The Things We Bury

by Kaleb Schad

  “No, no, no. Are you sharpening it or blunting it?” Malic said. Before Alysha could move he was behind her, pressing against her, his hands on top of hers. “Let me show you.” Gooseflesh rippled up her arms, the hair on her neck tickling with his breath. Get away. The primal words screamed in her.

  He guided her hand to make smooth, but firm circles on the stone, keeping the edge at a specific angle. “You’re not stroking a cat. You’re stroking a man’s cock.”

  Alysha felt her gorge rise.

  Elliot frowned up at them, his face reddening.

  “Listen to that,” Malic said. Schhht, schhht, schhht. “The way it slides on the stone. Firm, but smooth.” He smeared another spoonful of oil onto the river rock. “A little grease to soften things, let things slide easier.” His hips moved in rhythm with the knife. After several passes he let go of her hands and stepped away.

  Alysha’s breath quivered in her chest. She didn’t dare turn to look at him. Couldn’t meet Elliot’s eyes either.

  “A sharp knife is important,” Malic said. “You never know when you’ll need one.”

  25

  Anaz counted two men in front and three behind. Two slid down the loose rocks above them, so that Anaz and Isabell had to jump back to avoid the rolling rocks tumbling towards them. Domino danced around the stones, snorting.

  “What in the—” Isabell said, her hand going for her sword.

  Anaz realized he had drawn in the hsing-li, the colored energy rippling under the men’s feet, up through their legs, into the air around them.

  At least I haven’t lost that instinct.

  “Don’t,” said one of the men to Isabell. He was tall and wide with a red mustache and a star shaped scar on his right cheek. He had a battered battle axe looped across his shoulders and a heavy purse hanging from his belt. He wore no shirt. Blue veins cut river lines up his arms and into his chest. He made no move for his own weapon as if he knew he wouldn’t need it, could crush these two travelers with his bare hands. Anaz sensed no fear from him. “Can’t say I’m terribly a’feared a woman with a sword, but figure, you draw that, you as like to cut your own face as anyone else’s. And that seems like it’d be a shame.”

  “Right then, I’ll take that,” said one of the men who’d slid down the hill next to Isabell. He was wiry, with a scabby sore on his jaw. He scratched at it, reopening the wound, red beading up, then grasped Domino’s reins. Isabell didn’t let go.

  “By what right—” Isabell started to say. The man slammed his forehead into her face. She’d reacted well, turning to block as much of it as she could, but the man was too fast and too close. Even he would have been hit by the attack. She stumbled back, her hand to her cheek where he’d butted her.

  “I guess, by that right,” the man with the star shaped scar said. “These roads, I just hate how dangerous they’ve gotten. The way women and men alike can’t travel without fear of molestation.”

  “Do we get to do that this time, Flip?” someone called from behind. “Molestation?”

  Now that he’d attuned the hsing-li Anaz had positions on all five of the men. The three behind had closed to within a few paces of them and he could tell two carried swords and the other a spinning weapon of some kind. Probably a flail. The scabbed man was within arm’s reach of Isabell. That left Flip in front of them. The way he feigned casualness, his hands seemingly relaxed at his side, but in truth only inches from a hidden knife Anaz spotted under the belt, he was clearly the most dangerous of the five.

  One of the men behind them stepped up next to Anaz, grabbed his arm.

  “We have nothing,” Anaz said. “Please.”

  His heart thundered. He wouldn’t fight these men. He had to talk them down. Convince them to go with what little they did have. But what if they didn’t leave? What if they tried to hurt Isabell…or worse? Was he really going to stand by and let them do that to her? He closed his eyes and begged the hsing-li to show him the way forward.

  “You don’t understand anything about what you’re doing,” Isabell said. “This man here is a Yul Crafter. He’ll melt you where you stand.”

  “That right?” Flip tilted his head and squinted at Anaz.

  Why would she say that? What stone had clubbed her brains to make her say that?

