“I’ll be done with him in a second,” she said. “I’ve got to mark him and then take him back to the serfs.”
The soldiers nodded.
She brought him in and removed a black dagger from her cloak. “Take off your shirt, serf.”
Arturus did as he was told.
“Hmm.” She smiled. “Strong little fellow. No wonder she likes you.”
The priestess stepped forward, dagger raised. Arturus had the terrible fear that it had been treated with rustrock.
What’s she going to do?
“Don’t flex your arm, it will take longer to heal. I don’t want you bleeding any more than you have already. Look at you! You’ve left blood everywhere.”
Arturus looked at the ground where they had walked. The wounds on one of his feet must have re-opened and they’d been leaking through his sewn up boot. She began carving a symbol into his arm. The pain was nothing compared to having the legs of the spiders removed from his feet.
“You take pain well little fellow,” she said. “That’s good in one of Mithra. Definitely necessary if you are to be worthy of a priestesses.”
She likes me.
Suddenly the entire society seemed backwards. Like Harpsborough, except that the girls were the way the boys were supposed to be, and the boys were the way that girls were supposed to be.
Just in case I can’t escape, I better be ready.
He imagined Alice, or Molly, and thought of what they might do in his position.
What does this woman want to hear?
“I think you’re the prettiest priestess,” he said, quickly, as if on impulse.
The look of pleased shock on the girl’s face encouraged him, so he continued.
“I might never be worthy of you.”
She shook her head and looked him up and down. “In a few years, you better. You think you can do that for me?”
He nodded.
“I promise I’ll be gentle on you,” she said, half distracted by the work she was doing on his shoulder. “I have a mean reputation, but I’m kind to the sweet ones. I only break them who ask for it.”
Arturus swallowed.
She stood back from his arm and dabbed at it with a cloth. “Looks good.” She cleaned her dagger and sheathed it in her cloak.
She wrapped up his arm with a cloth strip and tied it off. “And,” she said, whispering into his ear, “Maab’s city is very close to mine. She has taken three of my mates for her own, and regularly borrows from my lot. So see that you qualify for me. Of course, she breaks her men every time.”
Arturus could not disguise the shudder that ran down his spine, so he did his best to pretend it was one of desire, not of horror.
“Get your shirt back on, young man.”
Arturus did as he was told, being careful not to move the bandage on his shoulder as he pulled his shirt sleeve over it. He put his grey cloak back on, too, which was wet in places from Maab’s bath water.
“Here you are, soldiers,” Kayla said, leading Arturus back out of the room. “Keep him safe.”
She smoothed his cloak and ruffled his hair.
“Good for you,” one of the soldiers said, “you’ve been marked. A few years and you might be one of us.”
Arturus nodded seriously.
It had better not take me that long to escape.
He wondered, though, if he could even survive out there in the wilds of the Carrion. Galen had told him that he could follow the river home, but the river was the most dangerous part of the Carrion. There were devils crawling all over it.
I have to try.
The soldiers led him back out into the room where the ritual had taken place.
“Where do you belong?” one soldier asked him.
Arturus looked around, and saw Julian’s face. He did not see Galen’s.
“Over there,” he said, pointing to Julian.
“Ah, one of Selena’s,” a soldier replied. “That Maab mark may be the only thing that saves you, friend.”
They brought him to where Julian sat on the stage. Julian did not meet Arturus’ gaze, but left, moving to sit as far away from him as possible without leaving his group. One of the men touched Julian on the cheek, an oddly sexual gesture that suggested ownership.
Arturus thought he understood Julian’s reaction better this time. Julian was trying not to get killed, or worse. He wanted to escape, surely, it’s just that the cost for failure would be too high.
For him, but not for me.
He leaned back against the stone stage and listened.
I’m so close to the alcove. I could escape out there. I just have to break away.
He looked to see if the soldiers were still looking at him. One was, and the man smiled at Arturus.
I’ll have to wait until they leave. In the meantime, let’s hear what they have to say.
