by J. C. Staudt
Duffy looked sicker still, but he nodded.
Daxin gave his crew a visual check. Eivan and Biyo were sitting on Duffy’s shoulders, his hands in theirs. Biyo was tucked into the fetal position, his eyes clenched shut and his head resting on his knees.
Daxin looked at Ellicia. “We need to do this in tandem. You ever cut down a tree with a two-person saw?”
“No.”
Daxin shrugged. “Now’s a good time to learn. You take one side, I’ll take the other. Toward me first. Everyone ready?”
When Daxin touched the cold steel of the hacksaw blade to Duffy’s leg, Duffy twitched and started breathing faster. Daxin imagined himself doing it, dragging the blade in and biting through the leg in a few thorough strokes. It would take more than a few, he knew. Duffy was in for the worst pain of his life, but it was the only thing that would free him from the toxin that flowed in his veins. It was the only thing that would free the people of Dryhollow Split from the threat of the voranic tarragons who might be on their way toward them even now. The crowd had gathered again, but Daxin didn’t try to separate them this time. He was too focused on the task at hand. He gave Ellicia one final look before he gripped the saw handle and pulled.
The shadows of the dead trees were swaying in the wind as Daxin spurred his mare toward the oncoming storm, cracked ground collapsing beneath her hooves. Lightning strobed in the graying gloom, crackling white trails with coronas of purple and blue and orange. A stained canvas sack bounced from the back of the saddle, darkening the mare’s chestnut coat. The horizon came and went, and when the thunder was so loud it felt like an earthquake in Daxin’s chest, he found a sturdy tree and fastened the bag to a low-hanging branch. That should slow them down, a little. Maybe. He hadn’t told the villagers that the sanddragons could swim, and he wouldn’t tell them that they could climb, either. The canvas sack began to drip red. The parched earth drank the moisture and left pink blotches behind.
Performing a hopping dismount onto his good foot, Daxin doused his mare’s flank with one of his waterskins and scrubbed her with a rag to remove the tainted blood. Then he tossed the bloody rag away and made for the cave with the storm coming in hard on his heels. There was more to this storm, more to the sanddragons, than the danger alone. He could handle a little rain. They might even be able to kill a few lizards, if it came to that. It was being detained from what he had to do that distressed Daxin the most. He thought of a time not too long ago, when he might’ve been able to change the course of events that had brought things to the way they were now.
It was the day, little more than a year ago, that his brother Toler had returned from Unterberg. He remembered the sound of Toler’s quick, deliberate rapping on the front door; how the swelter of midday had enveloped him as he opened it; the look of Toler’s tired outline in the doorway; the joyful embrace his little brother had given him, and the cloud of clay-red dust the embrace had produced. The two brothers had stepped into the foyer to talk. It was as far into the house as Toler would come for a long time thereafter. Most of all, Daxin remembered the way Toler’s news had struck him like a hard blow.
“I’m getting married, Dax,” Toler had said proudly.
Daxin had been excited at first. “Wow, you are? To who?”
“You’re never gonna believe this, but… Reylenn Vantanible.”
Daxin had laughed. He remembered how the laugh had sounded, hollow and contrived. “Come on. Stop joking.”
“I’m not joking, Dax. I’m marrying Nichel Vantanible’s daughter. He gave me permission and everything. This is happening.”
Daxin had seen the look of complete sincerity on his brother’s face. “You’re not joking,” he’d repeated.
“Nope. Listen, there’s something really important I need to talk to you about. I wanted to ask—”
“How could you do this? How could you let yourself fall in love with a member of that family? Wasn’t it enough of a red flag that her last name was Vantanible to make you stay away?”
“Dax… what are you saying? Listen to yourself. I want you to be happy for me.”
“Why would you think I could ever be happy about this? As if it wasn’t bad enough that you started working for them. Now you’re going to spoil our family line by mixing with those despicable people?”
Toler was stunned, as if in pain. “I can’t believe you. This is the woman I love.”
“And she’s the last woman on the planet you should marry.”
