The Mortal Tally

by Sam Sykes

  While not nearly as dizzyingly huge as Cier’Djaal, Jalaang was nonetheless a worthy monument to the fashas who had built it: rife with coin, goods, and humans.

  Even after she’d hung back at the edge of the deck to let all the other passengers off first, even after she’d let them unload their goods and depart, even after she had climbed down the rope ladder leading off the deck and stood alone on the docks, she could feel their presence.

  It was difficult to say exactly what she felt. Smothered might have been a good word. Exposed, painfully aware of being in a land that she did not belong in, would have been better. But more than either of those, she could feel humans.

  In the alleys between the repurposed barracks, in the windows peering down at her, in the streets, sparing glances as they collected filth from the buildings…

  “Hey.”

  Right behind her.

  “So the Old Man apparently knows the route enough to go to Jalaang by itself,” Lenk said, “but not any further than that. The couthi went into town to meet up with a guide. He said there’s an inn that can put us—”

  A screech. The air shuddered. Her heart stopped beating. Something very far away shouted something very loud in her ear in the span of a single breath.

  “—somewhere down toward the end of the street,” Lenk finished.

  Her ears stumbled over his voice. She blinked, suddenly feeling very light-headed. His voice was muted, as if he were speaking with dust in his mouth. He hadn’t heard it.

  “Not too much time to rest here,” he said, “maybe six hours of sleep and enough time to get breakfast. The couthi was pretty certain about being here at—”

  The noise came again. This time as a long sound that rang in her ear like a wailing wind, something that had come from a long way away just to find her. A name she had never been called by, a song whose every verse was an arrow in a throat and a cry in the night.

  “—I know things didn’t go so well back there, but if you just—”

  A howl.

  “—I don’t know what I did to—”

  A howl no one could hear but her.

  “—please, Kataria, just—”

  The Howling.

  “Fuck, would you just look at me?”

  She didn’t remember turning around. She could barely remember him, truthfully, until she felt his hands on her shoulders, his eyes boring into hers.

  “Whatever’s happening, whatever you’re thinking, whatever I did, I can’t do anything unless you tell me.” His voice shook in his throat. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to know what’s going on or what, but I am in some deep shit here. People are talking about all the killing I’ve done and all I’ve got to do and…”

  He looked down, drew in a breath. His hands tightened upon her shoulders. When his eyes met hers again, they weren’t his. They were too wild, too desperate, too wet to be his. They belonged on someone weaker, someone more scared.

  Or, somewhere in the past six days, had he just turned into that person?

  “I need to know,” he said, “if you’re here with me.”

  But she knew he hadn’t. There was something behind those wet, quivering eyes, something solid and cold that had never really cracked.

  Weak people had it easier, she thought. They broke, they gathered themselves, they rose again, so many times that it became their personality. Strong people, they just broke.

  As he would break if she left him now.

  And so she took his face in her hand, felt the calluses of her fingers across the scar on his jaw. She leaned forward, felt the shudder of his breath upon her lips. She pressed her head to his, closed her eyes, and whispered.

  “I’m here,” she said.

  She could hear the long, slow exhalation of his breath. She could hear the sound of the howl in her ears. She could hear the lap of the waves as the Old Man settled slowly upon the bank and loosed a long, low groan.

  And none of them were loud enough to drown out the sound of her thoughts.

  Coward.

  It took just an hour: half to find the inn that the couthi had told them to find, another for him to fall asleep. By the time the moon had just started to decline past its apex, the sound of his breath was no longer in her ears and the dust of the streets was in her nose.

  She had left her bow behind to avoid the kind of attention a weapon like that would attract, going out with only her hunting knife. Not the wisest idea. This was a city that slept with one eye open: Even after midnight she could hear feet scuffling in alleyways, voices emerging from shadows, the word shict being repeated with various degrees of contempt and appraisal.

