The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1)

by J. C. Staudt

  “Shut her up. She’ll get us all scourged,” someone said.

  “Lizneth, control yourself,” Fane shouted.

  The door to the hold opened and footsteps creaked on the stairs, but Lizneth didn’t care who was coming. She had to break free; she couldn’t bear the thought of another agonizing journey over the water, let alone several of them, if that’s how long it would take to get home again.

  It was Bilik, of course. When he saw what Lizneth was doing, he strode across the room and gave her a solid crack across the ear. The knuckles stung, but she endured two more of his blows before the pain was enough to make her stop. She sank to the floor, defeated.

  “Up,” Bilik said. “Two feet and a tail.”

  Lizneth stood, head and shoulders hung, and Bilik unhooked her from the ring. In her first moment of freedom, a frenzy stirred within her. She made a dash for it, slamming her hip into a surprised Bilik as she tried to get past him. The maneuver proved feeble; Bilik stayed on his feet, grabbing her by the arm and wrenching her toward him. She squirmed and bit down on his hand, but he held her tight, ignoring the blood that began to run through his fur.

  Wrestling her through the hold and up the stairs, Bilik threw Lizneth onto the deck and kicked her in the stomach. She curled into a ball, groaning. It was hot out now, even without the wind. The blind-world’s light had risen to a golden orange that edged the cave mouth in its soft glow.

  “Give me your tail,” Bilik said, and held out his hand. Lizneth didn’t move. “Give me your tail or I’ll have Giddho here relieve you of more than that.”

  Lizneth swung her tail toward Bilik, and he grabbed the end.

  “You know what we do to slaves who try to escape?” Bilik asked. “Do you?”

  Lizneth felt his fingers clench around her tail, claws digging in. “N-no,” she said, whimpering.

  Bilik looked at Giddho, the grey-and-white roan with half his tail missing and an ironwood spike for a leg. “We let them go.”

  Lizneth stole a glance at him. He gave her a depraved smile, loosening his grip and wagging her tail playfully, as if it were a length of rope. He let it fall to the deck and planted a foot on it, hard enough to make her squeak.

  Producing a hammer and a few nails from his pocket, Bilik knelt. Lizneth clawed at the deck and tried to whip her tail out from beneath his foot, but his weight was too much to overcome. She stood and turned on him, but Giddho pounced first, dragging Lizneth down by the neck, choking her with a thick forearm and hooking his good leg around one of hers.

  Lizneth felt a tiny pinprick as Bilik placed the first nail. He lifted the hammer.

  The taskmaster flicked his wrist, and the metallic thud that followed sent a sharp stabbing pain up Lizneth’s spine. She squealed as Bilik set to tapping, then pounding. He drove in two more nails before he was done, each one further up her tail than the last. Most of the crew had gone ashore, but many of those still aboard had gathered on the deck to watch. Giddho let her go, and he and Bilik stood back and watched along with them as Lizneth lay writhing on the deck. They waited, close to motionless, until she was too tired to squeal anymore.

  “There’s the gangway,” Bilik said, gesturing. “You’re free to leave whenever you like. A good bit a’ chewin’ should be enough to get you loose. ‘Course, you might not do too well in the blind-world—hard to keep cool in that heat without a tail, ain’t it, Giddho?”

  Giddho laughed, rubbing a thumb over the tip of his nub.

  “On the other hand, if you feel like keeping it… wait here and think about it ‘til nightfall and I’ll knock those nails out for you. Your choice.” Bilik walked away.

  The crew went about their business, though some stayed to observe her long after the others had left. Lizneth turned around and scooted up to lay beside the nails, watching her blood stain the deck and dry in the heat. The pain screamed in her head, but all she could do was stare past the railing and out over the water, at the waves rolling in from the hollows of the sea, messengers from some distant place beyond the light’s reach.

  Across that distance, where Lizneth had left Mama and Papa and Raial and Deequol and all the others, was Tanley, where she belonged. It was where she should’ve stayed. She knew then more than ever that taking her former life for granted was the worst decision she’d ever made.

