by Linda Mooney
Chapter Five
Captured
“This is the Mutah?”
“This is the only one we’ve found... so far,” the Cleaner quickly added.
Dizzy and nauseous, Atty felt her cheek and mouth pressed into the dirt. She tried to make sense of where she was but her head felt like it was about to explode. Her right eye wouldn’t open. Her left would only give her blurred images of people walking around her, but her sight seemed to be slowly clearing. The best she could figure was that she was back in the market area.
“You found him where?”
“Over there, Sir. On top of the blue building.”
“There?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Impossible.” A third voice chimed in. It was not as deep and resonant as the first one, nor as nervous sounding as the second. “That’s got to be a good hundred yards. No one can aim with that kind of accuracy from that far. Not in the middle of the night.”
A figure moved away from her and stopped in front of a blood splatter on a wall. Atty realized she was lying in front of the leather shop. The figure stared at the splatter, then turned and looked back at the tool shop. “He’s a Mutah,” the figure finally acknowledged. “There’s no telling what he’s capable of doing.”
A boot suddenly stomped on her back, crushing her chest and face further into the hard packed earth. Atty grunted in pain. It brought an immediate reaction. The Cleaner leaned down and hissed in her ear, “You think that’s painful, just you wait, Mutah. You’re going to answer for everyone you offed tonight, and then some!”
“Release him,” the sonorous voice ordered.
“Sir!”
“I want a word with him before we flay him. Now get off of him.”
The pressure on her chest relaxed. At the same time Atty was hauled to her feet and turned to face her captors. The torches cast an almost surreal glow over the compound as the fog began to lay thick across the open area. The smell of roasted badger caused her stomach to tighten painfully, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in almost two days. She blinked and tried to focus but it was difficult.
“Are you our shooter?” asked a completely different voice. It came from one side. She tried to face him but she was jerked back into position. In return, the unrelenting pounding in her skull increased its pressure. She gritted her teeth against it.
“Answer me. Are you our shooter?”
She had to spit dirt and saliva mixed into mud out of her mouth before she could manage to reply hoarsely. “It’s my bow, yes.”
“Did you act alone?”
“I had to. No one else would.”
“What do you mean, no one else would?” It was the third voice from earlier.
She paused, then realized the truth had to be told or else others may die. “The other hunters are gone. We need meat, so they set out a couple of days ago on an expedition.”
“You mean there’s no one left to guard the compound?”
“There are others, but they won’t put up any resistance. At least, if they haven’t by done so by now...” She coughed to try and clear her throat.
“Why not, Mutah?”
“They’re terrified of you. They went into hiding.”
“But not you,” the deep voice chimed in.
“I...couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“My oath as a hunter says I have to protect the compound, not just provide it with meat.”
The Cleaner with the deep voice nodded. She could see the shadow move its head. By now she could faintly make out the features of those before her, but the one with the rich voice wore a helmet that shielded almost his entire face.
The one with the third voice laughed derisively. “Your oath? Since when do Mutah take oaths?”
Atty turned to face him. “Since there’ve been Cleaners to swear at,” she shot back.
A gloved hand suddenly swung out and clipped her neatly in the jaw. She heard her teeth click together, felt something crack, and she fell back. The man who’d been holding her arms let go, allowing her to grab her mouth in pain.
“Karv!”
“He spoke rudely!”
“He answered your question,” the deep voice barked in anger. The Cleaner waved two fingers in Atty’s direction. In response she was lifted to her feet and brought closer.
“What kind of Mutah are you?”
She carefully shook her head. The pain was too great to verbalize any more answers.
A gloved hand came toward her. Atty flinched and tried to avoid the blow. Instead, the hand grabbed her by the wrist. The man with the deep voice stood and looked down on her. He examined the wrist and the hand, turning it over, peering between the fingers, making sure he could get a good look at it in the torchlight.
“No scales. No sores. I see no webbing or imperfections.”
He jerked off her knit cap. An errant braid uncoiled, landing on her shoulder and sliding down to her waist. The men grew quiet. The gloved hand wiped itself across her jacket, pausing over her breasts.
“A girl?” the third man asked incredulously.
The deep-voiced man reached through the hair, rubbing the scalp, searching for any outward sign of abnormalities. Finding none, he leaned over and peer intently into Atty’s face.
“Tell me the truth if you wish to live. Are you the sole person responsible for killing sixteen of my men?”
Unable to speak, she nodded. In the uncertain flicker of light and dark they hadn’t noticed the color of her hair. It was a small comfort.
“Is the bow your only weapon?”
Again, a nod.
The man leaned back, sighing deeply. “Amazing. Horeth?”
“Sir?”
“Get MaGrath to look after her. See to her wounds.”
“Yulen!”
“Are you objecting, Karv?”
The man named Karv stepped forward, giving Atty a decent chance to size him up. He was short and stocky but extremely muscular. He wore his hair long and loose, and his beard and moustache were equally scraggly. His body armor looked almost golden in the dim light.
“She’s a Mutah, Yulen. Why don’t you kill her and get it over with?”
“She doesn’t show any symptoms,” the deep-voiced man, the one called Yulen, replied.