  “It’s not—”

  Isabell was moving before he’d finished. Her sword whipped from its scabbard and opened the man holding Domino’s reins through the guts. Inside the hsing-li everything moved in slow motion. Anaz could see that the edge was dulled and divoted, as if it had been used to hack down a small tree. It snagged on the man’s leather jerkin and pulled him forward into her, his foul gut blood splashing over Isabell’s boots.

  “No!” he screamed, but it was too late. Once started, violence was a fire that had to burn until there was no fuel left. His only choice now was to help or not to help. He stood still.

  “Crazy wench!” Flip said. He looked more angry at a plan gone turvy than at losing one of his men. He reached for his axe.

  Isabell ran towards Anaz. The man holding him let go of his sleeve and stepped towards Isabell. He slashed, a swing hard enough that if it had landed would have cut her in two. It didn’t land. She dropped to her hip and slid feet first into him, one foot angled upwards. It caught the man in the groin. Anaz counted. He knew that special kind of hurt took a second to hit, but when it did, there wasn’t much else a man’s mind could think about besides the pain. The man wailed.

  Isabell cut upwards towards him, but somehow the man got his sword in front of her, turning her attack. He stumbled away from her, back towards Flip.

  “What number of Abek-cia’s forms is for four men?” Isabell said as she slowly stood. The element of surprise gone, she took her time to assess the situation. A narrow mountain trail. Steep slope two paces to the north with loose gravel. Men to the east and west. A steep slope down two paces to the south. In Anaz’s experience, that was called being boxed in.

  “Four,” he said.

  “Aptly named.” Isabell grinned at him.

  Anaz couldn’t smile back. Terror riddled every breath he took. What was she doing? “We can run,” he hissed and tossed his head at the hill behind them. “Down.”

  “You stupid cunt,” one of the men from behind said. “Someone gives you a sword and you decide you’re Nine Tins the Killer? Taking Wickin by surprise is one thing. Us? That’ll be another.”

  “Nah,” she said to Anaz almost flippantly. “Not until I get that man’s tongue.”

  The two men from behind Domino circled around, staying near the edge of the road. They crept forward one slow step at a time, pacing themselves with their partners at the other end of the trail. One of the men, the vulgar one, wore a necklace made from rabbit skulls, the front teeth curved like fangs or demonic beaks. The other twirled a morning star. The spiked ball made deep whooshing sounds.

  Anaz found himself tapping his fingers to the pace of that whoosh. He had the man’s measure, knew the timing he’d use if he had to fight him.

  Domino sidestepped up onto the gravel slope, trying to find a way away from these foolish humans.

  “I think they look tougher than they are,” she said. “Especially for the likes of us.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can!” She laughed and lunged at the man with the flail. He swung at her and she caught it with her sword. The chain twisted around the blade. She grunted with the effort of holding onto her sword when the man jerked backwards on the flail. Steel on steel screeched as her sword came loose. The second man, seeing her pulled off balance, dove forward, his blade raised high.

  Anaz reached into road with the hsing-li and found a small stone. He popped it up from underground right as the man’s foot came down on it, plunging him face first into Isabell’s heels.

  She spun and sliced her blade deep into his shoulder. Anaz heard the muted crunch of steel on bone buried beneath flesh and muscle. The man screamed
.

  “All we wanted was your stupid horse and money!” Flip screamed. “Now some dumb woman and her elf lover gotta cause us this kind of headache.”

  “I’m not an elf,” Anaz said. He hadn’t moved yet.

  Flip and the man who’d been guarding Anaz ran towards Isabell, seemingly deciding he wasn’t a threat.

  Isabell stood on the man’s back and twisted her sword as she withdrew it from his shoulder. She whipped it up at the man with the flail. Blood spritzed off the end into his eyes. He cussed, whipped his flail. It whooshed harmlessly in front of her.

  “A little help, Anaz?” she called, then did a handless backflip off the man laying in the road, kicking Flail Man in the chin. His head snapped back and he dropped to his knees.

  Damn if she wasn’t fast. Whoever her master had been, Anaz decided, he’d done well. Something pinched at him. Was that jealousy? Watching her dance like that, her sword moving so fast it couldn’t be seen, he couldn’t keep from small jerky movements as if he were swinging the sword himself. Dodging attacks himself.

