by G. R. Lyons
Saved by a prayer. She laughed inwardly. Who would have thought?
Considering the odd places she'd rested her head over the past several years, the dirt floor of the cavern was a perfectly comfortable place to be while everyone around her struggled in their prostrations. Vorena let her body go slack and closed her eyes, enjoying the silence.
It required no effort to secure her mind from outside intrusion. Years of practice made the defenses go up automatically, and were secure enough to remain in place even while she slept. It was the first thing her cousin had taught her, the day her father had died.
Vorena shivered, thinking back to that cold morning eleven years earlier. She'd been curled up in bed, trying to sleep, but the pain of her first mooncycle had been so intense all night that she'd hardly rested at all. Just about the time she felt herself finally starting to ease toward oblivion, the bedroom door slammed open and her cousin pulled her out of bed, thrusting a pile of boy's clothing into her arms before rushing from the room again.
When he'd returned a minute later, he'd snapped at her, “What are you standing around for? Get dressed! We have to go!”
“Go?” she'd asked, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. “Go where?”
The man stalked toward her—No, boy, really, she thought; he'd been just eight-and-ten at the time—and growled in a low voice, “Your father just died, and you've been assigned a husband. We have to leave before they get here to claim you.”
Vorena remembered panicking in that moment, and fumbling her way through unwinding her wrap and putting on the unfamiliar shirt and trousers. She felt uncomfortable and exposed in the strange attire, on top of feeling exhausted and in pain.
And on top of all that was the panic.
She'd overheard whispered conversations between the mothers, discussing how much to tell her about what would happen now that she'd achieved her mooncycle. There had been vague references to her being sent away, and other references to some unnamed man beating her into submission, but never had they spoken to her directly about such things.
Jevon had been much more blunt about it all.
“You'll be assigned a husband,” he told her, “and you'll live with him for the rest of your life, and you'll have to spread your legs for him without complaint whenever he tells you to. You'll bear his children and serve his every need…unless you come with me right now.”
Dressed like a boy, Vorena ran after him, never saying a word of parting to her mothers, or to her father's corpse. Even if she had wanted to, there would have been no need: Her mothers had been as good as dead for years, that living death that Vorena saw in all women.
That made her run faster, forgetting her sleepiness and her pain, knowing she had to keep up with her cousin if she were to ever escape that living death herself.
Lying on the dirt floor of the prison cavern, the memory of that day almost made her laugh. The men's clothing that had once felt so awkward now felt perfectly normal, and sleeping on the ground had become so familiar that a bed seemed an odd, foreign thing.
But the freedom!
She'd been terrified that day, following her cousin through the early morning shadows, racing across the city and hiding from officers and guard stations. By the time they'd reached the forest, she'd been footsore and weak from hunger, and her awkward trousers were even more uncomfortable with her heavy flow soaking the fabric.
When they'd reached the camp, though, and Vorena had been given a skewer of meat fresh off the fire, helped to wash in the river, and changed into a clean pair of trousers, she finally had a chance to take stock of her situation.
Then she'd smiled.
No more walking around with a bowed head. No more being silent and never expressing an opinion. No more being told, “All you need to know is how to cook and clean and please your husband. Anything else is a waste of time for a woman.”
She'd looked around the campfire, seeing men and women speaking to one another as equals, while a few children played games or practiced with words or numbers. One man was helping a woman stitch up a pile of old clothing while another was teaching a girl how to throw a knife.
Several paces away, in the shadows at the edge of the fire's light, one couple even had their mouths touching, and Vorena found herself staring at them until her cousin shoved her.
“It's impolite to stare,” Jevon told her.
“But what are they doing?”
“Kissing. It's what people do when they're in love.”
“What's love?”
Her cousin grinned at her, then glanced across the fire at a girl who was stirring a pot of stew near the flames. She blushed prettily when she found herself watched, and when Vorena turned to look at her cousin, she saw the same smiling blush on his own face.
“You may know, someday,” was all the answer he'd given her.
Jevon and Athisa had been quite madly in love, and Vorena remembered watching them whenever she could, seeing how they adored and respected one another through all the years they were together, even considering the hardships of their life on the move and the limited privacy of the rebel camp always around them.
Athisa's death several years later had left Vorena's cousin a broken man, and if it hadn't been for their daughter, Asenna, Vorena doubted her cousin would have been able to remain living.
Please let them be safe, she silently prayed. Please, let them have met up with the others. Let them find freedom. Creator of All, I know I'll die here—I won't ask for anything for myself—but please, please let them find liberty. He lost his love, and she, her mother. Please let their losses be worth it.
A clear vision rose up in her mind, so sharp and so pure that she knew it had come from the gods rather than her own imagination. She saw a thickly wooded landscape, and as she rushed through the trees, a sparkling light up ahead seemed to draw her in. She came to a stop and brushed aside a low-hanging branch, and saw her cousin and his daughter standing before a starglass Gate.