“And we know that sometimes Normals have taken up residence in Mutah camps,” the one who’d spoken fourth said.
“Maybe you can’t see her Mutah signs right now. Remember that Mutah whore we picked up outside of Yungaree? You never knew what she really was until she took off her clothes and you saw those extra rows of teats under her arms-”
“Karv, I have my reasons.” Yulen turned to face the shorter man, and Karv took a step back automatically. It was clear who was in charge, and whose word would not be challenged.
“What about the others?”
“Kill them,” he responded, as if ordering someone to do his laundry.
Atty struggled against her captors. Despite the unrelenting pain in her head, the man’s callousness was the last straw. “You bastard,” she hissed, trying to lunge for him.
Yulen turned toward her. A chuckle bubbled in his throat. “The Mutah is still feisty?”
One of the men holding her arms spoke out. “Want us to knock her out? Would make her easier to handle.”
“No. I want her tended here. Put her in one of the buildings. I’ll decide later if I want to burden us down with any prisoners. Uh, Karv, don’t kill the prisoners... just yet.”
He gave a shrill whistle between his teeth. One of the Cleaners by the pit stood up and waited for instructions. Yulen waved him in and the man trotted over. In the meantime Atty was set back on the ground and her arms bound behind her. One of her captors left but the other remained to keep a heavy hand pressed down on her shoulder.
“Yes, sir!”
“What’s in the pit?” Yulen asked.
“Can’t quite tell, but it’s a big one. Packed down with potatoes, too, I think.”
Several Cleaners laughed. Atty assumed it was an old joke. Yet the mental image she got from the comment turned her stomach.
Karv spoke up. Again, Atty was getting the distinct impression that the squat little man was either a close confidant, or the right hand of the man called Yulen.
“Can it be safe enough to eat? After all, we know Mutah will eat their own feces if they have to.”
“Where do you get such ghastly ideas?” Atty managed. Enough was enough. And even if her mouth meant her death sentence, she couldn’t bear the thought of dying under such false allegations.
For the second time that night the surrounding Cleaners went totally silent. For a long moment the only sound she could hear was the distant crackling of the fire, the uneasy rustling of the horses, and a lot of struggling breaths against the cold. Atty felt a shudder go through her.
“It’s a badger in the pit. Dressed at around four hundred pounds. It was rubbed with herbs and salt and some pepper root and onion, and there’s onions and potatoes in the cavity. It should be enough to feed the compound and your men.” Talking was difficult, but not impossible. She addressed Yulen directly, since the man was staring at her in shocked silence like everyone else.
Another minute passed. Then Yulen, in voice laced with amusement, inquired, “Don’t tell me... you killed the badger, right?”
“If I admitted it, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“With a bow and arrow?” Karv interjected.
Atty’s first reaction was to give a smart answer but common sense suddenly interceded. “We needed meat. This winter’s been harsher than usual, and most of our hunters have been ill.”
Yulen sighed loudly. “Well, this seems to be getting stranger and more interesting with every passing minute.” He started to say more when they were hailed by the sentry.
The Cleaner known as the physician was escorted through the gate. Atty surmised the man had been sent on his way to the compound soon after the second phalanx had set off. The physician gave a cursory glance to each body before approaching the leaders.
“Somebody has an extraordinary eye,” the elderly man reported. His brown hair was shot with gray but his face was nearly seamless. Atty couldn’t begin to guess the man’s age. The physician gave her a quick stare.
“Look after her,” Yulen ordered.
The man started. “Is she a-”
“Doesn’t matter. Wrap up her face or whatever you have to do, but I want her able to make the trip back to the compound with us.”
Karv opened his mouth but was waved silent. However, the physician was less inclined. “I thought I was told I don’t heal Mutah.”
Yulen smiled, but it was neither warm nor friendly. “You’ll heal who I tell you to. Just do your best. It’s all I ask.” Having said, he pushed his way through the knot of men and headed toward the open market area.
The physician frowned. Atty got the impression that, despite his personal grievances, he was obligated to do as he was ordered. Waving for a couple of men to help him, he had them take her into a nearby shop.
They gained entry by breaking in the door. Atty managed to recognize the building as the place that sold candles and soap. The room smelled of lye and old smoke. She was laid upon a back table and several candles were lit to provide adequate light. The physician began by poking and prodding around her temple and jawline. Atty flinched whenever his touch brought additional pain. At one point she cried out when his fingers ran up her throat underneath her chin.
“Well, your jaw’s not broken but it could be cracked. You won’t be able to have any solid foods for at least a week or so, unless you’re one of those Mutah who heal more rapidly than normal. You,” he ordered one of the guards, “this one has to survive long enough to make it back to camp where I can wrap her up properly. See if you can find something soft that she can swallow whole, like oatmeal.” The man turned back to give her a knowing look. “I can hear your stomach rumbling. How long has it been since you’ve eaten? A day? Two days?”
She nodded.
“Ah. And another question. Why does the Battle Lord want you taken back to camp? You’re female. That doesn’t surprise me. But I can’t see him bedding a Mutah, much less you. So it can’t be for that reason.”
