by Laura Taylor
Aidan grinned a humourless grin, angrier than he’d ever been in his life. And yet, in the centre of that anger, he found a strange calm, the eye of the hurricane, where everything was clear as crystal. “No.” He contradicted her boldly. “They’ll be expecting something. But they won’t be expecting what we deliver.”
Dusk walked steadily in the middle of the column of men. Her hands were bound behind her, a cord around her neck, and it struck her as no small irony that just over six months ago, she’d been in a very similar position, with slavers from this very tribe. It had taken her a lot longer to reach this camp than they’d expected, but they’d got her here in the end.
Mei-Lien was being carried on one of the horses, her leg wound making her too slow to keep up on foot. Mikey and Julia were also on horses, each held firmly by the filthy hands of a cold-hearted thug. The rest of them were walking, bound and guarded by men with bows and knives. Death was always an option, of course. If she tried to run away, decided to fight rather than go quietly, refused to submit no matter how much they beat her…
No. There were things that could inspire her to want to die, but damned if she was going down because of a bunch of self-important bullies with their brains lodged firmly in their dicks.
The Gully camp was a mess, a far cry from the beauty of her own tribe’s wooden cabins, and even falling short of some of the makeshift camps she’d seen over the years, with tents lined up in neat rows, straight paths lending a sense of organisation and discipline. Here the tents were set up haphazardly all over the place. Discarded bits of plastic or metal were strewn about, clothes hung on makeshift lines, paths lined with grass that was left to grow long and unruly. These men had no pride in their living environment, and that told her plenty about the men themselves. They didn’t value discipline. She’d met slavers who did. They hadn’t been trained in diligence and obedience. That said plenty about how a battle with this tribe would go down. The camp was not set up to be particularly defensible, which meant they were relying on numbers alone to keep them safe. It was largely a product of good location and a lack of any real competition that had let these men stay here so long, Dusk decided, as they wound their way further into the camp, and a part of her was amazed they’d managed to last as long as they had, even with those significant benefits.
Their arrival was attracting attention; men who had been lounging outside their tents got up, leering at the women, and several came over for a closer look.
“Fuck, what’d you bring an Indian for?” one of them sneered, looked Mist over. “Ugly bitches. Oh, but nice going with the Asian one. Gotta get me some of that.” He cupped his groin and thrust his hips towards Mei-Lien.
Another one seemed to take a liking to Dusk herself. With a snigger, he came over and walked backwards beside her. “Hey, sweetie. Fancy some company?” He reached out and gave her breast a lascivious fondle.
Dusk timed her kick perfectly, landing a solid blow to the man’s groin, and he went down, clutching himself. The slaver who held the cord around her neck took the time to laugh before he bothered to yank on the cord as punishment. “You should know better than to play with them before they’re broken,” he told the downed man. Dusk noticed that no one bothered to help him up.
The procession wound their way to a large marquee in the centre of the camp. A man standing guard at the entrance held the flap aside, and the women were led inside.
The first thing Dusk saw – as she was meant to – was a large wooden chair that sat in the centre of the room. It was presumably supposed to be a throne of some sort, but lacked both the style and the elegance of such a seat. A man sat on the throne, and she knew without being told that this was The Wolf, the powerful leader of the Gully slavers. He was of slighter build than she’d expected, lean and wiry, but there was a warm intelligence in his eyes that made her look twice. In contrast to a lot of his men, this one was no slob. He had neatly groomed dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a thin, pointed beard that suited his role as evil mastermind perfectly. He was fair-skinned and had a refined, dignified air that would have suited either a businessman or a high-class pirate, and Dusk imagined he could have been either before civilisation collapsed. If he’d been caught, he may even have spent time in jail for embezzlement, or fraud, or some other such upper-class crime.
There was nothing particularly ostentatious about his appearance, no gold chains or fancy rings to symbolise his position, and that was a cause for concern. A man who had no need of reminding his subjects of his rank had to control them by other means, and she didn’t like to think what his methods might be. He was wearing a button-down shirt and a pair of buckskin trousers, with a thick fur thrown over his shoulders – the only indication of any kind of wealth. It looked like it had been sewn together from the skins of a couple of dogs, German shepherds, maybe.