“Okay. Great. Well, I wanted to let you know that I’m taking my half of the crates out of the shipping yard. I’m selling them to Nichel for a little extra cash so Reylenn and I can start our life together.”
“You want to bring our crates to him? Not a chance. Not while I’m in charge of this household.” Daxin had been shouting, unaware before then that his voice could attain such a volume.
“Half those crates are mine, and I want my half,” Toler had said. “Don’t tell me what to do with my own property. They’re just sitting there, locked up in that vacant lot, rusting. It’s not like I’m asking for half the livestock, trying to take away your livelihood and starve everybody in Bradsleigh to death. Those crates mean nothing to you. You’ve always hated them. You hate having to chase away all the vagrants and clean up after the people who die in there. You’ve never once had a good use for them.”
“They’re yours, are they?” Daxin had said. “Take them. Good luck making them fly over the fence, because the keys are mine, and I’m not giving you those.”
Toler had breathed a frustrated sigh, like a steam engine overheating. “Coff it, Dax. Come on. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Why, Toler? Why do you want to do this? I used to think working for Vantanible was the worst kind of betrayal you could’ve pulled, but this takes it by a horizon.”
Toler had groaned. “Not this betrayal bullshit again. How many times, Dax… I’m not betraying you. This isn’t some plot to ruin your life and disgrace our family. Nobody cares about our reputation except you, in your head. The only actual problem you have with giving me those crates is that you’re gonna see them on one of the trains that comes through here someday, painted over with the Vantanible logo. I want to put them to use, and since Vantanible is the only trading company around, that’s who I’m selling them to.”
“You’re selling them to Vantanible because he promised you his daughter in exchange,” Daxin shot back. “This is about her. You’re so smitten that you’re forgetting who you are and everything we’ve ever been taught. Dad and Grandpa worked their entire lives to preserve this family…” Daxin’s voice dragged and fell away, and in that moment he couldn’t help but see his almost grown-up brother as the boy he’d once been.
“The things you think are important, Dax. I don’t care about them,” Toler had said.
It had surprised Daxin to hear Toler respond with such calm in that sharp, eloquent voice of his. Toler would’ve been a stirring public speaker, if he’d had the desire. Many times, Daxin had imagined him standing in the square before the whole town, in years after his passing, when Toler had become the father and grandfather of his own children. There was a hush over them, a silent rapture as his voice rang clear and strident, speaking courage into the people who depended on him. That boy had a rare type of charisma without even trying to; a charisma that was about to be utterly wasted on the life he’d chosen for himself.
“If you won’t let me take the crates… fine,” Toler had said. “But they’re not some kind of dowry, like you seem to think. I’m going to marry Reylenn, and there’s no set of keys you can use to lock her away from me.”
“Oh, I know. If there were anything I could do to stop you, believe me—I would,” Daxin had said. Toler’s words had stung him, and he had begun to forge his own cruelty. “Those people are filth, and so is the girl. If you end up with her, you can count Savannah and I out of it. Out of everything.”
“It’s that serious to you, huh?” Toler had tucked his tongue into hi
s bottom lip. “It’s a good thing I don’t live and die for your approval, Dax.”
“Okay, get out. Get. Out. You’re not welcome in this house. This place was built on the sweat of Glaives, and you’ve given up your right to be here.” It was almost a whisper. Did I just disown my own brother? Daxin had thought, as Toler closed the door behind him. The dust on the foyer floor was the only evidence that his brother had been there at all.
Daxin raised his hood when he felt the first raindrops. The winds blowing off the storm were pulling the rain sideways, and his mare whinnied as she shook herself dry. It began to drizzle just as the flat rock that formed the roof of Dryhollow Split came into sight. By the time Daxin reached the overhang, tiny bombshells were battering the ground, leaving miniature craters as if it were an insect-sized combat zone.
The cave was in pandemonium. Makeshift sandbags were piled at the entrance, but the stack was less than a foot high. That was probably a waste of time, Daxin thought, leading his mare over the meager pile.
Finding his cubby, he tossed the saddlebags onto the ledge and grabbed his ragged blanket, using it to wipe down his horse. Blemishes covered his hands and forearms where the raindrops had hit bare skin. He removed his hood-scarf, boots, leathers, and tunic, leaving on his socks and underclothes, which were the only things the rain hadn’t touched.
