by Candy Nicks
"I know,” he replied and turned his face from her. “Now let me do this. Go, and don't look back."
* * * *
Heart in mouth, he counted her footsteps. The first five sure and swift. The next, slower, heavier.
Go, he urged her with silent desperation. The thread of his control stretched so thin that it might break at any moment. Her hesitation and the memory of the longing in her sea-coal eyes weakened him when he most needed to be strong. Torn between the need to follow her and to discharge his duty with the honour befitting an Eagle Warrior, he urged her on, knowing that if anyone could get out of the city, she could. He tried to ignore the Magic, whispering of the pain she'd feel for the rest of her life. Fought to deny the throbbing of the symbols against his palm.
He dropped the dead Slave-Runner's carcass and lifted the sword two handed, holding it point-upwards in salute. The new leader did the same, accepting his challenge. Ancel wiped away congealed blood from his jaw and emptied his mind as best he could. Yesterday he would have gladly taken the long walk to the otherworld, confident of a swift entry to the noble Hall of Warriors. Today, instead of the rough bony grasp of Death, he felt the soft silken touch of the Goddess, her magic holding him firm, anchoring him to life.
Three slave-runners had followed, leaving one of the hybrids behind to guard the other captives. Now they waited in line at the mouth of the alleyway, each anxious for the chance to prove themselves should their new leader fail. The humans would pose no problem, Ancel could already see from the awkward angle of his sword and off-balance stance that the new chief wasn't up to the task. The hybrid was another matter. The ability to feel pain had been steadily bred out of the creatures and once set on their course, it was said that they would fight to the death, and beyond. Ancel was about to find out if that was true. He just needed to stay alive long enough for Carine to melt into the crowd. After that he would let go the Goddess's hand and follow Death to his reward.
Three more steps, he felt them along with her pain as Carine trod the stony ground. The symbols cried out, silently begging him to turn and run with her. Die with her. Grinding his teeth together, he forced the image back and resisted the urge to turn and see how far she'd got. If she didn't hurry, someone would block off the exit to the alley-way and all this would have been in vain.
From above him a single strand of blood-red silk shimmered and curled, whirled in front of his eyes to land gracefully at his feet. The new leader glanced at it, then at him, indicating that when Ancel stepped over it the fight was on.
The bards had lied. They sang of prowess and battle honours. Of manliness and killing. They were the easy part. True nobility lay in sacrifice, plain and simple. For one used to strutting and crowing his victories, who took the accolades of the masses for granted, it was a startling revelation. Nobody who cared would witness his death this day. There would be no-one to acknowledge that he did this not for personal glory, but to save someone he'd known but a heartbeat.
The new leader lunged, catching him unawares, so deep was he in thought. Like an automaton, Ancel threw himself into the fight blocking and thrusting in the confined space, fighting on instinct alone, while his mind struggled with the fact that Carine had left him, albeit reluctantly.
He should be glad, not standing here imagining what might have been. How could this be real? He was still lying in humiliating defeat on the floor of that dirty cage, one foot in this world, one in the next. Wasn't he? Or perhaps he had died and Carine had been sent as Companion to guide him to the otherworld? No matter that she was a Moon-Child. Did blood feuds and ancient enmities mean anything in the afterlife?
"Ancel."
Her voice, saying his name. The sound he most wanted to hear, and the sound he dreaded.
"Carine...” Twisting, he almost lost his footing. “I told you to go."
"I can't,” she panted out. “Not without you. I won't let you die for me. Watch out!"
The blade caught his forearm, opening a neat gash. He swore and fell against the wall. With a roar, he pushed her back and threw himself at the new leader, pinning him down before the man could press his advantage home. “I can't save us both,” Ancel ground out and landed a punch squarely on the slave-runner's nose. A bright spray of blood splattered across Ancel's tunic. “By the Gods, will you please run?"
"No, you can't save us this time, but I can."
Before he could stop her, she'd thrown down her sword and the half-loaf of bread and raised her left palm towards the remaining human guard, who immediately flung down his own sword and pulled out his blast-gun.
