Rosemarked

by Livia Blackburne

  I drop the knife.

  “I wouldn’t really have killed you,” I say through gritted teeth. It occurs to me that I may be less than convincing under these circumstances.

  She sets her candle on a wall holder. “Diadem is gentle. She only bites if provoked, or if I ask her to. Stay still.”

  The snake bobs its head back and forth as the healer runs her hands over my body. Word around the Shidadi camp is that Dara maidens are modest, but this one’s not shy at all about where she puts her hands. I’d enjoy it more if there wasn’t a snake bobbing within kissing distance from my face. It’s not long before she discovers the daggers at my waist. I remain silent as she removes them, but I can’t help sucking in a breath when she presses on my injured ankle.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Zenagua take you,” I snarl.

  She runs her hand over the swelling. “It’s not broken, but you’ll risk much greater harm if you run any farther tonight. Put your hands behind your back. Move slowly, or you’ll startle the snake.”

  As if she needed to remind me. Rough twine digs into my skin.

  “Do you know what the empire will do to me if you turn me over?” I say. “You might as well kill me now. It would be a mercy.”

  Her only response is to pull the knots tighter. Then she circles around to look at me again. I must look sufficiently subdued, because she holds out her hand to the snake and whistles a low tone. My limbs go weak as the accursed creature finally slides off my arm.

  “You lost your right to counsel me when you drew that knife,” she says.

  The healer takes a quick look around the shed and bends down to inspect the cages I’d knocked over. She lifts some of them back onto the shelves, and then frowns at a small cage that’s splintered open. “You’ve freed one of my scorpions. It’s probably already found its way outside, but you might want to avoid making sudden movements.”

  Then she takes the candle and walks out.

  I shut the shed door, slamming the crossbar down so hard the entire structure shudders. Then I collapse against the shed, wrapping my trembling fingers around the bar and squeezing until my knuckles turn white. I can still hear the Shidadi warrior’s voice, see the light reflecting off his dagger. If I hadn’t had Diadem on my wrist, or if he’d acted just a moment faster…

  That nomad is almost certainly the reason for the earlier commotion. I don’t know why Amparan soldiers were after him, but now I must decide what to do. The man just tried to kill me. I owe him nothing, and I could be punished greatly if I’m found to be helping him. Yet something about his plea for mercy clings to my skin—the desperation, the familiar specter of having suffered at Ampara’s hands.

  Leaves rustle, and an Amparan soldier steps into view. He stops in his tracks, disoriented by the sudden absence of foliage. Then his eyes focus on me.

  “Who are you?”

  He addresses me like a servant, and I feel myself straightening in reaction to his tone. In that moment, I make my decision. “Stay back, soldier, I’m rosemarked.”

  My words have their usual effect. The soldier stumbles away from me, and I speak again while I have the advantage. “What is it you seek?”

  “I seek a fugitive. He was running in this direction.” He looks at my cottage, at the shed, at the surrounding forest. Anything except me. Though the Goddess frowns on deception, I feel no guilt as I frame my lie.

  “I came out to tend to my serpents. I’ve seen nothing awry.”

  The soldier takes another step back at the mention of serpents. When he notices me watching, he clears his throat, doing his best to regain his authority. “Send word to the village if you see anything suspicious.”

  Just then, another soldier runs into the clearing. He takes a step toward me, but his comrade shouts, “Stop! She’s plague-ridden.”

  As if I cannot hear every word he’s saying.

  I bow my head. “Thank you, sirs, for the warning about the fugitive. I will send notice if I see anything unusual. You are free to search my house, but as a healer I cannot guarantee your safety from infection.” My palms are sweating, and I’m sure my face gives me away, but the soldiers seem more interested in keeping their distance than evaluating my truthfulness.

  The first soldier turns to the other. “Come,” he says. “If he’s hiding here, the plague will get him for us.” I suppose they didn’t get a good look at the nomad’s umbermarks.

  “Be careful in the dark, sirs,” I add as they turn to go. “One of my scorpions just escaped its cage.”

  The soldiers walk faster.

