrance Exam to cut the young woman’s shirt to ribbons. Slender ribbons. Which she roped and twisted together. Then used those strips of rag to curl Nysta’s broken hands around the handles of her knives before knotting them tight.
Layering more and more rags until the elf was satisfied the knives wouldn’t slip.
Her right hand, bound around the knife whose venomous green blade howled for the Grey Jacket’s blood, had also been reinforced with Saja’s belt. Squeezing it tight around her agonised and swollen fist.
And, as she dived into the guard desperately trying to fend her off while he gathered his wits, she prepared herself for pain. Pain of such intense and overwhelming power that she wasn’t sure she could take it.
His axe swung past her shoulder. The wooden handle clipped the corner of her jacket and bounced away, turning his wrist.
She’d hoped to bury the blade in his guts, but he didn’t give her the angle she needed. So she settled for using her heel to stomp into his ankle, kicking his leg out from under him. He let out a hollow hiss, jerking himself sideways to try avoiding a spill which would see him dead.
Rolled on his other ankle, bringing his axe around fast in a savage whirl meant to chop into her head. He was fast enough that it smashed into her left bracer as she tried to bring Queen of Hearts ripping up into his thigh.
The black leechlike tendrils of the blade’s enchantment snaked outward, wrapping around the axe’s handle as she bit back of a shriek of agony. Agony because the impact echoed through the wyrmskin bracer to vibrate within the marrow of every bone in her hand and arm.
She felt the shadows squirm and shift beneath her skin. The bracer bulged, warped by the rushing worms.
For a moment, his eyes widened in terror and lust. Terror for the thin black tendrils coiling around the handle of his axe.
Lust for blood and death as he recognised her pain and sought to chase it.
But it was pain she’d been waiting for. Pain she chose to channel into the one emotion she’d lived with since the day her father had thrown her from their house into the snow-strangled streets.
Rage.
It pumped through her body and her vision. Vision already blinded by tears of pain as she pounced. That axe was nothing.
How it swung for her skull was nothing.
If it hit, she’d be dead. She knew that.
So she countered with speed.
And demanded more of it than she thought her body could deliver.
Her thighs wrenched as she powered into him. Shoulder bunched and her right arm was a streak of venom-wrapped steel. It found flesh and liked the taste so much she gave the blade a second bite, creaming it through ribs and lungs. Filling his chest with blood.
Blood he spewed as he wheeled back, still swinging the axe. But swinging blindly.
Eyes bulging, he reached for the scream his lungs had no air to provide and fell.
Fell at her feet while she stood over him, gore drooling from the gleaming blade. Mind swamped with pain which beat from her broken hands and pounded her brain like an ork with a hammer. It battered her, sending her muscles into fits of quaking twitches.
But he was dead, she told herself. Dizzy with the rush of killing, she aimed a snarl at him. Dead at her feet.
She’d won.
“Fuck you,” Nysta spat as his body arched within the tightened strings of his own agonies. She aimed a kick which sent his head cracking into the wall with a solid thunk. Blood spurted across the stone.
Then he was still.
She heard the soft patter of feet. Whirled, eyes burning, and saw Nearne running toward her. “Nysta?”
“The door,” she growled, thrusting her jaw. �
��Get them out. Quickly.”
Nearne was already aiming herself at the door. Already reaching for it. Nearly dropped the key as she tried to shove it into the heavy lock.
The door was made of wood some three inches thick. Reinforced with steel ribs and plated on the inside. Hanging off thick hinges which needed to be well-oiled to open with the speed the young girl showed. Inside the dank interior, the ork knelt with his head bowed.
He didn’t look up.
His hands rested on the floor beside his knees, palms up. A gesture of complete and utter surrender.
Contrasting the ork’s attitude, Mija crouched beside him, her eyes glittering in the dark. A viper ready to strike. Suspicion churning the scowl on her face.
Nearne gave her no time to spit a curse or form her fingers into claws.
With a sobbing rush, the young girl flew into the room and threw herself at the red-haired girl whose pale face moved from hatred to shock in the blink of an eye. Without words, the two girls lost the last shreds of any childhood they’d been clinging to as they clung to each other. Both reflecting on the horrors of the past few days and mutely stripping the bitterness Mija had been nursing since Nearne had stepped to Dalle’s side.
There was no fakery in Nearne’s hushed words as she raced an explanation. No holding back as she told Mija a similar explanation and promised more details.
Quick to recognise Nearne’s return showed more truth than anything she could say, Mija nodded dumbly and rose quickly to her feet. Accepted with a last awkward hug and they both turned to the doorway where Nysta limped inside.
The elf moved her gaze from the two girls to the ork, who still hadn’t moved.
His red eyes stared, seeing something only his mind could decipher.
“Get up,” Nysta said. Softly at first.
“Rockjaw?” Nearne whispered, unplucking one of her arms from Mija’s hand and reaching for him. “We’re here to get you out. We need to hurry. Please, Rockjaw.”
The ork slumped his shoulders even lower. Aimed his words to the doorway. To Nysta. “You go,” he said. “Take the kids with you. Take care of them.”
“Get up,” the elf repeated. Touch of ice.