"You. Here,” he said, gesturing Carine towards him. Clamping the gun to his shoulder he took up a crouched, defensive stance and waved the barrel at Ancel. “And you. The party's over. Move off him and get against that wall."
The hybrid had disappeared. Ancel knew where he'd gone, and that their exit from the alleyway would be cut off before they could fight their way out of this. The new leader struggled beneath him while Ancel calculated the odds of outrunning a blast-gun discharge. In such a confined space that would take one hell of a lot of luck. Or magic. He glanced in vain hope at Carine, who shook her head and mouthed the words forgive me at him.
"This man is Bonded to me,” she said in a clear voice. “See. The symbols do not lie. This is one of a pair, he has the other."
Carine was too close, almost touching the barrel of the blast-gun. Ancel closed his eyes and silently groaned out his frustration. One false move and she died. They both did. This was some rescue plan. The prone leader rolled, grabbed him by his tunic and kicked the sword out of his hand. For good measure he jerked Ancel backwards into the wall, cracking his head with a dull thud.
"Carine, no.” Ancel fought to keep his voice calm and measured, noticing how the slave-runner's finger twitched on the trigger-button. The leader flipped himself upright, dusted himself down then lashed out with his foot, catching Ancel in the stomach. Ancel gasped out a curse and returned him a murderous stare. Carine let out an anguished cry, almost as if she could feel his pain. Deep in the alleyway, he heard the muffled shout of the hybrid cutting off their escape.
The new leader retrieved his own blast-gun and armed it, his expression even grimmer than before. He scowled at his companion. “What does this all mean? Shouldn't she have two symbols? Where the hell's the Magic gone?"
The hybrids came into view, blast-guns held aloft, eyes glittering with malevolent intent. Ancel pressed his bleeding arm against his tunic in an effort to stem the flow of blood. He didn't dare look at Carine. At that moment he wanted to either kiss her senseless or strangle her. He couldn't decide which.
"Let me show you,” she said. At the leader's nod, she took a cautious step towards Ancel. “I gave my Wish-in-Hand to this warrior, for his life. I took one of the symbols back in the Bonding. Think about it. What he said before was right,” she pointed to the guard holding her in his sights. “We can't be parted. Please don't hurt him."
A woman pleading for his life? Ancel pressed his lips tightly together. What greater shame than this? His own people had watched his defeat at the township walls, knowing that to offer help would be contrary to every code he lived by. “For pity's sake,” he said as Carine stood, terrified but unrelenting before him. “Don't do this to me."
"I'm saving your life, Ancel. There will be another time."
"You're humiliating me. I had everything in hand. Why didn't you trust me?” He knew he sounded like a sulky child. Had she not returned, he might even now be lying dead on the dusty ground of this dark alleyway.
She sank to her knees, holding him in place with the touch of her hand, the promise in her eyes. “You die, I die, remember?” And then more quietly she said, “Let them.” One of the hybrids pulled a pair of restraining links from his pack. Another inched forwards and jammed the barrel of his blast-gun into the back of Carine's head. Her eyes widened a fraction.
"If we want to see our homes again, we need to stay alive, and bide our
time. Do you understand?"
"I understand,” he replied, not understanding at all. He should be furious with her for shaming him like this. Ancel the great warrior, who lived because he hid behind a woman's skirts. After all he'd achieved, that would be his glorious legacy. He tried to hate her, as the metal rings clamped shut about his wrists. Fought to summon some anger when they shackled his ankles. Instead he found himself lurching to his feet and pressing his palm closer to hers, his heart racing with the sheer joy of touching her. Awkwardly, he pulled her tattered cloak closed and pushed back the hair from her face.
"I will pay back my debt, Carine. You will see your home again, I promise."
"Holding you to that, warrior.” From somewhere, in the midst of all the terror, she found a smile. “And I will find a way to release you from this.” She squeezed and the symbols almost seemed to sigh with pleasure.
"Don't do that,” he said and dropped her hand. “Control ... I can't ... if you do that."