  After they’re gone, I return to my cottage. I can see the shed through my window, and my nervous gaze wanders repeatedly back as I gather my things. I think I tied the nomad securely, but there’s no way to be sure, and I won’t risk opening the door again to check. Hanging on a hook by my bed is the blowgun I use to hunt the occasional wren or fox. The darts won’t fell a man, but at least they would slow him down. I slip the dart blower under my sash. It’s as long as my arm and hampers my walking, but I feel safer.

  Now there’s the question of what to do with my prisoner. Our leader, Tal, should be told about the nomad in our midst. I’m only allowed to approach our village during a crisis, but I think these circumstances warrant it. First though, I must wait until the Amparans have given up their search, which means I should at least wait until morning. The nomad should be able to survive overnight without food or water. Not comfortably, perhaps, but he gave up his claim to comfort when he raised a knife to my throat.

  I bar my door shut before I go to bed and sleep fully clothed. All night, I toss under my blankets, startling awake at the slightest sound, and it’s only near dawn when I fall into a deeper slumber.

  When I awaken again, the sun is bright. At first I’m unsure what woke me, but then a cacophony of birdcalls draws me to the window. Several dark shapes circle the shed, beating their wings and chattering at the top of their lungs. I remember hearing before that the nomads tame crows.

  I grab my dart blower and step outside.

  “Go!” I wave the tube at the birds, and they fly higher. “Leave before I shoot you down.”

  Between the indignant cawing and fluttering of wings, I don’t even notice the nomad woman until she’s five steps away. When I finally see her, my shouts die on my lips. She’s the fiercest-looking woman I’ve ever seen—older and shorter than me, but she has the look of a boulder with her muscular arms and thick chest. If the nomad man I faced earlier was a lightning bolt, I have no doubt that this woman is the thundercloud behind him.

  The woman stops abruptly, puzzled. “A cottage out here?” she asks in Amparan. She stands with a forward tilt, as if ready to charge.

  I raise my blowgun. The nomad woman’s eyes widen and she puts up her hands appeasingly. Then the leaves part again, and our village leader steps out. Tal? The nomad woman only gives him a cursory glance.

  Tal’s mouth drops open. “Zivah,” he says. He turns to the nomad. “Why are we—”

  The nomad woman points to the shed. “My man’s in there.”

  Tal stares at the shed. “You are sure?”

  “That’s what the crows say.”

  I look between them, trying to make sense of what’s happening. The two of them speak like they know each other, and there seems to be confusion but no ill will between them. If that’s true, then what does that say about the man in the shed?

  “Zivah,” says Tal. “Is this true? Warlord Gatha is a friend of our village. You may speak freely.”

  When did Tal start dealing with Shidadi warlords? The two of them are quite the mismatched pair. Tal’s a head taller than she and about half as wide, though they address each other as equals.

  “I found a nomad warrior in my shed,” I say. “He tried to kill me.”

  Tal straightens in alarm, and Gatha mutters something under her breath. She’s not pleased, but her ire doesn’t seem directed at me.

  “Are you hurt?” Tal asks.

&n
bsp; “No. I was able to subdue him. That’s why he’s locked in the shed.”

  Gatha stops muttering and looks me up and down. “You teach your girls to fight?” she asks Tal.

  Tal gives a weak shake of his head. “No,” he says. “Zivah is a healer. She—”

  “I have a purple-headed serpent that responds to my commands.”

  Gatha gives a low whistle. It’s hard to tell, but Tal seems to be suppressing a smile.

  “Well, you’ve sparked my curiosity, young healer,” says Gatha, “and I apologize for my warrior. Is he hurt?”

  “He twisted an ankle, but he should be otherwise unharmed. That is, unless he’s found some way to provoke one of my creatures.”

  This time, Tal’s shoulders are definitely shaking.

  Gatha takes one step closer. “May I speak with him?”

  I glance at Tal, who nods. I still don’t understand what he’s doing, but he’s never given me reason to doubt him.

  “Come this way.” I turn toward the shed. “Be careful not to touch anything. I’m rosemarked, and I don’t take precautions within my own home.”