Whether it was a vision of what had been or what was to come, Vorena didn't know, but the image gave her hope.
Just as quickly, the vision was gone, only to be replaced by the sight of a fist coming toward her face. She hadn't even realized the prayers had ended.
While she was hauled to her feet, and fists and boots came at her from every side, her memory turned to her cousin's voice saying, “You may know love, someday.”
A kick to her knee sent her crashing back to the ground, and she found herself laughing through the pain. Odd that this was the most physical contact she'd ever had with another person.
She'd never even been kissed.
Oh, cousin, she thought, laughing so hard that she began to cry. Oh, how wrong you were.
* * *
BENASH STOPPED at the clerk's desk to check in, but a commotion in his cell cavern interrupted the usual morning exchange. He strode over to the cavern door, and saw three officers all huddled around a prisoner, kicking and punching as they laughed.
Vorena…
Without questioning his concern, Benash unlocked the door, threw it open, and rushed into the room, stopping just a foot away and leveling a glare at the men.
His fellow officers stopped the abuse at his approach and immediately stepped back, bowing their heads and waiting silently.
Benash looked at each man in turn, seeing them tremble under his stare, and without a word of command, the men hurried away, leaving their victim groaning on the floor.
A few other officers came in, wanting to know what all the commotion was about, but before Benash could answer, Vorena made a harsh choking sound. She flipped over onto her hands and knees, shaking from her beating, and gasped as a violent coughing fit sent her lungs heaving.
And bringing up blood.
The officers scattered, making gestures in praise of Kalos to protect them and shrieking that they would all be dead inside a week.
“I told you she was cursed!” one of the officers cried.
Benash wat
ched in horror as Vorena trembled on her hands and knees, her body wracked with harsh coughs and wet, gurgling gasps, all the while spitting up blood that pooled between her hands.
When it was over, Benash could only stare in wonder as Vorena calmly wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, rose to her feet, and adopted a quiet stance, acting for all the world as though nothing had happened.
The officers shrank back farther when Vorena graced each one in turn with a bloody smile.
“Much as I'd love to continue tormenting you all,” Vorena said with a smirk, “it's not catching.”
Benash glanced around at his fellow officers, seeing the fearful, mistrusting looks on all their faces, and since no one seemed inclined to demonstrate his inherent authority, Benash drew himself up and stepped forward, grabbing Vorena roughly by the arm.
“Nonetheless,” he snapped, “we're all quarantined down here for the next two days, just to be sure. You–” He pointed at one of the officers. “Project up top and tell the gate men that no one is to go in or out for any reason until we're sure the lung disease hasn't spread. And you–” He turned to Vorena, glaring down at her. “Behave, or you'll be beaten.” He paused, feeling a hint of a blush under her amused look, and added, “Again.”
Vorena merely shrugged, as though another beating wouldn't matter, and smirked at him again as he shoved her back into her cell. The other officers frantically unlocked the gate to the cell room and let themselves out into the main cavern, not brave enough to get any closer to the woman—though, if she did have the contagious version of the lung disease, it wouldn't matter.
Just being near her would mean they'd all be coughing up blood by the end of the day.
Benash locked her cell door and heard the cavern door clang shut just a moment later, his fellow officers in such a hurry to get away from Vorena that the key scraped and groaned in their rush to turn it.
Two days, he thought, shaking his head. The gods be damned, how will I survive two days down here with her?
He turned away from her cell, stopping at the sight of her blood on the ground.
Assuming I survive this at all…
Chapter 14
A HAND on his shoulder startled Benash out of his thoughts, and he was surprised to see an officer reporting to hold his place for the midday meal. Securing his mind, Benash rose and gave his relief a curt nod and strode from the room, heading deeper into the underground caverns toward the mess hall, where several other officers were already gathered.
He took a bowl of stew and listened to the officers mutter about the quarantine. They would all be trapped down there for the next two days, until they got confirmation either that the lung disease was not contagious, or that they'd never again see the light of day.
If Vorena's disease really was contagious, they would all be dead within a week, just as the records clerk had whimpered earlier that morning.
From what Benash had heard, the disease rendered a painful death, the bloody, hacking coughs just a minor prelude to what was to come. The coughing would get worse, the bleeding more intense, and soon the victim would be vomiting up whatever little the stomach could hold, until the insides became shriveled and dehydrated, and no matter how much water one tried to swallow, it all came right back up.
Along with more blood.
Benash took a slow, deep breath as he sat down alone at a table, testing his throat for any signs of a cough or an urge to vomit. He didn't feel any different, but it could just be too soon to tell.
By the end of the day, they'd know for sure.
He paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth, wondering how many people Vorena had been in contact with before he'd caught her—and, if she was contagious, just how far the disease had already spread before he'd hauled her underground.
Is that why she was running? Infecting people and then running away to infect others before she could get caught?