The two soldiers were talkative. Arturus caught his breath when he saw the sadist soldier in Icanitzu hide. He was put off enough by the man at a distance. When close up, the soldier was terrifying. His dark grey Icanitzu armor seemed to glitter in the firelight.
The soldiers stopped speaking until the man was out of sight.
“Where’s he going?”
“Who?”
“La’Ferve, you idiot, I thought he was going to be leading Maab’s forces back.”
La’Ferve.
“No, he’s going out to find the traitor.”
Galen. They’re chasing Galen.
“Who’s leading Maab’s priestesses back?”
“Gilgamesh.”
“But she’s got the Minotaur. You know Gilgamesh hates having his hounds near that thing.”
“Well, we get to be by those fuckers as we go.”
“Can’t get used to that, traveling with hellhounds.”
“Me neither. Gilgamesh’s conditioning broke off of one a year ago, ate three serfs before they shot him down. Was right by Lethe, too, so they had to scatter the serfs and run for it. That’s why they pull their teeth these days.”
“It isn’t worth it.”
“Sure isn’t.”
Arturus saw the first set of troops marching out.
“Normally I feel safer traveling with Maab’s guard. Maybe we can convince Kayla to break off early.”
“Unlikely, we’ll probably go in to visit.”
“What was it like?”
“What?”
“Being with Maab, when she chose you last year. What was it like?”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Tell me.”
“She had ten of us in a row. We didn’t last ten minutes.”
“Ahriman incarnate.”
“Don’t swear.”
“Sorry. Maybe that’s why she likes La’Ferve so much? He can stand up to her?”
“No way.”
“No way?”
“Nope. She likes him because he can kill. Nothing can stand up to her.”
Kayla motioned to her group, and the two men moved to join her. She moved out with a dozen or so soldiers and nearly a hundred serfs. Two other priestesses accompanied her. Following that, came Maab’s men. Maab had her headdress and paint back on. Arturus felt an ache in his stomach as he looked at her.
A man moved to talk to her. He was also dressed out of the norm, and more heavily armed. He had a coat made out of the fur of a hellhound. He was wearing jeans, but they had been split along the legs. A sawed-off double-barreled shotgun was holstered at his side, and the man had what looked to be a revolver strapped to his chest.
Gilgamesh?
The man spoke with Maab for a few moments, making wide gestures with his hands. No, not Gilgamesh. This man was familiar.
Pyle! The Betrayer!
He was in the Carrion? Perhaps he was the one who captured Julian.
What if he sees me?
But Pyle already had seen him. Arturus waited to be pointed out, but Pyle did no such thing.
He winked at Arturus.
Ke
ep your head on. Stay calm. You’ll find a way to slip out of the crowd.
Arturus felt someone touch his shoulder, so he turned to see who it was.
Julian was sitting down next to him, nonchalantly, not even looking at him. It was as if Julian didn’t know him at all. Arturus could see where the sweaty touch of one of the slaves had wiped away some of the dust that clung to the young boy’s face. Beneath that ashy layer, Julian’s skin tone was darker. It was the color Arturus remembered.
Julian’s under there, safe, hidden from these people by that layer of grey.
“We came to save you,” Arturus said softly. “Galen and Aaron are with me. They’re in the labyrinth beyond.”
Julian nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Stay quiet a bit,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “I’ll tell you when it’s safe to speak.”
“It’s safe now,” Julian told him.
“There’s a way out of this chamber,” Arturus said. “We only need to get to it.”
Julian gave a barely perceptible nod. “Who’s your priestess?”
“Priestess? No one is my priestess, we snuck in here.”
“Turi, you’re marked now. I know you think you’ve got to get out, I know, but for your own sake, I should tell you. . .” Julian broke off speaking for a moment while he waited for a pair of soldiers to walk by. “I should tell you what the punishment is for trying.”
Arturus watched another group of slaves stand up, soldiers at their corners. They began marching out of the ritual chamber.