Atty glanced over at her bow and empty quiver that were propped against the far wall of the shop. The physician followed her gaze and immediately understood. “You’re the one with the deadly aim. Well, that makes a hell of a lot more sense.”
He carried a satchel over his shoulder. The bag was of plain tanned leather with an intricate pattern of porcupine quills adorning the front flap. Setting the satchel on the table beside her, he rummaged inside. He spoke to her as he was looking. “You’ve lost some skin around that eye but it shouldn’t scar. Hope you haven’t lost any vision in the eye, though. Who did this to you? Karv?”
Atty pointed to her eye and shook her head. Pointing to her jaw, she nodded.
“Why am I not surprised?”
Pulling out a small brown pouch, he double-checked the contents and measured out an amount of grayish powder in the palm of his hand. He dumped the powder into an empty bowl he found nearby, then added some water from a skin he also carried. Stirring the mixture with his finger, he handed her the bowl and helped her to raise her head in order to drink it.
“This’ll dull the pain somewhat. I don’t have anything to stabilize that jaw except bandages, and it’s gonna hurt like the devil when I wrap you. You’ll be glad you drank this. Yeah, I know it tastes shitty, but it’s not meant to be vintage wine.” He urged her to drain the bowl, then helped her to lie back down.
“My name’s MaGrath.”
“Atty.”
“Atty,” he echoed. “Short for anything? Or just Atty?”
“Why do you care? I thought you hated Mutah as much as the others.”
“What makes you think I hate Mutah?”
“Didn’t you object to treating me earlier because I was one?”
“Are you one?”
“Yes. I’m not ashamed of it. My family loved me. I had friends. I won the respect of the other hunters so that they initiated me into their caste.”
“With a skill like yours they’d be crazy not to. Grit your teeth. This is gonna hurt.”
He’d made a paste of something from his pouch. He applied it to the side of her face with his fingers. It did hurt. It also stank to high heaven. He saw her wrinkle her nose but didn’t comment. When he was done he pulled a roll of cloth from his pouch and used it to form a quick bandage around her face to help hold her jaw steady.
“Did I make it too tight?”
Atty replied no. She could still manage to communicate somewhat with just the use of her lips and tongue. “You haven’t answered my question,” she reminded him.
“Regarding...”
“Why do you hate Mutah?”
“I don’t actually hate them. Ah!” He held up a hand to halt her protest. “I never told the Battle Lord I wouldn’t heal one, either. I just reminded him that I’d been ordered not to do it.” Wrapping his roll of bandages back into a neat ball, he stuffed it into his pouch.
“Why do you call him the Battle Lord?” Talking was difficult, but Atty had to admit that the snug bandage and the medicants were helping with the pain.
MaGrath gave her an odd look. “Because he’s the Battle Lord. Haven’t you heard of him?”
Again she managed to shake her head gently.
“What do you call him, then?”
“Cleaners.”
“Cleaners? Oh, that’s right. I’ve heard that term before. Because they cleanse the earth of the unnaturals, the ones made abhorrent by nature. The human beings made inhuman when the Great Concussion changed everything. And you think I’m a Cleaner?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m a physician. I heal the sick. I help those dying to die more easily. I
also make a mean rabbit Tetrazzini. But I won’t lie to you. If you had four eyes or a big, bulbous something-or-other protruding from your chest, or anything like that, I don’t care if Yulen ordered me with a lance at my throat. Mutah give me nightmares, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. Now, speaking of admitting, as your doctor I order you to keep your mouth shut for the next day or so. At least until we get back to camp. What? What’s the matter? Are you in pain?” The sudden welling of tears had taken the physician off-guard.
Instead of answering, Atty pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her arms. She was exhausted beyond all endurance, she’d lost her family only two days before, she was starving, and now she was going to lose whatever friends and home life she’d ever known. Things looked worse than miserable.
Deep in her grief, she never heard the man leave the shop, nor was she aware that he had signaled to the other Cleaners to leave her alone as well. Least of all she never saw the tall, helmeted figure staring at her through the window wondering why this particular Mutah both fascinated and surprised him.
When all his life he’d lived the code that no Mutah was worth an effort or a second look, why did he care that this one remained with him?
Chapter Six
Decision
“What’s going on with you, Yulen?” the voice harshly asked.
Yulen looked up to see a shallow bowl of meat and vegetables shoved into his face. He stopped his cleaning and set his sword down beside him before taking the proffered food. Karv flopped down on the ground a few feet away and dove into his own meal.
“Not bad. But you haven’t answered my question,” the man reminded him.
Yulen tried the badger. Amazingly the meat that should have been tough and too gamey was as good as anything he could remember. After so many days of dried rations, the meal was welcome. He continued to eat, blowing on his fingers when it was too hot to handle, when he saw MaGrath walking toward him. The expression on the man’s face was hard to read.
“Have some, Liam,” he half-ordered, half-invited.
“Don’t mind if I do. First, though, I want to let you know about your little Robin Hood. She’s eaten and she’s asleep. No thanks to Karv, but I think she’ll heal with minimal scarring. Are you really taking her back with us?”
