Taking the Knife

by Linsey, Tam

  Even cannibals have a code of honor...

  TAKING THE KNIFE

  by

  Tam Linsey

  Copyright 2012 by Tam Linsey

  Cover art by Tam Linsey

  Visit the author’s website

  All rights reserved. Published by Tam Linsey.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or borrow it through an approved lending agency such as a library, then please purchase your own copy, available from many online retailers. Thank you for respect a dead man."

  Digital Version

  Author’s note:

  The character of Armin is based upon my friend, Robert Armond Shafer, Jr. who has never eaten another human being. Or so he tells me.

  TAKING THE KNIFE

  Clumps of towering amarantox guarded either side of the trail, broad leaves limp and bronze-hued with the promise of winter, yet no less poisonous than the day they’d emerged as pointed shoots from the soil. Sefe paused for breath, squinting ahead to where the footpath dropped sharply into the ravine the tribe had been paralleling across the Tox.

  The Crossing.

  His entire twenty-six years of life he’d walked this route. Now he was reduced to using his spear as a walking stick. He was the tribe’s healer, but that meant little these days. A straggling mother and child had passed him some time ago, leaving him to bring up the rear. Even if he survived the Crossing’s roiling water, he would not reach camp until long after everyone had bedded down.

  The tribe couldn’t linger, not even for the c8alspanir healer. Summer had been hard, with uneven rainfall and frequent sunstorms, and now the rival hunters had not come for the Autumn Trade. The Hunger would be long this year. He traced a finger over one of the raised scars along his jaw. Being marked as one of the Knowing – a healer – might protect him from rival tribe attacks, but was not assurance of long life. For over a year, now, as his infirmity grew worse, he’d been training his replacement. His duty to the tribe – to take the Knife and offer himself as food, as had been done for generations – was nearly upon him.

  He trembled. Perhaps if he paused a moment, he'd find the strength to continue. Gently pushing aside a wide amarantox leaf, he spotted the drop-off and an expanse of churning river. Ferny gray-green tamarisk trembled on the high bank. Near the cliff, where he might catch a hint of breeze off the water, rested a stone slab the perfect height to sit on.

  He shuffled forward a step and tensed. A haphazard shelter of bruise-barked tamarisk logs rested near a spot of blackened earth where a fire had been.

  Hunters?

  His mouth turned dry. He should run. At least back away. Outside the trade times, hunters respected no tribal ties, and sometimes even ignored a healer's scars. He attempted to slide an unsteady foot back, but the fire in his spine locked his hips. Wobbling, he caught himself against the amarantox. Dry stalks clattered and leaves rattled to the ground around him.

  No sneaking away now.

  After a few quivering, breathless moments, he swallowed his panic and dared turn his head to look around. The camp appeared to be abandoned. He heaved a sigh. Legs threatening to collapse beneath him, he edged toward the sitting stone, his gaze on the clearing in case anything of value had been left behind.

  A small noise drew his attention as something moved against the amarantox – a flash of brilliant green and the

  amarantox, crouched near one corner of the shelter.

  A flame runna girl.

  His heart stopped, all thought of his pain forgotten. Flame runnas didn’t travel alone. He jerked his gaze to the cloudless, blue sky. The green-skinned people always arrived by air, torching the land and everything on it, edible or not – plant, animal, human. And then they left without gathering a thing, heedless of the waste.

  He'd survived their raids twice. Once when he was six, by sheer luck and his quick, small feet; and again at twelve, when his brother thrust him off the butte into the Black Pool. His parents had been engulfed in the fire, and Sefe’d been nearly paralyzed by a back injury. His aunt, the tribe's healer, had adopted them both, mended his spine, and kept away the Knife by teaching Sefe her art and marking him with the raised keloid scars of a healer.

  No escape this time.