  When the last slivers of daylight were fading from the mouth of the cave, and the sailors and tavernkeeps and fisherfolk had begun staging their lanterns to ward off the nighttime fog, Lizneth felt a thumping from below. She winced as fresh pain flared down her tail, and she saw the nearest nail shoot up a quarter inch. Another thud, and the nail poked up further. The thudding continued, and soon all three nails were loose from the planking. Lizneth grimaced as she pulled each nail free from her sore, swollen tail flesh.

  Looking around, she expected to see Bilik or Giddho coming to retrieve her, but the decks were empty. She stood on unstable feet, giving out a yelp when she forgot her wounds and whipped her tail back to steady herself. There was no one around. She looked toward the gangway and her heart raced, blood pumping through veins that felt as empty as an upturned tumbler. The distance from where she stood to the gangway couldn’t have been more than four fathoms.

  She glanced around the ship once more and saw no one. This is a trick, she thought. They’re waiting for me on the docks. As soon as I leave the boat, they’ll jump out and take me. And this time the punishment will be worse. She felt the air growing damp as wisps of fog curled over the ship, reaching for the shore. It was getting dark, but she was okay with that.

  There was a splash from the dock side of the ship. One of the oars popped into view across the bow, then splashed into the water again. Lizneth darted to the edge and leaned over the railing, edging her way toward the gangway as she looked down. One of the oars was missing, and Dozhie had her snout through the empty oar hole.

  “Go,” Dozhie said. “Get to shore.”

  Of course, Lizneth realized. The rowing hold is beneath the deck. The oar would be long enough to knock the nails out…

  Without a spare thought, Lizneth leapt the railing and sped down the gangway, her chains jangling, the wooden plank bending and bouncing her over the cleats. The dock was solid beneath her feet, freedom so close she could taste it. She set off toward the shore, but after a few steps she skidded to a halt and turned back. Dozhie, Fane, Bresh, and several of the other rowing slaves were watching her through the oar holes. They’d pulled one of the oars into the ship; no doubt that was the tool they’d used in their painstaking effort to set her free.

  “Don’t stop, cuzhe,” Bresh said in a loud whisper.

  “Get out of here,” Fane said, even louder.

  As anxious as she was to be gone, Lizneth knew she could never leave them here like this. She ran the length of the dock, stopping at each cleat hitch to pull its mooring line free. Loose in the water, the boat began to sway.

  “What are you doing?” Fane said. “Are you quinzhe?”

  “You’ve set me free, now I’m doing the same for you.”

  The gangway began to slide as the ship parted from the dock. Lizneth bolted up the ramp, shouting to her friends as she scurried toward the deck. “What are you doing staring at me? Row!”

  The ship lurched, and the plank slid sideways and crashed into the railing. Lizneth managed to keep her balance, wincing as she used her tail to steady herself. She took the last few cleats in a series of leaping steps, then turned and began to pull the gangway up behind her. When the far end slipped off the dock, the weight pulled it from her hands, and the whole thing smacked the water with a splash.

  There was no time to waste, and Lizneth wasn’t sure how many of the crew were still on board. She wanted to be sure that Curznack was far behind them by the time anyone knew they were afloat. She tore open the hatch and jumped down the stairs into the rowing hold.

  “Row,” she yelled. “Harder than you’ve ever done, move this boat.”

  A cheer went up as th
e excited slaves turned the vessel about, using the limited view out the oar holes to maneuver. Fane took up the rhythm, giving them a ‘hup’ or a ‘ho’ in place of each beat of the drums. Lizneth scrambled back upstairs, hollering over her shoulder that she would return soon.

  She arrived on deck to find Bilik and Giddho emerging from the crew’s quarters, along with the drummer and two other taskmasters. Bilik sent one of the taskmasters back down belowdecks to get help. Lizneth hadn’t worked out how she was going to deal with the crew, and it seemed the few options she had were running out.

  Each of the four ikzhehn drew short blades, and they began to spread out and advance toward her. Lizneth scurried up to the quarterdeck and took hold of the rudder. It took her a moment to figure out which direction to push the tiller so the boat turned out to sea. The sails were folded, but she could feel the ship gaining speed as Fane and the others rowed hard below.

  Bilik took one set of stairs to the quarterdeck, Giddho the other, and they converged on her from either side. They moved with tense caution, their postures spread wide as if they expected her to make a run for it. If this was going to work, that was exactly what Lizneth had to do.