More are leaving!
It was only one group, however, and no one else seemed like they were getting ready to depart.
“What’s the punishment?” Arturus asked.
“They chain you to a block, face down and naked. They cover your eyes so that all the other serfs can get at you. You’ve got no chance for revenge. Consider yourself lucky if your friend comes and rips off your nuts in the beginning. That way the rest of the Kruks can’t torture you. You’re on the block for three days.”
“But we won’t get caught. We’ll make it to Harpsborough.”
“Tried once, already, Turi.”
Arturus turned to look at his friend. Julian’s face was expressionless. His chin was raised slightly.
“This time you have help,” Arturus whispered.
“Three days. I had tried to escape with a friend. We got caught together. We were chained side by side, just like you and me will be, if I go with you.”
“You have to come.”
“Three days. My friend got the stilling on the second. He abandoned me.”
“We won’t get caught.”
“They kept taking him anyway. I could hear the sound as they pushed him back and forth. Back and forth. No one ripped my balls off Turi.”
Julian cocked his head to one side, looking across the room at something. He seemed as carefree as anyone here.
Maybe Julian’s close. Maybe he’ll get the stilling soon.
“Okay. You want to stay here?”
“I’m not going with you. Listen to me, Turi. Listen very carefully. I wish I could make you stay, but I know you won’t. You’ll have to watch out. The hounds obey them. They have a trainer, Gilgamesh, and he has found a way to bend them to his will—”
“Galen’s there, he’ll make sure—”
“Shut up, Turi. We don’t have much time. Now you listen to me. I was taken here by that one to the right. The one in split jeans. He’s called the Lamb, because he’s Christian. He’s not the one you have to worry about. He’s only as strong as a person is. The rest of them drink from the Bullman. It makes them stronger. It makes them harder to kill. La’Ferve is the scary one. He wears devil skins for his clothes. He’s the one that caught the Minotaur, and they say he’s had so much of the bull’s blood that he’s hardly human. He was shot in the head once and survived it. He can smell like a hound, track you all on his own. His protégé, Hale, was the one who caught me the second time. You’ve been marked, though. They may send La’Ferve after you.”
Another group got up to leave. Arturus dared to glance at the man in Icanitzu skins.
La’Ferve. Can you really smell like a hound?
“Don’t go back to Aaron and Galen,” Julian went on, staring intensely into Arturus’ eyes. “You’ll only bring Maab’s men to them. They’ll be slaughtered. Don’t go back to Harpsborough either. I’ve seen them hunt and track, Turi. Each of their men is worth three of ours. They’re as silent as me. They survive here, in the Carrion. And if you shoot them they don’t always die. The bull’s blood has made them strong.”
I have to see Galen.
“Julian, I—”
“Quiet,” Julian said harshly. “I’ll tell you this, and then I’m gone. There are serfs over there watching me talk to you. There are Kruks among them. I’m risking a lot just to warn you.”
“Okay.”
“When they capture you they’re going to chain you down. They’ll leave you there for three days. But you’ll be blind. You’ll have no way to measure the time. You have to try and smell their breath. If you can smell the devilwheat you know it’s just been meal time. You have to survive six of those. Then they’ll let you go.”
Tears were streaming down Julian’s cheeks, leaving little lines of dark skin in their wake.
“Julian.”
“It hurts the most in the beginning, until you’re ripped all the way. Then the blood helps some. To survive you’ll have to think of something, some woman in Harpsborough, maybe. Maybe your mother. Something. Whatever is dearest to you. Hold it close. Don’t let it go. You’ll have to keep it because you’ll start to like it. You can’t let that happen. I’m sure that’s what gave the man the stilling, Turi. You start to like it.”
Julian wiped the tears off his cheeks with his robe. It smeared the grey off of his face.
That’s his shield. With the dust gone they’ll be able to see the real Julian.
There were a thousand things Arturus knew he should ask, but only one question came to his mind.
