by C A Nicks
A meaty hand on her neck, stale breath fanned her cheek. She slapped it away. “This doesn’t come with extras. And no kissing, either. Not in a kissing mood.”
A slow rumbling laugh, but he let her go. She quickened her pace, stepping into the barn a split second before her followers. Blinking, she scanned the dim interior for the other three men. Only thing moving was Cafino in his stall, stretching his head, asking her to open the stable door so he could gaze out at the world. Poor creature. Routine all shot.
Ugly lingered in the doorway. Leader stepped inside, face creasing into a frown, obviously expecting to see the other three waiting for them. He shot Ugly a look over his shoulder and motioned him back.
“There another way out of here?”
“Through the stable door.”
Leader narrowed his eyes. “Which is closed. Where’d they go?”
“How should I know?”
He had hold of her before she could move to give Fabian a clear shot. Shoving her in front of him, one hand locked solid about her arm, the other stopping her breath. “Where did they go?” he ground out. “What’s going on?”
His knife slid smoothly from its sheath. Jammed under her chin, biting at her flesh. She stiffened, willing away the knot of fear closing her throat. Between that and the knife, she could barely breathe.
“I don’t know. You’re choking me…Let me go.”
“Not until I find out what’s going down here. Dari, Eli, Randi, show yourselves, you useless sons of whores.”
His voice bounced from the barn walls, the only reply a nervous wicker from Cafino.
Now, she thought. Now would be a good time to show. All she dared move were her eyes. And then Leader was backing out, dragging her with him, her heels skidding in the dust.
“Karl, get in there,” Leader screamed. “We found Hal. Get in there and bring him to me.”
The words echoed around the empty yard. It was eerily quiet, the kind of deep quiet you get before a ferocious storm. Tig braced herself hoping the storm would be called Fabian and he was quicker than the plunge of a knife into flesh. Leader wouldn’t hesitate to slit her throat if threatened. Would probably do it anyway, just because.
“Karl!”
The knife trembled. She hissed through her teeth, feeling the sting of it cutting her skin.
“Let the woman go.”
Oh, thank god. Fabian had somehow got outside, probably through Cafino’s stable door. Leader hitched her up closer to his body at the sound, spinning her around with him to face the man emerging from the side of the barn. Hands red with blood, Fabian stepped calmly from the shelter of the wood-pile and lifted his chin.
“You fight with women because that is all you are capable of. You hide behind women because you are a yellow-bellied coward.”
Leader whispered a soft curse. As if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Who in the name of hell are you? Karl, get out here now.”
Fabian ambled forward, a slow easy walk that showed no hesitation, no fear. “The instrument of your death. Come out from behind the woman so I can kill you.”
“Not if I kill her first.”
Fabian started on the buttons of his cuffs, flicking them open, moving to the buttons on the front of the shirt. It fell to the floor, caught the breeze and rolled across the yard towards the barn. Peeling back his lips, he bared his teeth and growled, a noise of nightmares that lifted the hairs on Tig’s arms. Leader stood his ground, recovering his composure now he’d had the chance to get the measure of the man threatening him with death.
“Kill her and you will take three days to die. Are you too frightened to fight me without your shield?”
The shove of Leader’s hand on her back knocked the air from her lungs. She hit the floor, or did the floor hit her? Rolled and righted herself. Gulped in the air she needed to get herself upright and then ran for the cover of the horse trough, her own knife already in her hand. Fabian needed her out of the way so he could fight without worrying about her safety. Making herself as small as possible behind the iron trough, she got a better grip on the knife. Leader touched her again there would be blood. His blood.
Make a dash for the studio? No. That would only distract Fabian when his focus was needed elsewhere. A quick prayer and then all she could do was wait and watch and pray again that Fabian had cause enough to win. When two men were as evenly matched as this it came down to who wanted it more.
Too late she noticed Leader drawing his pistol. A confused look from Fabian at the unfamiliar weapon before he leaped sideways, rolling on the ground and the slug whizzed past him kicking up dirt as it ricocheted and slammed into the weatherboarding of the barn.
