by Linda Mooney
“Where’s Tory?”
“In the fields trying to find enough herbs to cook with. Pickings are scarce this time of year.”
“The fields are dangerous,” Atty told him.
Fortune nodded. “Not as dangerous as the woods, but she stays close to the fence. She’s a smart and watchful woman.”
“Memnon?”
“Hunting.”
“Alone?”
Fortune squinted. “Yes, alone. He often ventures out by himself. Has since he was fifteen. Why?”
Atty leaned over and ran her hands over her face. Suddenly she felt unbelievably tired. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I’m just...”
“You’ve been through a major loss,” Fortune told her.
“And I have too many unanswered questions. Why was my mother and Keelor outside the compound? Mohmee doesn’t look for herbs like Tory does. She doesn’t hunt. She doesn’t seek or need anything that I can’t get for her myself.”
“She went to get firewood,” Fortune admitted.
Atty stared up at him. “Firewood? Why? I’m the one who always gathered it for her.”
“You weren’t here, and she needed some. She took Keelor with her so they could get enough to last them until you returned.”
“She couldn’t wait?”
“Atty.”
“How do you know that’s why she went?” The anger, the fear, and the pain were bubbling up inside her like a geyser threatening to erupt. All the hurt she’d had to keep bottled in was pounding against her chest like loud, uncontrollable thunder, and it was about to come out in one explosive burst. “Why did she have to go out there when there wasn’t a need? We had firewood, Fortune! We had enough firewood by the hearth to last us through the night! Why did she leave? Why did she have to take... Keelor...with her.” The pain was choking her, closing up her throat until she couldn’t breathe or cry out any longer. Fortune reached for her as she collapsed back in the chair.
“Why didn’t she come home, Fortune? Why did she...have to be like Pawpee? Why? Oh... Why? Why?”
With the dam breached, the tears flowed. She cried for the loss of her mother. She cried for the sweet little sister who had alternated between tormenting her and sharing her deepest secrets. She cried for the loss of a way of life she’d prayed she’d never lose, but knew that eventually she would. But most of all, Atty cried out of fear of an unknown, uncertain future she couldn’t face, even with her specialized skills.
Fortune Kalich watched helplessly as the young woman sobbed loudly, her face buried in her hands. He wished his wife was there to comfort her, female to female, and she would have been, except they hadn’t expected Atty to show up so soon. He felt useless. Thinking she needed some time to herself, he quietly went into the kitchen and sat down with a strop to sharpen his knives. The steady back-and-forth movement was soothing in the face of such sorrow, and he was able to deal with Atty’s grief as the sound of it poured into the kitchen.
He continued to sharpen his knives, humming a little tune under his breath. It wasn’t much longer until Atty approached the entrance to the kitchen and stood in the doorway, watching him. He started to ask how she was feeling, but the young woman spoke first.
“I’m going out.”
To hunt? To look for someone? To visit the marketplace? Fortune wished she’d explain further but hesitated. Atrilan Ferran was one of the most capable young people in the compound, and esteem for her ranked high even among the other hunters. All the other male hunters. There were no other female hunters. Never had been, as far as Fortune could remember. Nor could anyone else. Then again, Atty was no ordinary girl.
The front door closed quietly, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Chapter Three
Hunt
The snow that had fallen the night before was thick but not enough to make any major difference. Atty had no problem disguising her footprints as she angled through the trees toward the badger. It was a big one, fully four hundred pounds worth. And although its meat was a bit gamey, cooked with wild onions and herbs it would feed several families, and quite deliciously, too. Not to mention the value of its pelt and claws.
The animal was burrowing under a fallen tree, searching for something to eat. It grunted as it nosed into the softened bark, effectively disguising any sounds she made. From where she crouched she could see where the animal had changed. Other than its size, its tusks curved from upper and lower jaws like giant yellow horns. With little effort the animal could rip the intestines out of a man. Its skin was probably as thick as tree bark, Atty surmised. Which was why she would have to aim for its eyes.
A crow screamed as it flashed through the trees. The badger paused, snorting softly, its jaws working from side to side as it chewed on what it had found. Another scream overhead made it raise its head, this time turning directly toward the young huntress. Atty took slow aim and let the arrow find its mark. The iron tip buried itself into the soft tissue of the animal’s brain, sending it into paroxysms. Atty remained behind the tree but kept a close watch on the badger. She was prepared to chase it if it took off. She was also prepared to fire again if it spotted her and charged.
For what seemed like eternity the animal tried to remove the shaft embedded in its eye but its thick, stubby arms could not dislodge the slender bit of wood. It thrashed about, tearing plants up by the roots, throwing dirt clods and rock, and roaring in pain. Foam flecked its mouth, and for a split-second Atty hoped the animal didn’t have the dreaded water disease.