  “Think you know how to sail, do ya?” Bilik said. “You gonna crew this ship all by yourself?” His voice bore the brusqueness of stifled anger, his expression menacing.

  Not for the first time, Lizneth noticed the ring of keys at his waist, containing the master key that unlocked every manacle on board. She relaxed her body, hoping it would make them do the same. “I was thinking I’d leave that part up to you. We’re in open water, and Curznack and his brood-brothers are none the wiser. It’ll be a long day before they know we’re gone. The ship is yours now. I’d set the sails if I were you… Captain.”

  Bilik stopped short, less than a fathom away, and gave Lizneth a critical frown. “Don’t be dumb. Do you know what Curznack and his family will do when they realize the ship is gone?”

  “They’re back there, and we’re out here,” Lizneth said. “I’m not too worried about it.”

  “You should be.” Bilik took two quick steps forward and swung a fist at Lizneth’s head. She leaned back against the tiller, and the blow glanced off her snout. The ship pitched, throwing him toward her, but she ducked and snatched the key ring from his belt as she darted past him.

  Leaping the railing, she landed on the main deck and rolled, stumbling to her feet at a run toward the rowing hold door. More of the crew came pouring from their quarters, and the two taskmasters made a dash across the front of the ship to intercept Lizneth’s approach. She sidestepped one of them and whipped her tail across his face, biting back the jolt of pain it caused her.

  The second taskmaster was closing in fast as she reached the door. She yanked it open and slid through, but she found no way to lock it from the inside. Grabbing the handrails, she lifted herself and vaulted down the stairs. She heard the taskmaster fling the door open and fly down after her, right on her heels. It was her tail he caught hold of first, stripping the skin in a tight-clawed grip as she ran. He pulled himself along and dropped onto her, buffeting her from behind and forcing her to the ground.

  Lizneth managed to get an arm free as she fell, and she flung the key ring into the hold for all she was worth. It struck the ceiling and landed just in front of her; she’d let go too late. Fane reached out a foot, his claw scratching the deck a mere fingerbreadth away from the key ring. The taskmaster spotted the keys and climbed over Lizneth, pushing her face into the floor. Fane whipped his tail through the ring and lifted it, slowly, slowly, until he’d brought it close enough to touch. Lizneth held her breath. If even one of the slaves could get free now, there was a chance they could free enough of the others to fight off the crew.

  The key ring dangled from the end of Fane’s tail, his hand an instant away from snatching it. Then there was another hand—the taskmaster’s, and it sent the keys flying into the drums with a deft slap. Lizneth reached for them, but the stairs behind her were stirring with heavy footsteps, and before she knew it there were crewmembers flooding the hold. They hauled her up by the scruff of the neck, and Bilik gave her the bashing he’d meant to give her earlier. Bells rang in her head, and pulsing spots swam through her vision.

  “Check all their cuffs. Make sure none of them got unlocked,” Bilik said. “And zholiqeh… turn this ship around.”

  Bilik dragged Lizneth up the stairs by her chains, led her across the deck, and threw her into the cargo hold by herself.

  “You’re afraid of Curznack, aren’t you? Is that why you’re going back to port?” Lizneth said, hoping for a reaction.

  “One more word, and I’ll take a hammer to those longteeth,” Bilik said, slamming the hatch shut. The sound was deafening.

  The square patches of light shining through the hatch were the only illumination in the hold. Lizneth looked around. The rest of the prize slaves had been brought ashore and sold. She was alone, and when the ship docked again, Curznack would be waiting.

  CHAPTER 27

  The Way

  Raith Entradi woke to the sound of a very near gunshot. Purple droplets spattered his green nyleen tent and dribbled down the side. The tent’s mesh window framed the city skyline within its zippered border. Blighted buildings stood outlined against the morning sky, so close he could see them clear through the heat haze; gruesome hulks of shattered glass and crumpled concrete. Belmond. They’d reached the city while he slept, locked away in his fever dream and dismantled from the waking world. If he’d been under the impression that things had gone as planned, the gunshot was reason to think otherwise.