Moving with unnatural speed, Fabian pulled himself forward on his elbows, yanking at Leader’s ankles while the man frantically tried to reload the pistol. That the chambers were empty save one slug told her they hadn’t come expecting more trouble than the pastor or Hal. Which meant they still had some element of surprise on their side.
Warrington might be anticipating a challenge, but he had no idea what he faced. Let him think Fabian was one of the god-fearing rebels. That this challenge wasn’t serious.
The smash of fist on flesh. Fabian’s voice, crying out in pain as he brought his hand to his mouth. Leader circled and then they were both down and grappling on the dusty ground of the yard. Someone screamed, high pitched and terrified. The scream of a dying man.
Tig had no idea which of them it was.
* * * *
Killing had lost its relish. Not a good sign when he needed his blood to be cold and devoid of pity or sympathy. A man who worried about his victims was a dead man. A heartbeat before plunging the knife into the man’s heart, Fabian fleetingly remembered Tig’s concern for the dead of the raiding party. Were a wife and children waiting in vain for this man’s return?
The Fall had wiped his account clean, yet still came the widows, the fatherless children who would blame him for their loss. Being human didn’t change that. The man lay sprawled in the dirt, eyes focused on the next world, shirt steeped in his life-blood. Five to bury or leave out for the wolves. Fabian pushed himself up wondering how many more would die before he achieved his goal.
A silent prayer of thanks that Tig had the good sense to stay back and let him fight unencumbered by worry for her safety. A remarkable woman, well worth dying for. Where was she?
Without the thrill, the kill had a peculiarly dampening effect on him, sucking his energy so he barely made it to the horse trough before his knees buckled. Arms on the rim, he dunked his head and shook away the droplets. Tig’s face, on the other side, appeared through the haze. Her mouth moved, but he couldn’t make out the words.
“All of them?” Huddled behind the trough, small knife clutched in her hand, she nodded for affirmation.
He could only nod back, resting his cheek on the cold metal, his mind already on the days ahead. That he might actually win. He could soon be going home.
“Did you hear what he said? About the pastor and Janx? The rebel challenge?”
They made a good team. Giving when the other needed, taking what was offered. Tig was up in a flash, hands roaming his body searching for injuries, words of encouragement falling from her lips. With him all the way whatever it meant for her.
His lips found hers, not in post-battle lust but in gratitude. Of all the places to fall, he’d had the good fortune to fall at her feet. How could he ever tell her what that meant to him?
“No going back,” she whispered. “You were amazing. You’re ready for this. You are.”
“Thank you,” he said. “For your faith.”
She kissed him again, a light delicate touch of her mouth. Teaching him that love could be conveyed in a kiss, in a touch or a kind word. “After what I just saw? No faith required.”
“You mentioned Janx and the pastor,” he said remembering. “Is another challenge in progress?”
“Seems the god-squad had designs on the leadership.
That stupid idea about uniting the gangs. We should get in touch. Amalgamate.”
Fabian pulled away, breathing in deep and wondering why he should care about a rag-bag band of rebels he would soon be leaving behind.
Disappointment dulled the shine in Tig's eyes. “It’s not just me who needs you. Sunas, Hal, the pastor and his rebel band, we all do.”
He could see she was trying to keep her voice flat, unemotional when she could have so easily fallen back on tears and womanly wiles. “Do you know what you are asking of me?”
She did not flinch. “Yes. I’m not asking for me, but for them. The Fall sent you here for a reason. You can’t ignore destiny. Embrace it.”
“I care nothing for them.”
She turned to mirror his position, back to the metal trough, knees bent. Shoulder to shoulder, she sat with him in quiet solidarity.
“A thousand years have passed since you were last home. Everyone you knew will be dead.”
“That is the story of my life.”
“You can change that story. Live your life and grow old like everyone else. Aren’t you tired of being immortal?”