It took a long while for the badger to die. Atty continued to watch it from her safe place behind the tree. When it finally lay on its side and gasped its last breath, she got to her feet and began the necessary task of gutting the animal and leaving the entrails for the other carnivorous scavengers. Once that was done, she went to tearing long, slim limbs from the nearby trees to form a makeshift travois. It would be difficult dragging the huge carcass back to the compound, but she had no other choice. If she chose to get help, by the time they arrived back, the animal would either be gone or violated by other predators, and therefore inedible, the skin and the meat useless.
It was late in the day before she had the carcass lashed onto the travois. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d eaten nothing all day except for that mug of milk given to her by Fortune Kalich. Atty paused, remembering that this animal would not be feeding her family. Her mother would not hug her upon her return. Her little sister would not beg for the tail, or the ear, or whatever part of the quarry that had caught her eye. The sudden wave of grief nearly made her stumble, but Atty choked back the sobs and gritted her teeth. Throwing the loop of rope around her chest and over her shoulders, she dug her feet into the snow and began pulling the dead weight over the ground. It was not as difficult as she’d first thought it would be, but after a while it steadily grew harder.
The sun was about to go down. Already the upper section of the moon could be seen floating just above the horizon, its missing chunk making it look like a gap-toothed grin. Atty passed a tree with directional marks. The compound was less than a mile away. Knowing she would make it to the safety of the wall before dark, she stopped for a brief rest. If she was lucky, she might soon meet up with another hunter who would help with the load. Or a sentry on top of the compound wall might see her and send aid.
Tonight she would be sleeping in a strange bed in a strange house with people she knew little about. Although she had grown up with the Kalich family, had taunted and been teased by Memnon since infancy, they were not her family. Not her blood. They were not aware of the little traits and idiosyncrasies that intimate families nurtured within their bond. Did the Kaliches take their baths during the week or on weekends? Did they care that she preferred to sleep with two pillows? Would she be able to sleep in one of her father’s old shirts as she usually did? How long before the awkwardness was overcome so they all could relax and continue with life?
Immersed in her thoughts, Atty was unaware
of someone coming to give her an extra shoulder until Pillan Camworth hefted one of the poles and slipped into step beside her.
“Come back, come back from wherever you are,” he grinned.
“Oh? Hi. Thank you, Pillan. It was starting to feel heavy.”
“Starting? My heavens, Atty, this animal must be a good four, five hundred pounds. It’s a wonder you haven’t pulled a muscle trying to drag it along.”
Atty glanced at the man to her left. He could have been one of the most handsome men in the compound if it weren’t for the minuscule horn-like growths erupting from his skin. Still, he did have the most beautiful blue eyes framed with some of the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man.
Oblivious of her stare, Pillan adjusted the pole to a more comfortable spot. “This thing’s gonna feed a goodly number of people, Atty.”
“Been hunting yourself?” she inquired.
“Tried. No luck. I don’t have your knack. Your gift.”
Atty snorted loudly. Pillan shot back in reply.
“Oh, go ahead and deny it all you like, but everyone knows it’s the real reason why you were allowed into the caste of hunters. You just seem to know where the game is. It’s almost like they wait for you to come find them.”
“I’m not so blessed,” Atty told him. “And if they believe any different, then they’re fools.”
“You can’t deny you bear the mark,” Pillan argued.
“Okay. So I bear the mark. So does nearly everyone else in the compound. It’s what makes each of us unique. It’s what proves that we belong here. You know that.”
“Your mother bore no mark,” the older man reminded her.
Atty sighed. There was no way she could deny that point. Eenoi had no outward signs of her specialness. Hers was inside, in what she could do, in what she could hear. Once you spoke with her, or once she approached you personally, you immediately knew she was different. As different and as special as the brown roses she grew in pots around the back door of their home.
And then there was Keelor...
A shout overhead broke through her thoughts and kept her from becoming absorbed in her own self pity. Before she and Pillan had taken another dozen steps, people began pouring from the two closest entrances to help bring in the enormous animal.
Atty accepted the accolades and congratulatory slaps on the back with a mixture of pride and sadness. The badger was the largest prey she’d ever brought back. It would have been a source of great happiness to her mother and father to know she’d been capable of such a feat. It would also have been a feather in her father’s cap, proving to the caste council that his daughter well deserved her appointment into their select circle.
The animal was dragged into the compound and skinned in the center of the market square. Several men marked out a circle on the ground and started scraping away the ice and snow before digging the hole they’d need. Many of the women began rubbing the outside of the meat with herbs and salt while most of the children helped bring firewood to fill the pit where it would cook for most of the night. Atty watched as onions, potatoes, and various other vegetables were stuffed into the enormous cavity before the whole thing was wrapped in wet, loosely-woven burlap.
The heat from the fire was enough to prevent the cold from penetrating the area. Many people kept within distance of the warmth, and children played games in the dirt near the pit. Two men, Cyril and Cassius Barclay, took on the task of tending the huge carcass. With adequate care, the meat would feed everyone, and any remainder would be jerked or smoked and preserved for days to come.