  A man’s thigh, clothed in mottled gray cargo pants, crowded into frame outside the tent’s window, swiping the skyline from view. Next came the barrel and fore grip of a rifle. Raith heard the man poke open the nyleen flap of the tent next to him.

  “Up. On your feet, let’s go.” The voice was gruff and throaty with its first uses after sleep.

  “Wh—who are you? What’s this about?” This voice belonged to Rostand Beige, Hastle’s grandson, who’d fallen lightsick the day before Raith had.

  “Can you stand, mister? I got orders to kill anybody who can’t walk. I don’t want to waste my time on somebody who ain’t gonna make it, but I won’t waste a good bullet on somebody who is. You gonna make it, mister?”

  “I can stand,” said Rostand, sitting up with a grimace. Raith could see him through the side window, past the mesh of the other tent.

  The soldier offered Ros a hand. Raith heard the young man’s feet thump on the ground when he climbed down off the flatbed.

  It would be Raith’s turn now.

  “Anyone alive in there?” The soldier lifted Raith’s tent flap with the tip of his rifle and peeked inside.

  “I’m alive, and I can stand,” Raith said. “Give me some space. I won’t make any trouble.” Crab-walking through the opening, Raith lowered himself to the ground. He stood leaning against the flatbed, woozy and a little dazed. He ran his fingers through a week’s worth of oils to brush the hair out of his eyes. His ears were still ringing from the gunshot, and his vision hadn’t adjusted to the daylight yet.

  It was early morning, growing hotter. Ros was standing there with a horrified look on his face, staring at something over Raith’s shoulder. When he turned to face the city, the sight almost took Raith’s knees out from under him.

  Carnage in the sand, for hundreds of feet in every direction. Vultures were feasting on fragments of men Raith had known all his life. Soldiers were wandering the expanse, looking for survivors, picking over the bodies, and even shooing the birds away so they could loot the corpses. One soldier was holding a collection of ornamental bone necklaces he’d nabbed from the carcasses of the hunters. Another was wearing the brown leather boots that had belonged to Sarl Sandonne.

  Raith hadn’t cried in years. The aching in his chest reminded him of the day his mother had died, and his father, a few years before that; that sense of childlike helplessness
, of having been cheated out of something you could never have prevented. These were innocent men, each of them born within the confines of Decylum. They were her children, her sons.

  When the soldiers had finished rounding up the survivors, they numbered only six. Along with Raith and Rostand Beige, there were the hunters Derrow Leonard and Frasier Dent, the latter of whom was Laagon Dent’s nephew, the son of his brother Erach. There was also an engineer named Sombit Quentin, and the old apothecary, Theodar Urial. Six men left of the eighty-or-so they’d departed Decylum with. There had to be others, somewhere.

  One of the soldiers, a narrow-eyed veteran with slender shoulders and a thick faceful of hair, began to look them over, paying particular attention to Raith’s hands. “We got a bit of a march ahead of us,” he said. “Anyone feels like you’re not gonna make it, say so. I don’t want to shoot nobody, but I will if I have to. Any questions?”

  Raith lifted a hand.

  “Yeah—big fella. What is it?”

  “Who are you, and why are we being detained?”

  The veteran looked annoyed. “You never heard of the Scarred before?”

  “We come from a long distance away,” Raith said. “Longer than the reach of your repute, ostensibly.”

  The soldier looked puzzled. He leaned over and whispered to one of his men, “What’d he say?”

  “I said no. I haven’t heard of you.” Raith and the others had heard of the Scarred, but he figured feigning ignorance was a good way to learn more about them.

  “Well, then. We’re the Scarred Comrades, the Army of North Belmond. I’m Sergeant Tym Juniper. Pleased to meet you.”

  Raith pursed his lips. “Ah. There must be quite a number of you, for you to consider yourselves an army. This little contingent doesn’t look like much.”

  The Sergeant counted on his fingers. “Thirty-fi’ hundred or so, far as I can reckon it. ‘Course there’s less now, on account of that little attack of yours last night.”

  “I’m sure we didn’t attack anybody,” Raith said. “We’re here to gather scrap. Stone, wood and metal, nothing more. I wish I could tell you what happened, but I was out cold. Some of us were sick from the journey, you see, sleeping…” He turned to his fellows. “Do any of you know what happened last night?”