The yard, the barn, everything suddenly tipped. He grabbed her hand. Post-battle crash, that’s all and nothing to do with the vision of himself, old, bent, hair grey as dust. Lifting a hand, he imagined it wrinkled, veined and spotted with age.
“It’s nothing to be frightened of.”
Tig leaned her head on his shoulder. His heart pounded, and not with the stress of battle.
He turned to face her. “I did not fear it then, when first I arrived. And yet, I fear it now.”
“Because now you have more to lose and when that happens, life has more meaning.”
“You would be there alongside me, ageing, watching our children grow?”
Two fat tears formed at the corner of her eyes. A blink and they fell, tracking down her cheeks to splash onto her shirt. With the tears, a tremulous smile, like a rainbow after a storm. Something shifted deep inside of him.
Shifted and bound itself to her.
“Babies,” she said. “As many as you want.”
“Twelve is a good number.”
“A small laugh. A little hysterical. “Was thinking more along the lines of three or four. Two daughters and two sons?”
What would they look like? If he left, he would never know.
He rose, offering Tig his hand to haul her up. “I should check the bodies. Make sure they’re dead.”
“You had to kill them, Fabian. I would have done the same.”
“I know. I’ll bury them.”
“And I’ll take Cafino over to the Gerrely’s. See if I can catch up with Hal.”
“Your friend, will she still be alive?”
“Maybe. We can’t leave her.”
“I know that, too.”
He saw the relief wash over her. The weight rolling from her back. She was no longer alone.
A swift kiss to his cheek, a whispered thank you sent the energy seeping back into his bones.
“Have Hal round up all who remain loyal and to furnish me with a decent horse. Tell the pastor I would speak with his rebels.”
“And then what?”
“And then we ride for the camp. It’s time.”
Chapter 20
Had she just offered to have his babies? Binoculars in hand, Tig surveyed the Gerrely’s spread. Two wagons parked together in the ruins. Didn’t surprise her. Hal had been working on gathering support. Rebels were always around, waiting for someone strong enough to follow.
Should have walked over. Would have been easier to sneak in unobserved, although with the day winding down to dusk, she’d have a little cover.
And by the time she got back, Fabian would have come to his senses and changed his mind. About the babies, about staying.
Please no. Five of Warrington’s men dead. The warlord would make it his mission to hunt them down and slaughter would follow. Only way out of this was to bring the war to him.
“Tig.” An urgent whisper from the gloom nearly stopped her heart. The knife was already in her hand when Hal walked out of the shadows.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that. I could have killed you.” Tension of the day was getting to her. If she couldn’t trust Hal, then who? The wind tugged at her hair. Hal reached over to smooth the errant strands from her face.
Let it pass. More important things right now than indignation at his liberty. He seemed to have aged overnight in the dark circles under his eyes, the lines creasing his face.
“Dear god, I’m pleased to see you, Tig. What of the men?”
“Fabian killed them.”
“Man with a silver pistol. Was he one?”
She nodded, leading Cafino down the path to the ruin. Pastor William sat on a pile of stones huddled in this coat, the good book clutched in his fist like a talisman. At the sound of Cafino’s hoof-beats, he leaped to his feet, and glanced warily around.
“Just me and Tig,” Hal said, motioning him down again. “Fabian’s killed Silver. Warrington won’t let that pass. I need you to go and round up as many of the rebels as possible. Meet us at the mine-shaft on the Grendel road.”
“No, they’re monitoring that. Caltrops,” she said. “Too dangerous. How about the mission-house?”
The pastor shook his head. “Too obvious. We’ll meet you at old Ma Peeks. I think her cover still holds.”
“You think?”
The good-book trembled in his hand. He rubbed self-consciously at his soiled pants. Old Ma Peeks in her dotage constituted a bigger threat to Warrington than this stupid man did. “Is it safe or isn’t it?”