Her cocky attitude certainly seemed to support that. Maybe she seemed so full of life because she knew she was about to die, and she was simply taking what little time she had left to indulge in a little freedom of movement and destroy as many other people as possible?
Yet, she'd said it wasn't catching, and Benash had the distinct impression that she hadn't lied about that.
His mind played back the memory of finding her in the woods, and he felt certain she really was running away just for the sake of escape, and it just happened to be that she was also ill.
Her filthy state was certainly the result of having been on the run for days, if not weeks, and if she had the contagious disease, she would have already been dead. Benash dug into his stew with a sudden, hearty appetite, confident that they were all safe—and that he would have more time to unwrap the mystery of this woman.
And unwrap it, he must. His sanity depended on it.
He had to understand her. He had to learn whatever it was that she lived by, even if it meant his own imprisonment or death. He just had to know. Otherwise he'd go stark raving mad with curiosity.
The rest of the day was oddly routine, and Benash found himself both frustrated and pleasantly surprised by that fact. The prisoners continued their noise throughout the afternoon, even after two of the loudest had been dragged from their cells and beaten right there in the middle of the room for all to see. Once back behind their own respective bars, they whimpered over their wounds for a short while before taking up the chorus once again.
And through it all, Vorena sat in her cell, never changing her posture except for when she was brought a dish of gruel, and never saying a word.
Benash watched her furtively, seeing the slight smile on her face as she continued to lean back against the wall with her eyes closed. She certainly wasn't sleeping—not with the volume of noise filling the cavern—but she never gave any indication that she was anything but content, despite her illness and injuries.
After a while, some of the voices began to quiet down, running out of things to say, and an odd silence settled over the space, punctuated only by random, barked questions directed at the newest prisoner. When she continued silent, the questions became more vicious, and when she still continued silent, the questions became deeply curious.
It seemed none of the men in that room could fathom this strange woman's behavior, and none were satisfied at never getting an answer.
The hour for shift change at the end of the day came and went—with no shift change, of course—and Benash felt both elated and unsettled at the idea of having to remain underground rather than returning to his quarters. Instead of a trudge through the woods, he had only a short walk back down to the mess hall for dinner, and instead of a lonely, isolated shower, he simply went without.
Lots were drawn, and even exhausted as he was, Benash had to stifle a sigh of relief at drawing the first watch. At least his sleep in an unfamiliar bed wouldn't be interrupted by a midnight waking.
He settled into place with a few other men who had drawn the same watch, and tried to keep his heavy eyelids from drooping shut, feeling lulled to sleep by the deep quiet of the underground prison. With the prisoners silent in slumber and most of the officers dropping off on their cots in the makeshift bedchamber, the very weight of the world seemed to settle on Benash's shoulders with its heavy silence.
Benash stretched his long legs and settled down again, glancing around out of habit but knowing the effort was practically useless. The chances of anything happening that night and requiring the officers' attention was slimmer than a body caught between colliding Isles.
Now wouldn't that be an interesting event, he thought while covering a yawn. An actual Collision. Surely that would shake up the dull routine around here.
He tried to picture it: the utter chaos as two Isles ran into one another, sending the earth trembling and structures toppling. People would certainly die, the women would be frantic, and…
And things would only get worse, he realized. Collision, disease, what have you—any of it would only make things wo
rse. The Elders would jump on that with fervor, and find ways to tighten the noose they already have around our throats.
Benash swallowed hard, checking on his mental barrier to make sure such treasonous thoughts hadn't gotten beyond his own mind. He shook his head, grumbling to himself.
They'd waste no time shoving unclaimed women at us and wait impatiently for a whole brood of children to arrive. Hells, they'd probably start supervising just to make sure the act actually took place. Whatever they may have to say about the virtues of prudery, I certainly wouldn't put that past them. And, gods! I have enough trouble bedding my wives as it is without someone insisting it's not enough.
A smile slowly tugged up one corner of his lips. Uncomfortable as it was to be sitting up on the watch, far underground, it was certainly better than being at home with his wives and children silently keeping out of his way, yet always being there. He hated spending time in his quarters, feeling both painfully alone while also lacking in true privacy. Even though his current situation wasn't much different, at least he didn't have people habitually tending to his every need while also trying to avoid him.
He snorted a laugh, thinking that his wives probably didn't much miss him, either. They were probably wondering why he hadn't come home, unless the night officers had gotten within hailing distance of the front gate and carried back report of the quarantine. Though, quite likely, they wouldn't have deemed the wives of the trapped officers worthy of the effort required to dispatch that information to them. Still, he doubted his wives were the least bit worried. Another night, and they would certainly start to fear that he'd abandoned them, but he could deal with that when he finally returned home. In the meantime, he doubted they entertained any concerns whatsoever.
Something tightened in his chest at the thought, and he realized he wanted them to be worried about his absence. Well, perhaps not them, specifically, but someone nonetheless.