  For months he’d fought his duty to the Knife, each morning waking and struggling to his feet in spite of the pain. Now flame runnas would take his duty from him. Guilt swamped him and he closed his eyes. A waste of meat. Armin, the tribe leader, would send someone back to look for him – to gather his remains for the Flesh Feast. But in this heat, much would be wasted. Breathing deeply, he awaited the drift of grit or wafting breeze that preceded an incoming flying machine.

  Moments passed. The air remained stagnant. Only the soft mutter of the river and the creaking of a nearby stand of tamarisk reached his ears. He opened his eyes, squinting in the sunlight. He'd never seen a flame runna up close. Other than her green skin, she looked like any other woman. It was said they had once been human, and seeing her made him believe it true. Abrasions and dirt covered her from head to toe. Her cropped, black hair stood in tufts about her head. The small buds of her breasts hinted at new womanhood, nipples a startling pink against the small, green swells of flesh. Her black eyes seemed enormous in her bruised face.

  A flame runna. Within his grasp. He could have vengeance and feed the tribe – yet, curiosity made him hesitate. Why was she here, alone? The girl sat a few steps from the shelter, her knees to one side and her arms awkward behind her. She looked at him with huge, fearful eyes, but didn't move.

  Hitching his breath against the pain, he lowered his spear toward her and shuffled forward. A braided rope was knotted about her wrists, its long line trailing between her and the wrist of a naked man beneath the shelter. The man's bearded pink face sagged in repose, a line of drool dripping down the bone labret in one corner of his mouth. His nose had been recently broken, but Sefe knew him well.

  "Medo." His brother. The brother who’d saved his life. The brother who'd turned hunter long ago. For years, they'd met only at the seasonal trade camp. Seeing him here, alone and vulnerable, caused Sefe’s brow to furrow. "Medo!"

  He wanted to drop to his knees. To hug his brother tight. But his back kept him standing. Why was Medo here alone, naked? Where were the other hunters? Sefe scanned the clearing again for men, but saw no one. With the butt of his spear, he prodded his brother’s foot. Medo snored. Drunk?

  "Keep the Peace."

  The girl's high voice startled him, and he stumbled, thrashing against the amarantox as he took a step back. The words were the truce exchanged between rival tribes in the face of a larger threat, usually incoming flame runnas.

  She spoke his language?

  Licking her scabbed lips, she shook her head. "Listen. I'm not a flame runna. They took me. Did their magic to make me green. But I escaped." Her voice wavered, and he was struck by her frailty.

  He nudged his brother again, harder this time. Medo had to be drunk. "Where's the pulque?" He scanned the area for a bota or jar of the potent beverage.

  "He's not drunk." The girl struggled to her knees. "I got the spirit healing."

  That gained his full attention. Spirit healing was one of the lost skills. Not even his aunt had known the secret; the ability was a myth. And a danger.

  She's lying to save herself.

  As if to see things clearer, he looke
d the girl up and down with narrowed eyes. Naked and green – that was hard to see past. But his healer instincts told another story. Scabs caked her knees and chin, one eye squinted from a brown and yellow bruise, and purple fingerprints spread across her thighs. She'd obviously been used hard. By Medo? His brother was impulsive, but this was baffling.

  She wasn't a woman. Srem; font-weight:boldithiighhe was prey. Her skin would make a fine trophy. And her flesh… Would she taste different? He didn't prefer the flesh of man, like some did, but there could be no wasting in a world of toxic plants and sparse game. Why had Medo kept her alive? Flame runna magic? And why was he here alone on the Tox? Perhaps this flame runna did have powers. She had cunning, if nothing else. She knew the claim of spirit healing would protect her. Killing one of the Knowing was frowned upon, a rule adhered to even by most hunters. Killing a spirit healer was especially taboo because angry spirits stuck around to infect others.

  His heart thundered as he looked from his brother to her. Her skin was free of the scars that decorated those of the Knowing. "You're not marked."

  She slanted a look down her long, green legs. "The flame runnas marked me plenty."