“It’s safe, it’s safe. And good will prevail,” he said thrusting the book into the air. “Oh god, we thank you for sending us Fabian your servant who fell from the sky that we might—“
“We don’t have time for this.” She exchanged a loaded glance with Hal. Just what had he been telling the pastor? “Fabian needs us assembled and ready to ride on the camp. Sunas’s life depends on it. That’s our priority right now.”
“You persuaded him?” Hal lifted his eyes to the sky, muttering a quick prayer. “Thank you, Tig. I won’t forget this.”
“I won’t let you,” she said arching an eyebrow. “Can you get word to your men without being seen?”
“If I walk, yes. But I’ll have to stay off-road and that will take time.”
“Can’t be helped. Pastor, round up as many as you can and get them to Ma Peeks. And if you’re taken, don’t mention my name. Not even under torture.”
Unfair of her to goad him like that. Poor man had blanched milk-white at the thought of having dinner with Warrington. She wanted to push home that this was no longer some idealistic crusade. Men had died and more would before the end.
“Now, which of us will be standard bearer to the challenge? One of us will have to make the formal presentation.”
“I’ll do it.” Hal raised his hand without hesitation. “It’s all or nothing now.”
“Good man. Fabian won’t let you down.” Everything rested on him, now. Taken as hostage, the standard bearer had immunity only until the outcome of the fight. Win you lived, lose, you were first to die. Those were the rules. What they didn’t know yet was whether Warrington was prepared to play by them.
The two men were becoming indistinct shapes in the gloom. They each had a job to do. Might as well get on with it before night fell and the wolves came out to play.
“Hal, you go first and then you follow, pastor. If you make it through, wait there with any support you can muster. Will Janx have a problem with this?”
“No, he will see this for the greater good.” Holding onto his hat for fear of it blowing away in the strengthening wind, the pastor held out the book and said, “Let us pray together before we part.”
“You think it will do any good?”
“Don’t mock, Tig.” Hal spoke up, already peeling back his sleeve to reveal the fish tattoo on his wrist. “Feels as if we
need all the help we can get just now.”
“Of course.” She bowed graciously, pushing back her own cuff. With luck, the pastor wouldn’t notice her image had faded along with her faith. I will be better, she prayed. Get us through this and I will attend worship every new moon, and sit at the front, too. Say my prayers every night. They concluded by pressing their wrists together and each kissing the book.
“Pastor should go first. If he’s taking the wagon, he’ll need some light.”
“All right.” Didn’t make a difference, really. Other than Hal always had something up his sleeve and she’d never let her guard down around him. “Give me a boost,” she said, figuring that whatever was on his mind, she’d be safer atop Cafino than on the ground.
He managed to look hurt as he boosted her into the saddle. Hand lingering on her thigh, the hurt look turned pensive, as if he knew he no longer held the upper hand. Seemed somehow wrong to exploit that now so she said nothing. He didn’t want to hear the old let’s be friends line.
Tig rode home with a growing sense of both relief and foreboding. The best chance for peace in this region since the wars and she was to be a part of it. Couldn’t keep her head in the sand for much longer. Together they had strength and leadership, persistence and courage. Only thing they couldn’t control was lady luck. She came and went as she pleased. Nothing they could do about that.
The farm looked deserted, abandoned. No lights shone in the windows, no dogs barking or running out to greet her. The hens had been tucked up for the night and no sign of Fabian or the bodies. Too many horse-tracks in the dirt to tell if any were newer than Silver and his gang. Thinking of the dead sent a shiver racing over her skin. She didn’t want to live here any more. Violent death left its mark. Their unquiet ghosts would haunt this place forever more.
Looking over her shoulder into the gloom, she slid from Cafino’s back and then tethered him to a fence-post. Quiet didn’t mean everything was okay. Keeping low and to the edge of the path, she made her way down to the yard, listening for sounds of life. An owl called softly from the roof of the barn, something screeched in the long grass. And then a sharp bark and two large creatures came bounding towards her, knocking her to the ground, licking her face until it was wet with slobber. She’d never been so pleased to see them.