“Good afternoon, Pretties,” The Wolf said, with a disarming politeness and good humour. “I am The Wolf. This is my camp. Welcome to my humble abode.” He indicated the rather ordinary interior of the tent. It was relatively spacious, with an abundance of cushions and trays of food set out; dried fruits, nuts and jerky. But nothing was overly expensive or decorative; nothing like the makeshift palace Dusk had imagined such a man would choose to live in.
“Let’s get the pleasantries underway, shall we?” The Wolf began. “Tell me, Pretty…” He pointed to Willow, standing at the head of the line. “What is your name?”
“Willow.”
The Wolf looked Julia and Mikey over. They were at the edge of the room, restrained by two guards, standing quietly without making the slightest fuss. “And I understand these two delightful creatures are yours?” Presumably, the raiding party had sent a runner ahead of them to inform their leader of their success.
Willow looked over at her children, a cold fear in her eyes. Impatient at her lack of response, The Wolf nodded to one of the guards standing by, and he strode forward and slapped Willow across the face.
“Answer me, Pretty,” The Wolf prompted her.
“Yes, they are mine,” Willow told him, her head high, her eyes glaring at him defiantly. “And you cannot have them.”
The Wolf was taken aback for a moment. It must have been a long while since they’d had women in their midst who considered themselves better than common slaves, who refused to bend before the rank intimidation of the guards.
But he recovered quickly, and then he threw back his head and laughed, seeming genuinely amused by Willow’s declaration. He turned to Dusk, not even bothering to dismiss Willow’s claims. “What is your name?” he asked her.
“Dusk of the Two Swords,” she replied, as confident as she would have been had the swords actually been at her side.
He gave her a thoughtful look and stroked his beard. “And where are your swords now, Pretty?”
“See to it that I never get my hands on any,” she warned him, “or you’ll find out just how I earned that name.” She stared him in the eye as she spoke, and he looked right back, his gaze never wavering. The mutual sizing up was informative. He was smart, not just brutal; he was able to strategise, to plan ahead, to read his enemies as well as Dusk read hers. In a slightly different world, she would have admired this man. In this one, she would have to be extra careful if she wanted to find a way to kill him.
“What is your name?” The Wolf asked Flame, casually losing interest in Dusk. But the briefest flicker of his eyes as he looked away told her that he saw her as a threat and was deliberately dismissing her to try and make her feel insignificant. Thankfully, Dusk didn’t give a shit about his opinion, regardless of what it was, but the knowledge that he feared her gave her hope. Perhaps all was not lost after all.
“Go fuck yourself,” Flame answered his question, even less inclined to cooperate than Dusk was, and she was immediately backhanded across the face by one of the guards.
“Indeed,” The Wolf said. “Let’s try that again. And please remember, I’m trying to be polite. What is your name?”
Flame didn’t reply, staring back at him with a cool hatred. The guard hit her again, harder this time. Flame braced herself for the impact, and it didn’t cause her to do more than turn her head.
“Last chance, Pretty. What is your name?”
Dusk felt a spark of... something... travel across the room, a cold portent of things to come. “I am the mist that rises at dawn,” Flame said, her eyes never leaving The Wolf’s. “I am the fire that devours the forest. I am the shadow beneath the moon. I will be the cord that chokes the breath from your lungs.”
The Wolf’s smile faded, the game no longer amusing now that he wasn’t entirely in control. “Let’s teach Pretty some manners, shall we?”
Two guards grabbed her and wrestled her to the ground. Flame fought back, landing a few good kicks, but with her hands tied, she was at a serious disadvantage, and soon the guards had overpowered her. She head-butted one of them, and from his howl of pain, it was possible she’d just broken his nose. “Get the fuck off me, you fucking bastards!”
Two more guards quickly stepped up, pinning her to the floor and spreading her legs. The guard at The Wolf’s side came forward, unzipping his pants. They were going to rape her right here in front of everyone...
But the guards were all occupied subduing Flame at the moment, and The Wolf himself was focused on the fight. Dusk glanced sideways at Willow, then over at Mist and Mei-Lien. A split-second nod was all it took. Willow kicked one of the guards holding Flame in the head, as hard as she could. Mei-Lien burst forward and head-butted the guard about to rape Flame, while Mist kicked another guard in the balls, then followed it up with a kick to his face.