  He couldn't help letting his gaze follow hers. Even lacking the scars, her leaf-green skin was a sort of mark. No one had captured a flame runna before. She claimed to be human. With her hands still tied behind her back, her nipples stood out like small, glowing coals. Perhaps in his drunkenness Medo could be excused his lust.

  As if sensing his distrust, she said, "This hunter stole me from his brothers. Tried to take my power. He took too much." A twist of smugness curled her scabbed lips.

  Sefe shook his head. So like his brother. And it explained why Medo was alone on the Tox. But what had he hoped to gain? This flame runna was obviously his prisoner, spirit healer or not. Was his slumber truly due to her power? Sefe

  looked hard at the sleeping man. There was no sign of pulque outside the shelter. The rope connecting Medo to the flame runna coiled beneath the shelter, long enough to allow her to range the camp.

  Sefe pointed to the rock several steps away. "Sit there."

  She struggled to her feet, clumsy in her trusses. Once she complied, he eased to his hands and knees and stuck his head inside the low shelter. The enclosed space reeked of unwashed body and stale sex. In the dim corners, Sefe saw only Medo's discarded leather clothes and a few fish bones from a long ago meal. Not even a knife or stone large enough for a weapon. His brother traveled the Tox alone and without a weapon? Impossible. Peeling open Medo’s eye, Sefe found the pupil dilated. Filth caked the hunter’s beaded beard and hair, but other than the broken nose, he didn't seem injured.

  Backing out of the shelter on all fours, Sefe panted from the agony in his back. Thankfully, the flame runna remained sitting where he'd told her.

  "I'm called Ana."

  He didn't answer, instead closing his eyes as he found the tenacity to get to his feet again. His brother's presence made Sefe long to lie down next to him as they had as children, to find peace and rest.%L14igh

  "Spirit healing could help your pain."

  He glared at the girl. "The Knife will end my pain. And yours."

  She didn't respond.

  Summoning all his reserves, he got one foot up under him. He planted the butt of his spear firmly against the hard, red earth and used the shaft to pull himself upright. Just a little more. He could do it. He could feel her scrutiny like the morning sun on his skin.

  Once he was standing, spine bent as if the weight of death already pulled him down, he focused his pain-blurred gaze toward the flame runna. She would feed the tribe for several days. But what to do with his brother? Medo had left the tribe and joined the hunters, but Sefe could ask the tribe to accept him back. They would gladly admit a skilled fighter into the fold.

  If he ever wakes up.

  Sefe shook the doubt from his head. He was a healer. He’d find a way to wake his brother. But first he had to catch the tribe. He couldn't carry Medo. And this slip of a girl would be no help. "Get up."

  She rose from her seat on the stone with lithe compliance.

  "Go over there." He pointed to the fire pit.

  As she moved to where he indicated, he took her seat, looking out over the muddy river. Someone from the tribe would come looking for him eventually. They would want to recover what they could for the Flesh Feast. Then he’d have help carrying Medo.

  One foot on the black earth of the fire pit, the girl cocked her head to look him up and down. "You're not very old. And you're marked a healer. Why would you take the Knife?"

  "When will he wake up?"

  Her nostrils flared with hatred. "I keep him asleep."

  She had such confidence in her power. His chest tightened, urging him away from her magic. But he held his ground. "Why don't you make him free you, then?"

  "When he's dead, I'll be free."

  Sefe raised one eyebrow. "Tied to a dead man."

  The angry lines on her face ceased twitching. "I can keep you from the Knife." She advanced on him, the rope snaking around her feet as it followed her.

  He rose from his seat, and fire raced down his hips and legs. His breath faltered as he fought the pain. She was so bold, he didn't think to get his spear between them until she was too close. Stars threatened the edges of his vision as the agony overwhelmed him. Forcing himself to suck in air, he caught the scent of tamarisk flowers coming from her naked skin. The dark circles of her irises reminded him of the Black Pool, where he and Medo had escaped the flame runnas so many years ago.