“Luther.”
Daxin turned to see Ellicia running to greet him. She had smiled when she first saw him, but as she drew closer, the look on her face turned fearful.
“Oh no, look at you. How much did you get rained on?”
“I’ll live. Is there a fire going?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Take my clothes and soak them in some clean water. Don’t worry about the leathers, they’ll be fine. Just the tunic and the hood-scarf. Dry them out over the fire.”
Ellicia whisked the pile of clothes away without another word.
Daxin needed to bathe, he knew. The itchy red marks on his skin would either recede, or they would start to burn after a few minutes, depending on how corrosive the rain was. He followed Ellicia to the village’s water stores and rinsed himself and his mare with what little there was to spare.
Ellicia hung his things above the fire. The tunic had sustained only minor damage at the shoulders, but there were a dozen tiny, irregular holes in his gray woolen hood-scarf. The villagers continued their bustling, making up for lost time. No one wanted to believe this would turn into a worst-case scenario, but Daxin knew the importance of being ready for anything, especially out here in the wild. The soil above them was thirsty; salt, sand and dry red dust. The rain would decimate it without the least bit of trouble. There would be erosion. Daxin had seen it happen to the hillsides in Bradsleigh. And when the water churned with ichor and sought to carry it off like a slaver bearing fresh captives, it would search for rest in low places. Places like the cave, their only shelter from the rain that had begun to beat down on the world above.
CHAPTER 34
The Darkness Through the Doorway
“Your scearib is trouble,” Bilik said. “That lequinzhe bit me.”
“Was this before or after you let her hijack my boat?” It was Curznack’s voice, sparing no trace of venom.
Lizneth could hear them talking above, just outside the cargo hold, as the crew stocked the ship with provisions for the next leg of their voyage. She could hear barrels rumbling across the deck, crates being lowered and slid into place. It had been hours since Bilik had thrown her down here; since he’d returned the Halcyon to port and alerted Curznack of her attempt to sail away. She’d spent the time as constructively as she could, knowing that when the Captain boarded, she was the first ikzhe he’d want to see. She stopped what she was doing and stood beside a support beam, the thumb and forefinger on each of her hands bloody and stripped of their skin.
Bilik was silent.
“Open it,” Curznack said.
The padlock clicked. Someone threw the hatch wide, and Curznack stomped down the stairs. His eyes were set in their usual cast, as black and cold as the waters of the Omnekh. He bounded toward her without a word and knocked her to the floor as the hatch slammed shut above them. His strikes were hard and impassioned, fists opening new avenues of pain in her face and sides. He was breathing hard, grunts escaping him of their own accord, and Lizneth knew it was the wound from Morish’s thug that was straining him.
She clenched her entire body and prepared to undergo the worst beating yet, knowing it was unlikely to end soon. In that fearful moment, while Curznack made Lizneth the sole focus of his unrelenting fury, she went back to Tanley. She felt the damp earth in her hands, saw the drops of dew hanging from the mulligraws, heard the laughter of her siblings as they played games between the stalks while her parents strolled by, arm in arm. Memories came back like flashes of light, and she thought about what it would feel like to die. Maybe the bruises Curznack left would fill her with blood and drown her from the inside.
If that were about to happen, she realized, there was no reason not to fight back.
Driven by that desperate thought, Lizneth shot both arms straight up, one on either side of Curznack’s head. She whipped one hand around his neck and snapped the chain of her manacles tight around his throat, pulling his head into her chest. He tried to lift himself, but she forced his hands out from under him with her elbows, kicked his legs away, and locked her arms like steel vices. His swings kept coming as the gurgling sounds began to escape him, though his arms didn’t yield the same force from up close.
“Stop it,” Lizneth screamed. “Stop it, or I’ll kill you, I swear it.”
She pulled harder, the manacles digging through her fur, gnawing at the skin on her wrists. Curznack’s arms were more flailing now than swinging, his breaths staggered and rasping. Even under threat of death, Curznack seemed reluctant to admit she could get ever the best of him, and he continued to struggle against her. The fight grew more and more in her favor as the life went out of him. Lizneth never let up for a second.