  Shuro’s words kept creeping to mind, unbidden. About how easy she was to spot, about how little her life meant to the people of this city. There was wisdom in that, at least, and she would be wise to heed it.

  But that would imply she had a choice.

  For an hour that had felt like a year, the howl had been growing inside her. It was no longer inside her ears. It was in her skull now, her heart, her blood, and her skin. It was fear in her step, hunger on her breath, something that burned in a way that demanded it be answered.

  And she had set out after it, following that sound through the dusty streets, down the darkened alleys, to where the stone houses of Jalaang became wooden warehouses and the shadow of the city’s wall grew deep.

  But as consuming as the howl was, it could not completely shut out instinct. And as hungry as she was to sate it, she could not ignore the twitch of movement at the corner of her eye.

  She did not slow her pace, lest she give away that she had noticed. She fought down the hunger, the howl, to let her ears open to the sound of footsteps, to her left and far above. Someone on the rooftops was following her, slowing when she slowed, quickening when she quickened.

  Cover. The thought came unbidden. They’ve got a clean shot at you. The movement followed, carrying her to the mouth of a nearby alley.

  As soon as she was hidden between two rising wooden walls, she whirled and scanned the rooftops. She spotted her pursuer almost immediately: a thick-bodied shadow, black against the night sky, crouching at the edge and peering down at her.

  No weapon that she could see. That made sense. Surely a shot would have been fired by now. A stalker, then: someone watching, someone waiting.

  But for what purpose?

  Her ears pricked up. A foot scraped behind her. Before she could even think to turn around, a hand shot out of the darkness, clamped around her mouth, and drew her back into the shadows. She raised a hand to lash out behind her, another hand seized her by the wrist, held it fast.

  She heard the voice before it spoke, in the hot breath upon her ear and the tongue sliding across teeth. And when it finally took sound, she could barely hear it for the howl that echoed through her ears.

  “What kept you?” it asked.

  She could give no answer, not as the hand tightened over her mouth and dragged her into darkness.

  She resisted, of course, as much as could be expected.

  She raised a hand, only to have taut fingers wrap about her wrist and bear it down above her head to join the other. Her body jerked in an attempt to rise, only to find a weight bearing down upon her hips, pinning her to the straw. She struggled in a manner more feral than valiant, a beast trapped but unbroken.

  But to no avail. However much the hunger pained her, hers was not the greatest in the room.

  She bared teeth in a snarl and was met with one in kind: just as feral, just as toothy, broad canines flashing above her in a grin full of savage glee. Whatever else lurked in the shadows painting her captor’s face, she could not tear her eyes away from that grin, those teeth, as they descended and brushed against the tender flesh of her throat.

  There they hovered. Hot breath passed between them, upon the sweat-slickness of her skin. The growl that came from them was something low and hungry that Kataria felt in the pit of her stomach. They brushed against her throat for a moment before the
y gave way to tenderness, a kiss placed gently just above her collarbone; a hand released her wrist, came down to trace gentle fingers across the length of her jaw.

  Freed, Kataria’s hand snaked across her captor’s back, felt muscle quiver beneath skin. It found the back of a neck, entangled itself in a dozen black braids. And, seizing it tightly, pulled sharply down toward her throat.

  Her captor indulged her. Lips became teeth, biting down upon her throat, tender and furious in equal measure. The howl that had been in her ears tore itself from her mouth, the sound of hunger receiving the barest satiety.

  She let the teeth linger until she could stand no more. She pulled her captor’s hair once more, bringing a face upward.

  Above those large canines, Kwar’s dark eyes glittered. Beside Kataria’s fingers tangled in her braids, her long ears, four notches to a length, quivered. Sweat glistened upon the dark skin of her brow as she leaned forward, pressed her lips against Kataria’s, the muscle of her belly pressing down on her own as she lay across her.

  It lasted for an eternity before she released Kataria. Breathless, she smiled at Kwar, moved to brush a single braid out of her eyes.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” she said. “Why can’t you ever just say hello?”