  "Kiss me." Her arms were still tied behind her. She lifted her chin and thrust out her tiny breasts, as if she were a woman fully endowed.

  "What?" He swayed, rock pressed against the back of his knees, and nearly toppled as his back cramped.

  "My magic requires a kiss."

  "I… don't need… your… magic." The words emerged between panting gasps.

  Rising on her toes, she leaned forward, entering his air, filling his vision. She smelled divine. He brought his hands up between them, but he had no strength.

  Her scabbed lips pressed roughly against his mouth. How long had it been since a woman had kissed him? He experienced little desire these days with the pain consuming him. Her tongue darted out, snaked between his lips, ran over his gums. A strange tingle laced through his mouth and crept like a pleasant drunken wave into his thoughts. Then it was over, and she stepped back, black eyes regarding him calmly.

  He let out a breath he'd been holding. His entire body quivered as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The reaction in his groin rose like an old memory. He could take her right now. Push her down and do what he willed. The feel of a woman around him…

  Not a woman. A flame runna.

  Lurching to one side, away from her and his desire, he pressed his lips with his fingertips. "What is this?"

  "I told you. Spirit healing." She stood immobile, her gaze fierce.

  He lifted the tip of his spear against her chest, ready to impale her with it in place of his manhood. A trickle of crimson blossomed against her breastbone and traced a line toward her belly button. She curled backward, sucking herself away without actually moving.

  He made a noise deep in his throat. He wasn't sure if he wanted to fuck her or eat her. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Her magic had him confused. "This is a black thing."

  "How? You're standing."

  The snarl contorting his lips relaxed a fraction. He was standing, straight, his pain as distant as wisps of clouds. No remedies he knew of could work like this. His breath came short and fast, but not because of discomfort. He felt quick as a child again. The desire to leap and run around the clearing flashed through his mind. To rouse his brother and race to the river. To catch the tribe. To be a man again.

  She looked up at him through thick, black lashes. Licked her lips. "You want the magic? Then keep me safe. Keep the secret of my power, so no men may harm me to steal it. And I'll give it to you fre
ely."

  He lowered the spear and closed the distance between them, brushing her breasts with his chest. As he looked down into her face, elation coursed through his veins like a spring flood bringing life to the Tox. He should take her, right now, just to prove he could do it.

  She cowered before him, her face scrunching in terror, and he was pleased. No one had been afraid of him in a long time.

  "It's not … good … if you take too much." Her voice had lost confidence, wavering like it had the first time she'd spoken.

  A niggle of pity shook him. He spun away from her and paced to the opening in the amarantox that led back to the foot trail. He had to think this through. He could take her for a slave. Although she was a flame runna, he thought the tribe would allow it, at least until they called a Hunger. But spirit healing – dare he court such dangerous magic, just to avoid the Knife? She’d rendered Medo completely helpless. She could do the same to him – and the rest of the tribe.

  He twisted side to side, as if limbering for a run. The pain was still there, but dull, taken by the spirits to another realm. Turning, he found her backed to the other side of the clearing, as far as the rope would allow. Tossing his spear from hand to hand, he strutted around the glade. "How long will this healing last?"

  She shrugged and tilted her head toward Medo. "Depends on how much you take."%L14igh

  A rustling in the amarantox behind him made him level his spear, legs poised for action.

  Armin, the leader of the tribe, appeared between the leaves, the status feathers at the head of his spear dripping river water. He spotted Sefe, moved forward, then noticed the girl. His eyes widened and he pulled back slightly, turning his face to the sky.

  Sefe bent and grasped the flame runna's rope, euphoric at the ease of movement. With a quick step he moved between the newcomer and the girl.

  Armin’s gaze returned to the clearing. He coiled into an aggressive crouch, then leapt toward the green skinned prisoner, his spear levelled. "Kill it now. Before more come."