  “You’re doing great on your own,” he said. “Abek-cia Three is a lot easier than Four.”

  Flip swung his axe at her head. It was a ruse, Anaz knew. He wasn’t putting all of his strength into the swing, was going to check it short, then go low when Isabell ducked.

  Sure enough, the moment Isabell dropped, the axe shifted its arc lower. Her eyes shot open wide, seeing the shift, knowing it was too late.

  Anaz closed his eyes and reached out with the hsing-li. A stone shot from the gravel slope next to Flip, pinged off his axe head turning it sideways so that the flat of the blade hit Isabell instead of the edge. A deep ringing sound as her head smacked into the blade.

  She sprawled flat. Spit. Pushed herself up to her hands and knees.

  Flip stood over her. He looked at his axe, at the stone that had hit it, then at Anaz. He pointed. “Kill him.”

  There’s the fear. The man had figured out that maybe Anaz wasn’t a Yul Crafter, but he wasn’t as harmless as he was pretending to be.

  The swordsman moved towards Anaz, leaving the flail man and Flip on Isabell.

  Anaz sighed. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t break his vow. Not here. Not for this woman. They could have run.

  Isabell had recovered her senses and jumped to her feet just as the flail came crashing down at her. It smashed into the road, throwing up stones and pinecones. She ran behind Domino, putting her horse between Flail Man and Flip. They split sides, circling around the horse.

  Meanwhile, the sword man was taking his sweet time getting to Anaz. His jerkin, now that Anaz could see it closer, looked to be made from several women’s dresses. A necklace of strange, brown leathery shapes hung around his neck. Once he was two or three paces away, Anaz recognized what they were. Ears.

  “Didn’t have to be like this,” the man said. Black gaps checkered his smile where teeth were missing or rotted. “We probably wouldn’t have killed you. Maybe.”

  He didn’t try to slash, instead simply spearing his sword straight at Anaz’s chest. The bluntness of the attack caught him flat footed. He flung up his arms, putting all the theatrics into the exaggerated motion he could, while using the hsing-li to kick up the wind. It swooped from under them, blowing the man’s arm to the side, spraying sand and pine needles into his eyes. It bought him enough time to roll sideways and let the man stumble past, blind and spitting grit.

  “Gods. Ack.”

  Someone on the other side of the road screamed, “Don’t let her—”

  Anaz shot a look at Domino. Flip was holding the horse’s lead rope, but Flail Man had overcommitted to chasing Isabell. She sprinted under her horse’s belly, holding the stirrup in one hand and swinging herself through. Flail Man yelled and tried coming back around behind Domino. At that exact moment, as she slid under the horse, Isabell slapped Domino’s belly. The move startled the horse. She bucked with both hind legs, catching Flail Man in the face with two iron clad hooves. Anaz heard every bone in the man’s face cave in, his neck twisting nearly full around. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  “Good girl,” Isabell said. She stood on the other side of the horse. “See, Anaz? Even she’s willing to help.”

  The sword man, his eyes cleared, came at Anaz like a tornado. He moved well, would have made a nice living in the Pit, even without any magic, but Anaz was ready for it. He hid his movements as much as possible, pretending to stumble whenever he ducked a swing, giving small screeches like he was afraid.

  “Hold fucking still,” the man growled. “Take it like the little bitch elf you are.”

  “I’m not an elf.” Anaz knew the man wouldn’t be able to keep this pace for more than a half-minute to a minute without losing his wind. Sure enough, by the fifth or sixth pass, the man was sucking air, his face purple.

  Isabell screamed. Flip had hooked her heel with the back of his axe and scooped her off her feet. She flopped backward, arms windmilling. Her sword slid along the road out of reach.

  Sword Man made his seventh pass at Anaz, slower this time. Instead of stumbling backwards or sideways as he had been doing, Anaz instead fell into the man this time, wrapping up both of the man’s arms.

  “Get off me,” Anaz screeched, while watching Isabell. Flip had drawn back his axe. Anaz reached under Isabell’s sword with the hsing-li and formed a small catapult. Launched the sword back towards her. Meanwhile, Anaz opened a second wind whip behind Flip, thrusting him forward and off balance. He threw his axe out in front of him, using it as a crutch to keep from falling.