  My crows have gotten a lot more…exuberant in my absence. When I woke in the middle of the night to find Slicewing in the shed with me, I could have kissed that bird square on her crooked beak. Sending her off with a command to bring Gatha had seemed a good move at the time. But when I’m woken hours later by what can only be described as a crow screaming contest outside, I’m no longer so sure. It’s morning now, and I sorely hope that the Amparans have already left. I make a mental note to work with my birds on subtlety—that is, if I make it out alive.

  I open my mouth to quiet the dratted crows, but my parched throat only produces a croak. My limbs creak from being in the cold all night, and I have rope burns on my wrist. My ankle’s swelled to twice its size.

  Then I hear human voices under the crows. They’re speaking Amparan, but it doesn’t sound like soldiers. One voice sounds blessedly familiar.

  The door swings open. I squint up at the light to see the healer at the door. Behind her stand Gatha and Tal.

  Gatha looks down at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Well, Dineas, I worried when you didn’t return, but I never imagined finding you on the floor of a healer’s shed. I sent you to Dara to build bonds, not to pull a blade on a passerby.”

  I bow my head, an awkward act since I’m trussed up like a pig. “Sorry.”

  But I can’t help wonder. If Gatha spent a year in the Amparan dungeons, would she still be willing to let her freedom hang on the goodwill of a Dara stranger?

  “It is I who must apologize,” says Tal. “I should have kept the messenger away from you.”

  I glare at the ground in front of me. My warlord’s disappointment is hard to take, but I don’t need a Dara man defending me.

  “Did the Amparans give you trouble last night, Tal?” Gatha asks.

  “I had one of my men release some livestock and stage a robbery. The soldiers seemed to believe Dineas was simply here to raid our stores. The entire contingent left this morning.”

  Decently quick thinking on his part. Gatha nods her approval and turns toward the healer. “I’m still trying to understand what happened. What do you mean you subdued him with a snake?”

  For the first time, I get a good look at this healer. In the daylight, her rosemarks stand out like pools of blood, and I wonder how I could ever have missed them, even in the candlelight. In other ways, she looks the typical Dara maiden. Long black hair pulled back in a braid, homespun drab dress worn under a bright blue apron. She’d be attractive if not for the plague marks—she’s tall for a girl, with full lips and large eyes. But when I look at her now, all I see is death.

  She catches me looking at her, and a flash of annoyance crosses her face before she addresses Gatha. “My snake, ­Diadem, does what I ask,” she says. “If you look inside, you will see the rest of the creatures I keep.”

  Gatha pulls her arms close as she comes in, careful not to touch the doorway. “I’ll congratulate you, young Zivah. There are very few who have bested Dineas one-on-one.”

  Bested by a Dara maiden. I’ll have no peace at the campfire tonight.

  “With all due respect, Warlord,” I say, “the snake made it two-on-one.”

  Gatha snorts. “Are you injured, Dineas?” She’s peering with interest over my head at the cages beyond.

  “A twisted ankle and a few scrapes.”

  She steps over me for a closer look at the blackarmor scorpion. “Thirsty? Hungry?”

  “Yes, Warlord.” Even the act of forming those words pulls uncomfortably on my parched lips.

  “I imagine you would be.” Gatha looks at each cage in turn, taking her time now that she knows I won’t drop dead. I know better than to complain. Finally, she crosses her arms over her chest, looks down at me, and sighs. “Well then, let’s get you free.”

  “Let me get his ropes,” says Zivah. She takes a knife out of her apron and cuts through the twine with several deft strokes. I hiss, and flex my fingers as blood rushes into my hands. Zivah dips a bowl of water from a nearby barrel and passes it to me, eyeing me like she’s afraid I’ll haul off and punch her. The thought does have its appeal, especially since she’s not wearing her snake anymore. But thirst wins out, and I content myself with gulping down the contents of the bowl. By the time I finish, Zivah’s untied my legs. I pull myself onto numb feet and limp outside like a drunkard.

  As Tal and Zivah make their way toward her cottage, Gatha holds out an arm to support me. “One messenger and three soldiers?” she asks under her breath. “Regular fighters?”