  “Because I’m not boring.” Kwar licked her lips. “Your fault, anyway. You should have been paying closer attention.”

  Kwar reached out, gently taking Kataria by the cheek. She could feel the tremble in her fingers as they guided her chin upward, exposing her throat. Everything about the woman wanted to explode, to burst out in snarling fury, to claw and bite and take. It took everything within her to have the patience to be gentle.

  But she was gentle. In the touch of her fingers upon Kataria’s cheek, in the kiss of her lips upon Kataria’s neck, in the warmth of her breath as she whispered softly.

  “I missed you.”

  “I was delayed,” Kataria replied, leaning back upon the bed of straw.

  “By what?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Not a lie, she told herself. Or at least it didn’t feel like one.

  “I expected you hours ago.” Kwar spoke between kisses as her lips traveled over Kataria’s collarbone, over the skin of her breast, down to her belly. “I was worried you had forgotten.”

  “Never,” Kataria replied, breathless.

  Again, not a lie. She had never stopped thinking about this moment. Except for all those moments when she was thinking about Lenk. Or all those moments when she was cursing herself for not telling Lenk about Kwar, or Kwar about Lenk, or anyone about anything.

  There should have been more curses just then, she thought, savage words to turn upon herself for her cowardice. And maybe there were. She couldn’t hear them, though, not over the howling in her skull, the hunger in her stomach that rose as Kwar’s lips slipped lower, teasing lightly the tender skin just beneath her navel as her hands went for the buckle of her belt.

  Her leggings were around her calves in a bunch before Kwar finally lost patience and let her lips travel south one more time and find their way between her thighs. Kataria’s fingers tightened their grip on her hair, her teeth clenched in an attempt to stem the sound that came from her lips.

  For the first time since that morning, the Howling quieted. For the first time, the hunger felt sated. The pain abated, the fear subsided, sound and hate and shame and fear were silent.

  And she was left with only the sound of sweat dripping from her skin, the sound of Kwar’s tongue speaking to her, the sound of herself, her scream and her sigh, as she lay upon the straw and released herself.

  Sense came back to her slowly, crawling back from wherever she had sent it. Eyes fluttered back open, beheld the shadows painted by the lanterns hanging from the warehouse’s roof. The scents of wood and earth were there, an afterthought past the heady rush of Kwar’s sweat filling her nostrils. And soon thereafter she felt the arm around her back, the breast she laid her head against, the fingers that smoothed a lock of hair over her ear.

  The feel of Kwar’s warmth beneath her, the sound of Kwar’s breath in her ear, the way everything was so quiet and perfect.

  It was nice to pretend that this was how it could be. For a moment.

  This isn’t right, something inside her said. You can’t do this to her. Tell her now. Or don’t. Just leave and don’t tell her. Never see her again. Don’t do this to her.

  Her brow furrowed, a frown creased her face. And she said nothing, letting the world stay silent for just a few moments longer.

  “You flinched.”

  She opened her eyes, looked up to see Kwar looking down at her.

  “Dreaming,” Kataria muttered, eyes closing again. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Not even an hour,” Kwar said. She leaned back against a box, drew Kataria closer to her. “You can sleep more, if you want. I can stay up for a while longer.”

  “And you think I can’t?” Kataria shot a single-eyed glare at her.

  “Not as long as I can.” Kwar met her with a grin. “Someone’s got to. This is a human city. Not friendly to us.”

  “How’d you get in, then?”

  “Because humans can’t do anything right.”

  It would be just as easy to stay here, she thought. Just as easy to lie here and watch the dawn rise. She saw it so clearly in her mind: the same dawn that a young man with a sword on the docks would see as he desperately scanned the morning crowds for her until, prodded by the urging of his guide, he dejectedly climbed aboard the Old Man and left her here with a new life.