  Sword Man heaved and jumped and twisted, desperate to get his arms free from Anaz.

  Isabell snatched up her sword once it landed next to her.

  Flip stepped back and hefted his axe again. “No more games,” he said.

  “As long as you agree I won,” Isabell said, then drove her sword into his belly, just above his groin.

  Anaz hissed. It was a terrible wound. Painful. Fatal, but agonizingly slow.

  “Gods dammit.” Sword Man flopped his head sideways at Aanz, but it only cracked the top of Anaz’s skull, hurting himself more than Anaz.

  Flip roared and dropped his axe. Isabell withdrew her sword. Flip plummeted face first into the road and whimpered.

  Anaz released Sword Man. Stepped back, arms raised. “I give up.”

  “Good,” Sword Man said. He lunged again. Anaz rolled sideways, letting the blade pass him.

  Sword Man stumbled, gasping for breath, then turned. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but then saw Isabell.

  She’d stepped out from behind Anaz. She drove her sword through the man’s open mouth taking off half of his jaw so that the lower teeth swung down and out like a pendulum. He gurgled and blood bubbled out from the sickly opening.

  He reached up and touched his swinging jaw.

  He looked at Anaz.

  Anaz closed his eyes. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.

  He heard Isabell swing again and when he opened his eyes, the man’s entire head had fallen away.

  For several long seconds they stood there looking at each other. Isabell’s hair had come undone and fell in loose strands.

  She blew a lock out of her eyes, then threw her sword at Anaz’s feet. “Do you even know how to use one of those things?” She grinned and shook her head. “I can’t believe you just stood there. You were going to watch them kill me.”

  “I wouldn’t have watched.” Anaz smiled back at her. He couldn’t deny the thrill he was feeling. They’d survived! How long had it been since he’d been in this situation? He couldn’t decide how he felt. Those men were going to kill them. There was no doubt about that. What could he have done? Leave and let Isabell be killed? Violated?

  Movement behind Isabell.

  The first man she’d dropped, the one she’d struck deep into the shoulder, was conscious. He moved like a fiend, scrambling towards her with inhuman speed, his sword sweeping up towards Isabell even as
he was still getting his feet under him.

  Isabell glanced at her sword in the ground at Anaz’s feet. Started to turn. Too slow.

  Anaz paced the man, found a patch of ground where he was about to step and twirled the hsing-li into a vortex. A muddy whirlpool appeared under the man. He screamed as he was sucked down into it, corkscrewing into the ground up to his chin.

  He looked at her, then at Anaz, white all the way around his eyes, his breath faster than a jackrabbit’s kick.

  Isabell looked from him to Anaz. She smiled. “Aww, see?” she said. “You do care.”

  She walked up to the man and kicked him in the face.

  Anaz couldn’t decide if he should puke or cry or cheer. Did he care? What was happening to him—to everything he’d worked so hard to avoid these last seven years since Abaleth?

  26

  Two Fingers laughed like a girl. So did Malic. Not even a girl, more like a girl with a terrible sinus infection making a wet giggling noise. They were dancing foolishly, hopping from foot to foot and pointing at Daveon and making this disgusting laughing noise. He was in the Stop. He tried to reach for Malic, to squeeze that throat, but his arms lifted as if through sludge, his hands pathetic and weak. Two Fingers stepped between Daveon and Malic. He drew that widow-maker of a sword and swung it at Daveon’s face. He opened his mouth to scream, but it was the scream of a horse.

  Horse whinnies. High-pitched laughing. He tried to open his eyes, but it was dark and everything blurred. Why was Two Fingers laughing at him? How had they found him? Then Syla screamed again, a fierce stomping sound.

  Daveon shot upright. There. Six of them. He knew them instantly even though he’d never seen one before. Wiblins. Three of them hung from the tree he’d tied his packs in, sawing at the ropes, two others under the sacks with outstretched hands. They hopped from foot to foot eagerly. He’d hung the packs to keep his supplies away from critters. Hadn’t counted on critters that could climb ropes and carried knives.