  “They struck me more as hired bodyguards. Nothing special.”

  Gatha frowns. “And they caught you by surprise?”

  I suppress a nervous roll of my shoulders. I’ve managed to hide the full extent of my flashbacks from Gatha so far, but this one had come at the worst possible time. “Got careless, I guess,” I say.

  She gives me a strange look, but Tal and Zivah have stopped to wait for us.

  Gatha nods at Tal. “Thank you for protecting my fighter. We will be in touch.”

  In the corner of my eye, I see Zivah sigh in relief.

  The village leader raises his hand. “Actually, Gatha, if you are able to stay longer, we may have more to discuss.”

  Gatha leans back in surprise. “Right now?”

  “You say you’ve been trying to get inside the Amparan army. I think there’s a way.” Tal looks to me and Zivah. “It involves these two.”

  Must the man detain us now? I’m tired and stiff, and I’ve had my share of humiliation for the day. Also, I don’t like how he just grouped me and the healer together.

  My warlord nods decisively. “Speak, then. We have time.”

  Tal turns to Zivah. “Is there anywhere we might sit?”

  “Under the awning,” Zivah says. “I never touch the chairs, so it should be safe for you and the warlord.”

  Funny that I’m the only one who can enter her home with no fear of plague. But I doubt we’ll be feeling the kinship of fellow plague survivors anytime soon. As Zivah leads the others away, I lag behind and whistle for the crows. Preener comes to sit on my shoulder. “Scout,” I command softly. He takes wing, ready to sound the alarm if anyone comes close. Call me paranoid, but I’m not about to entrust my safety to this Tal character.

  Once we’re settled, Tal speaks again. “I suppose some background is necessary for the two of you to understand what Gatha and I have been working toward. As you might know, Dara leaders have long advocated for peace in the face of the Amparan invasion.”

  I make a disdainful sound in the back of my throat. I suppose “peace” is one way to frame cowardice. Gatha glares at me.

  Tal continues speaking. “But the yoke of the Amparans is hard to carry. Over the past years, they’ve demanded greater and greater tribute, and recent events make me fear that things will get even worse. This is why I first made contact with Gatha. We�
��ve been sharing information to see how we can help each other.”

  Help each other. Would Tal really take up a sword and fight alongside us for freedom?

  “Leader Tal,” asks Zivah, “are you thinking open rebellion?” From the shock in her voice, you’d think Tal was suggesting they dig up ancestral graves. Gods forbid a Dara maiden get her hands dirty.

  “We won’t fight Ampara unless the alternative is untenable. But if it comes to the point where we have no choice but to resist, I want us to be ready.” The village leader turns to me. “How good a fighter are you?”

  “Good enough.” I suppose I could tell him more. That I’m quick with dual swords, though my wrists have only recently regained their old strength. That I can shoot an Amparan cavalry man in the throat and hit two more before the first one falls off his horse. That I’m an aggressive grappler who prefers to choke my opponents from the back. But what would be the point?

  “He’s one of my best,” Gatha says. “Joined my lead fighters when he was fifteen.”

  Fighting at fifteen and captured at seventeen. These days, being an elite fighter just means you die sooner.

  “Could you match Ampara’s elite?” Tal presses. “If you were one of them, could you stand out enough to catch a commander’s eye?”

  I have to give him credit. He really does seem interested, and his question intrigues me. I think back to what I know of the Amparans, the bits I’ve gleaned from the madness of battle. The Amparans always defeat us, but they do it on strength of numbers, not skill. How would I do if I faced the dogs one-on-one?

  “Yes,” I say.

  Gatha doesn’t blink at my answer, which gives me some satisfaction.

  “Well then,” Tal says to Gatha. “You’ve been wanting to get inside Ampara’s heart, strike at their leaders. I may have a way to put Dineas in their ranks.”

  Gatha frowns. “We’ve been through this, Tal. You need papers to join the army, proof of birth, and citizenship. Even if we forged good counterfeits, having him in some remote training outpost would do us no good.”