“Who did you think of? What helped you survive?”
“Honey.”
Honey?
Julian got up and moved away. Arturus didn’t dare follow him.
Soon they’ll leave. I’ll hide here. No one knows to count me. Then I can try. Three days.
Arturus stood up slowly from his hiding place behind the stage and looked about the empty ritual chamber. The room, once so full of people, was intensely empty. A grey hem, ripped from the cloak of its owner at some point during the ceremony, lay by the entrance. Pools of sweat had formed puddles at low points in the floor. Pools of blood and other liquids did the same on the stage. Over where the torches had burned, and on the ceiling above the stage where the Carrion people had used whatever pyrotechnic substance they owned, black stains of smoke clung to the ceilings and walls. A few extra torches still lay in a pile on the edge of the stage.
Whatever dark magic this place once possessed had been dispelled. Now it was just another empty chamber. It was hard for Arturus to imagine that this was the room in which Maab had held her blasphemer’s ceremony.
There was the sound of a footstep. Arturus ducked back behind the stage, crouching low.
“All clear in the Holy Room!” a soldier shouted.
Of course they’re looking. Other slaves might also choose the Carrion over their masters, no matter what the punishment.
Arturus tried to imagine what the man was doing. Was he walking around the stage and heading towards the exit?
Did he dare peek, or would the man discover him?
He waited, and then looked.
The soldier’s back was facing him. The man moved out of the ritual chamber, looking about in the next room.
Safe.
After a few minutes passed, Arturus stood up again took in a deep breath. He saw Pyle out of the corner of his eye. It was a split second before Pyle impacted with him, sending him reeling back across the stones. Arturus’ feet slip
ped in sweat, and the man caught him up in a bear hug. Arturus struggled to get out of his grip, managing to twist his back towards the man. Pyle’s hands, however, were firmly clasped, and Arturus could not get away.
“Another Harpsborough rat,” Pyle whispered in his ear. “If you see one, there’s another two in the bulwarks.”
Arturus fought desperately to free himself. He worked at the man’s fingers, but Pyle’s grip was too strong. He tried again, pushing against the man’s wrists and elbows. He remembered Galen’s teaching and tried to grab at Pyle’s legs by bending low and reaching between his own. Pyle was quick, strong and moved easily, almost instinctively, out of the way. Fighting panic as much as his foe, Arturus struck out, trying to stomp with his right heel on the instep of Pyle’s foot. Pain lanced upwards into his body from his wounded foot as the blow landed. Pyle wrestled him into the stage, slamming his face into the stone. Blood poured down over Arturus’ eye from where his brow had met with the rock. The liquid blurred the vision of his left eye, so he closed it. Arturus tried to strike with his heel again, this time trying to kick backwards and catch Pyle in the groin. Pinned as he was against the stage, the attempt was futile.
“I’ve caught one,” Pyle shouted aloud.
Hopeless.
But he hadn’t tried everything that Galen had taught him. Arturus studied Pyle’s grip with his open eye. The man’s right hand was over his left. Arturus wormed his thumb down near the base of the grip. Pyle’s fingers were too tightly clenched for him to dislodge them, but that wasn’t Arturus’ aim. Arturus worked his fingernail under Pyle’s. He kept his finger carefully bent, so that his first knuckle joint would support his nail. He jerked his arm back with all his might.
Pyle let out a shriek as his nail tore off. A little bit of it still hung on to his forefinger, dangling as if by a thread. The man still hadn’t let go, so Arturus went for the man’s second finger. This nail ripped off halfway, diagonally and down to the cuticle. Pyle shouted again, and finally released him. Arturus ran, wincing in pain each time his right foot impacted with the ground. He made it to the lip of the stage.
Pyle was close behind him. Arturus picked up a woodstone torch from the stage and swung it as hard as he could. The crack of the torch’s impact was as loud as a man’s shout. Pyle collapsed to the ground, holding his head in his hands. Arturus made a mad dash for the exit.
Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) Page 38