The hatch opened again, and in the lantern glow from above she could see Bilik skittering down the stairs and crossing the hold toward them. She thought of Curznack’s dagger, and although she could feel his scabbard with her leg, there was no way to reach for it without releasing her hold.
Bilik was almost to them, and she decided it was worth the risk. She swung her hand back around to let the chain loose and fumbled at Curznack’s waist for the hilt of his dagger. He sucked in an abraded breath, then made several wheezing coughs.
Bilik pulled the Captain away and bent down to grab her. He must not have heard the blade sliding from Curznack’s scabbard, or seen its wet green veneer glistening in the dark. He didn’t notice it in her hand either, pressed to the floor beside her leg.
But he felt it.
She saw that first moment of terrible realization come over his face as he leaned over her. The first twitch of his lip, and the surprise that flashed in his eyes. His balance faltered. He stepped forward, then leaned back and straightened, putting a hand to his belly. Lizneth was still holding the dagger, and she scrambled backward on heels and elbows as Bilik began to tip. His groan preceded his fall, and he crashed to the deck like a great tree felled by a woodsman’s axe.
Bilik didn’t so much as put his hands out to break his fall as he hit the deck face first. Curznack was stirring. The dagger felt heavy and awkward in Lizneth’s hands, the kind of foreign thing she’d never had the occasion or desire to use. She rolled to her feet and lunged at Curznack, making a clumsy slash that caught him on the shoulder. It would’ve been a minor wound from any normal blade, but with this dagger, it was enough.
Curznack’s face screwed up tight, half from the cut itself and half because he knew what it meant. His body shuddered as the wound began to weep. Bilik was still alive, his abdomen rising off the floor with each slow breath. This green sludge is doing its work, Lizneth thought. It frightened her to think of how dangerous it was. She’d seen as
much behind the levee in Bolck-Azock, when Curznack had dropped Morish’s thugs like two sacks of grain. She felt a sudden sense of unease, knowing that the two bucks laying on the floor in front of her were dying; she’d never even thought about killing anyone before. There would be the need for more killing if anyone gave her trouble on her way to the rowing hold. Using the dagger again might be the only way to make sure she got there.
Curznack was slumped against the wall, breathing in shallow gasps, swallowing air as if the hold were running out of it. Kneeling beside him, Lizneth unbuckled his belt and put it on. Curznack reached out with a weak hand, but she batted it away. She looked down and saw what he was after: four vials, shaped like teardrops, tucked into a band of specially-fashioned pockets along the belt. The liquid inside them was clear purple, enough for only a sip each. Lizneth held up the dagger when he reached for her again, slashing weakly at his hand to make him pull it back. He tried again, his fingers catching on the top of the belt.
“Is this what you want?” Lizneth asked, brushing his hand away to let it fall into his lap. “It’s the antidote. That’s what it is, isn’t it? Well, I’ll give you one of these vials. All you have to do is fulfill one of your promises to me. See me home safely. Or let me meet the brood-brothers you came here to find. Or…” she laughed, “come over here and beh dyagth zhuk.” She surprised herself, talking like that.
Curznack mumbled something, but she couldn’t make it out.
“What’s that?” she said, mocking him. For a moment she hesitated as she watched him lying there, saw the fear in his eyes as the poison took hold. How could she let herself do this? Even to Curznack, after all his unforgivable offenses. She was no murderer. This was about survival, and about getting home to her family. For what little consolation it gave her, she tried to satisfy herself in knowing it was the poison doing the work of killing him, not her.
“You promised me so much, and yet you gave me nothing,” Lizneth said. She was throbbing all over, her head pounding. Sore, tired, starved, and now beaten to a pulp, she felt as though she could’ve fallen down and died along with them. Her words came out slurred and ungainly, parts of her face feeling fat and numb. “First you promised me safety. Then… you told me you’d sire your litter on me. You said it in front of the whole galley. And you said you’d introduce me to your brood-brothers.”