An occurrence such as this impromptu feast was not unusual, but in the latter part of winter when game was extremely scarce, it was extra cause to celebrate. Normally Atty would have basked in the accomplishment. Now it was as if she no longer cared. Her mother would have offered her a cup of warmed wine to chase away the chills. That comfort was gone. Her sister would have helped her wash the grit and oil from her hair, then together they would have pushed their tiny beds together so they could snuggle under the furs and talk about Atty’s hunt until they’d fallen asleep in the wee hours of morning. That intimacy was gone.
Atty slipped into the narrow streets of the inner compound. Behind her someone began strumming a guitar. Someone else warmed up a fiddle. Any minute now the music would start, couples would circle round to dance, and the party would most likely carry on until the first light of dawn when the smell of roasted meat would permeate the air with the morning fog.
She reached the front door, then stopped in surprise. Without realizing it, she’d returned to her old home. The knowledge twisted in her stomach, punching the air out of her lungs. She stumbled, then turned and managed to find her way to her new home in spite of the difficulty she had seeing.
The apartment was empty. In a way, she was glad she didn’t have to face anyone at that moment. Atty didn’t care where everyone was. She didn’t have to worry whether or not to start supper. Didn’t have to worry whether or not she needed to go look for her sister who had wandered away from her mother for the umpteenth time. Didn’t have to worry. Didn’t have to care.
A single lantern had been left lit by the front door. Atty carried it with her into a back room where she found a pallet of furs. Her bundle of clothes sat on top of it, letting her know this was where she now belonged. She still wore her hunting jacket and tracking boots, both covered with mud, snow, and blood. Fleetingly Atty wondered if she should clean up first. Suddenly none of it mattered anymore. Exhausted, sore, and emotionally drained, Atty Ferran fell on top of the bed, curled into a fetal position, and was asleep almost immediately.
Chapter Four
Cleaners
The screaming woke her. Her sleep-fogged brain slowly focused on the dying lantern sitting on the floor by the bedroom door. It was still nighttime. Darkness cloaked the room as if she’d only fallen into her bed moments before.
The scream came again. From outside. Atty scrambled to her feet and rushed to the front room to peer out the window. All she could see was the lone lantern light at the end of the walkway. The place looked predictably empty at this time of night.
“But what time is it?” she muttered to herself.
Against her better judgment, Atty opened the door and leaned out. It was quiet. Too quiet. An icy shiver washed over her body. Why was it quiet? The music should still be playing. There should be muffled laughter coming from the pit area. There should be noises of some sort celebrating the morning feast. So why was it so ghastly silent?
Atty shuddered involuntarily. She went back to the bedroom, grabbed her bow, and slung her quiver of arrows over her shoulder before going back to the door. Something was wrong. She had to find out what and why. And maybe, if she was lucky, she could be of help. That’s why she was a hunter. That’s why her vows to the caste also included the unconditional promise to protect the compound.
Carefully she stepped into the walkway and headed back toward the marketplace. The morning fog had not yet descended, giving her the impression that it was closer to the middle of the night instead of nearing dawn. She sniffed cautiously. The odor of roasting meat lingered lightly in the air. It was probably still in the ground, because once it was removed and unwrapped the mouth-watering smell would permeate the area.
She kept her back to the apartments, creeping along sideways the same way she stalked unwary prey. In the short time since she’d been rudely awakened she’d heard no other sound. And in a compound of nearly two hundred fifty people, not hearing anything was impossible. There were always sounds, even in the dead of night.
There had been screams... .
She came to the end of the walkway. It curved to the left, opening up to a wider street which emptied into the main market area. Slowly she peered around the corner, yet failed to see anything that would indicate what was wrong. Which was exactly why she knew, was sure beyond a doubt, that something terrible had happened. This walkway led directly to the wood bins. There should be at leas
t one or two people coming and going from the bins for firewood to keep the fire going strong in the pit.
Taking a deep breath, Atty slipped into her hunter mode. Within the span of one beat of her heart she no longer walked the familiar streets she’d known all her life. At that moment she was in unfamiliar and dangerous territory. There were creatures beyond the log walls, unseen terror waiting to catch her unaware. Waiting to kill her. She needed all her skills and much luck to survive.
She crouched down and crept forward on the balls of her feet. She no longer felt tired, no longer felt hungry. Her mind was clear. Her blood raced through her veins. Her very pores tingled.
The scream sliced through the night, short, high-pitched, and unexpected. Atty gasped in surprise and plastered herself against the wall. Her heart hammered in her chest. That hadn’t been the scream of an animal. It had been human. It had been a cry of agony, filled with pain and despair. Who? Why?
Without thinking, her hands pulled an arrow from the sheath and nocked it. In spite of her growing fear her movements were sure and steady. She moved forward. In the back of her mind the whole scenario felt unreal and distant. This compound had been a safe haven for decades. The worst that had ever befallen it was the wild boar attack back in the days of her grandfather. Before that, her memories were hazy and uncertain.