She nodded in understanding, her face serious once more. Dropping behind, she let him regain a shred of dignity when the slave-runners prodded them back towards the market square. Ancel stood proudly, head held high, glowering without flinching at the approaching Overseers. The new chief slave-runner jumped onto a table and beckoned to the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellowed, “I give you a Bonded pair, the like of which has never been seen before. An Eagle Warrior and a Child of the Moon. Watch how beauty tames her beast. Watch how the beast fights for his beauty. The possibilities are endless. Who'll start me at two million credits?"
Beside Ancel, Carine trembled but stood firm. The anger, when they stripped her of her cloak, was hard for him to contain. Moving closer, he shielded her as best he could from the leering Overseers. One talked rapidly into a communication device and then raised a single finger.
"Three million.” The slave runner nearly fell off the table with excitement. “Come on, his hair alone is worth that. It's included in the price. Who'll give me four?"
For her sake, Ancel stood meek as a mouse, while they discussed his body parts, guaranteed prowess in the bedroom and extolled his skills as a warrior. Their insults would not go unpunished, but Carine was right, the time for heroics had passed. If she could endure the groping and the lascivious comments, then so could he.
From a hovering sedan-chair, a jewelled hand squeezed his thigh, insolently close to his crotch. It slid higher and he heard a satisfied murmur from the depths. The sedan chair glided upwards and used-up face appeared between the parted curtains. The hand rose to stroke his blood-streaked hair and the small dark eyes glowed with greed. “Four million,” she, or he, said; Ancel couldn't make out the sex of the bald-headed creature eyeing his hair with such jealousy.
From deep inside his chest a bubbling hysteria threatened to overtake him. Too late, he thought. They could shackle him and humiliate him all they liked; they'd never make him their slave. He was slave to no-one but this woman standing next to him.
Chapter 3
Humiliation—the first lesson of slavery.
Don't react, Carine silently begged Ancel, who looked at every turn as if he were about to boil over and scald everyone around him.
They made the gleeful slave-runners a record thirty-five million credits. After a noisy argument over shares, their captors walked away without a backward glance, leaving Carine and Ancel in the hands of the new owner. Or rather, his agent. Some of the Masters did come to choose the merchandise for themselves, but most used the highly efficient system of free-lance Overseers who bought to order on behalf of their clients.
Straight away, the Overseers re-opened the auction and recouped some of the credits from the sale of their hair. Now, shaved to the skull, Ancel sat opposite her in the transport, looking, if possible, even more the warrior than before. He'd allowed them to take it without protest, but Eagle Warriors prized their hair, that she knew, and its loss would have been yet another devastating blow to his pride. Now, devoid of its softness, the planes of his face stood out in stark contrast. Unhindered by the distracting brilliance of his flowing locks, the symmetry of his features seemed more beautiful and yet darkly threatening at the same time.
His had fetched fifty thousand credits. Fair hair was rare and much prized in the City. Hers they'd lopped off at shoulder length and sold for a few credits to someone who needed stuffing for a cushion.
Weak with hunger, she lolled back into the padded seat, too tired to even mourn its loss. Why had the Overseers even bothered with restraints? She didn't have another step in her. Her vision blurred, softening the flint in Ancel's eyes, which he hadn't taken off her once since they'd been loaded into the vehicle. She focused and searched his face, a little afraid now of the robot-like man sitting before her. He looked at her, through her, into her, making her feel more vulnerable than when she'd stood before him naked.
With grim determination, she fought back the tears and held his gaze. He was giving her strength. Gifting her back something of what she'd given him. Unable to reach his hand with hers, she squeezed her thigh against his. There was no give. Only a rigid wall of muscle, holding her firm. She let her eyes close and concentrated on the comforting warmth radiating from his skin. Felt the steady pulse of his blood. Blood that stained his arm, his head. The splendid sun on his tunic. Physical injuries that he'd brushed off without a second glance.
A weak artificial light illuminated the interior of the transport, and without windows it was impossible to see where they were going. In one corner, a small camera lens swivelled and followed their movements. Carine's body cried out for sleep and her eyes closed. She shook herself awake. The very least she could do was try to match Ancel in strength. Mental, if not physical.
"Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?” she asked him. “A wife, perhaps?” Surely the Wish would not have chosen one who was already taken? Even so, she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
He took a long time to reply, which he did eventually with a brief shake of his head.
She sagged back in relief, glad that he didn't have to hate her for that. So there was no-one special, but she could well imagine the string of broken hearts he'd left in his wake. He narrowed his eyes as that thought crossed her mind and she looked away, guilty at having judged him on matters she knew nothing of.
"You?” For the first time since entering the transport, he spoke.
"I'm a third daughter. Promised to the Temple from birth."
A fleeting indefinable emotion flashed across his face. He nodded in understanding.
"I earned my Crystal two moons ago, but it was not to be. I wasn't very good at the Magic, anyway."
"You have power over the Crystal?"
"Had. The slave-runners destroyed mine."
"The fools, they're valuable. Well, find another."
"It doesn't work that way. The Crystal, it finds you.” She bit her lip as the light of hope faded from his eyes. “The Goddess will decide whether I am to be blessed with another."
"I make my own destiny. I don't sit around waiting for it to make me."
At least he was showing emotion now. She comforted herself with that thought. Better than his indifference, or that cold hard face she'd been looking at since they'd been sold.
"What do you think will happen to us?"
What a stupid question. She'd heard enough cautionary tales about life in the City. The sin-dens where you could indulge in any perversion and then receive dubious absolution at the door. The Fight-Clubs where it was said hundreds of slaves a night lost their lives for the entertainment of the Masters.
"Whatever it is, I will not co-operate.” Ancel turned to the camera and bared his teeth. “I won't become a freak-show for those decadents. Hear that?"
"Ancel..."
He rounded on her. “Stop telling me what to do. Haven't you guessed what they have planned for us? Beauty and the beast. The Beast and his beauty—you heard back there."
Carine lifted her
hands in a gesture of peace.
Ancel let out a short laugh. “Stop that too. I don't frighten you half as much as you frighten me. Go on touch me, soothe the beast. Make me your slave. That's what they want to see."
"To escape we have to stay alive."
Ancel made a sound that was half groan, half contempt. “Honour means nothing to you, does it? You and your whole faithless tribe have no idea what it means."
"That's untrue,” she said, her voice quiet and controlled. “Honour is useless if we are dead."
"You're wrong. It lives on after we die, that's the whole point. The bards sing our songs and keep the legends alive. My grandfather alone has more than five hundred songs to his glorious name. And what would you have them sing of me? That I hid behind a woman while I soiled myself with fright?"
A sudden and very inappropriate urge to laugh almost overtook her. Choking, she turned it into a cough, earning herself a glare from Ancel. He was worrying about songs? They were about to face the biggest test of their lives, and he was worrying about songs?
He very pointedly removed his thigh from hers and slid to the end of his seat. “You would never understand,” he said, staring at his manacled hands.
She moved too, knowing instinctively what he needed. Whether he'd let her give it to him was another matter. “Give me more credit than that,” she said softly. I'm sorry I laughed. You're right, we are different.” Her bare foot touched his calf. “But can't you see? That's our greatest strength.” He kept his wary gaze on her foot as she moved it slowly upwards towards his thigh.
"Don't..."
The protest was as feeble as the hand he used to push her away. A gentle hand that eventually closed around her toes and guided her on her quest. His legs fell open so she could reach between. He was hard everywhere.
"Let me,” she said on a faltering breath, remembering the intense pleasure of the First Bonding. Reaching for it again.
"Witch.” He tipped back his head and closed his eyes. Slid his hips towards the edge of the seat, to give her better access. She strained towards him, hampered by the shackle holding her right hand to the seat-back. A slow delicious throbbing tingled across her belly, her inner thighs. Her cloak slipped down. His hands were still shackled together as well as to the seat-back, restricting his movements even more than hers. He let out a slow, even breath and squeezed his thighs around her calf.