  It would be just that easy.

  But when she closed her eyes and held her breath, she saw something else. She saw that same young man tearing through the city, sword in hand, searching for her. She saw a warehouse door flung open, daylight glinting off the silver of his blade. She saw Kwar leaping to her feet, a roar on her lips and a dagger in her hand.

  She saw blood on the straw.

  Something inside her chest started to hurt. It was hard to breathe all of a sudden. She swallowed and it tasted sour in her mouth.

  “I need to go.” She clambered to her feet, drew her leggings up.

  “But…” Kwar bit back the rest of that thought. She rose to her feet, brushed herself off. “Right, yes. I should be escaping soon, too.”

  That wasn’t what she wanted to say, Kataria knew.

  Every time Kwar tried, her lips trembled, her gaze wavered, and she changed the subject. But there was a moment when the fear shone plain on her face and Kataria could sense she was about to ask where her lover disappeared to so suddenly and mysteriously.

  Frankly, Kataria wondered why she hadn’t already. Maybe she was scared of the answer.

  Kataria certainly was.

  “You have the map I gave you?” Kataria asked. “The one that tells you where we’re going?”

  “I do,” Kwar said. “I wish you weren’t going there, though. The Gullet’s not safe.”

  Kataria cast a look over her shoulder. “When have you ever cared about safety?”

  “When the world started being more dangerous than I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not just the Gullet,” Kwar said. “Word of what’s happened in Cier’Djaal has reached the tribes.” She tapped her ears, indicating the notches. “The Seventh Tribe has a new leader and she wants to strike at the city while they’re weak. She’s hungry.” She hissed the name: “Shekune.”

  “All shicts want to strike at human cities. Most shicts haven’t.”

  “Most shicts,” Kwar said, “don’t wear flayed human scalps on their masks. She’s burned a dozen human outposts and twice that many tulwar villages. She is dangerous, Kataria.”

  Kataria cringed. “I can take care of myself.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Then I’ve got you, don’t I?” she replied with a grin.

  For once Kwar did not return the grin. The glitter of her eyes was gone, leaving
only two dark orbs that stared at Kataria intently. When she spoke, it was in a choked, wet whisper.

  “I hate you, you know.”

  “You have a strange way of showing it,” Kataria replied, looking deliberately down to fasten her belt.

  “I’m not being funny. I mean it. Ever since…” Kwar looked away. “Ever since my mother died and my father turned Thua into a coward, I haven’t felt… I mean, I knew I’d never feel that scared again. I knew I wouldn’t.”

  Kataria didn’t look up, even as Kwar stepped closer toward her. She couldn’t bear the thought of what she might see in the khoshict’s eyes if she did.

  “And I shouldn’t. When I’m with you, most of all, I shouldn’t.”

  She made a point of fiddling with her belt buckle, anything to avoid looking. But when a dark hand wrapped gently about her own, she couldn’t help it. She looked up. Kwar’s eyes were wet.

  “But I do,” she said.

  Kataria clenched her teeth, trying to hold back a question to which she already knew the answer. It did not help.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’m scared you’ll leave. I’m scared you’ll die. I’m scared you’ll wake up and think you’re not supposed to be with me. I’m scared. And I hate you for doing that to me. I hate you.”

  She took Kataria by the shoulders suddenly, drew her in, wrapped arms about her and held her tightly. Her voice was a sharp, desperate whisper.

  “Don’t go.”

  No more words came, from her or Kwar. No more sounds at all. No more Howling to hear, hunger to sate, pain to ease. In that warehouse, there was no space left for anything but them.

  And the vastness with which Kataria wished she could say something.

  How did Denaos do it so easily, she wondered?

  Long after she had made her excuses and departed, with the agreement to meet again farther up the river, a different pain came. This one gnawed at the back of her neck, a pair of jaws that clamped down every time she thought of Kwar, or of Lenk, or of the lies she had told them both.