But Dusk had bigger prey in mind. She rushed forward, balancing her body carefully. Without her arms free, she would have to land perfectly. She leapt into the air, slamming her heel into The Wolf’s chest. He didn’t see her coming, too distracted by the sudden chaos, and so he hadn’t braced himself at all. The throne he was sitting on toppled over backwards, and Dusk landed on his chest, stumbling forward a few steps. A moment later she was back, lifting her foot to crush his throat -
A guard tackled her a split second before she brought her foot down, slamming her hard into the floor.
More guards tackled the other women, subduing them quickly, but by then the damage was done. Three of the guards were bleeding, one of them barely conscious, and one was writhing on the ground screaming, his knee bent at a funny angle from where Flame had lashed out and snapped it.
The Wolf clambered to his feet, bleeding from a wound where he’d struck the back of his head. He staggered a bit and had to cling to a pole to stay upright.
“Get him out of here!” he yelled at another guard, pointing to the howling man with the broken knee, and the other guard grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him out of the tent. He surveyed the women, all glaring at him boldly, though they were restrained, and in some cases, still pinned to the ground. “Take them to the tents. Separate them,” he added, a wise move, as they would most certainly be conspiring together if they had the chance. “And bring this one to me tonight.” He pointed to Flame. “We’re going to teach her a lesson.”
Aidan, Faith, Whisper and half a dozen other advisors were gathered around a long table in the centre of a run-down kitchen. The Tribe of the South Wind had taken over an abandoned farm, using the house as a makeshift base while they set up more permanent accommodations elsewhere. A large map sat in the centre of the table, hand drawn, little more than a dozen sheets of A4 paper taped together, but it sufficed for the purpose. Aidan knew his territory like the back of his hand, and all the important roads and landmarks had been added without the need for any official map.
“By the western road, it’ll take us two days to get there,” he told Faith. “The utes can get there in two or three hours, but if we’re going to bring the horses, it’ll take a fair bit longer.”
“I think they’ll provide enough of an advantage that it’s worth taking the extra time,” Faith said, and Aidan nodded.
“I agree. We’ll head west along the river, then north and east, and attack the Gully from the north side.”
“You’ve seen the camp more recently than any of us,” Whisper said. “Is there anything in particular we need to know about the layout?”
One of the other women spoke up before Faith could answer the question. “On the north, it runs almost up into the tree line. Makes it an excellent place to attack from.”
“On the south side, there’s a horse yard,” another woman added. “It’d be a good place to start a stampede. I don’t know how well trained their horses are, but if we can spook them enough, they’d trample a fair few of the tents.”
“What about on the west side?” Aidan asked. “I assume there’s not much but open paddock on the east between the road and where the camp starts?”
Faith nodded. “Attacking from the east would be a suicide mission. There’s no cover and no element of surprise. Unfortunately, you’re not much better on the west, either.”
“Why not?”
“On the far western edge, they’ve got a veggie garden. If we attack at dawn, there won’t be anyone in it. But then there’s a wide stretch of paddock before you get to the camp itself. Nothing but tussocks of grass for a good hundred metres or so.”
Aidan glanced at Whisper, and then at Torrent. They both nodded, eager gleams settling in their eyes. “We’ll have a unit attack from the west. We can do a bit of spying from that side, too; get the lay of the land, work out what their defences are.”
“It’s a field of nothing but bare grass!” Faith snapped at him, no doubt thinking the plan was pure lunacy. “You can’t hide a handful of human beings in that!”
“You’re forgetting what my men do best,” Aidan said, remembering clearly that he’d told her of their particular talents before the first battle they’d fought together, when the slavers had attacked their road-side camp.
“And what do they do best?” Faith asked, annoyed.
“They disappear,” Aidan reminded her. In the fight that morning, they’d done just that, melting away into the darkness like ghosts, only to reappear just as suddenly when the slavers attacked. “Trust me. I can have fifteen men cross that paddock without anyone having the faintest idea they’re there.”
Faith looked him in the eye. “Some days, I seriously worry about your sanity.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Aidan shot back, matching her glare with one of his own. “I lost it long ago.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Fear and rage were warring for dominance in Dusk’s mind as she sat on the ground in the middle of the slaver camp. The rage was currently being tempered by her determination to stay alive. She could fight these assholes, and likely take a few of them down with her, but she’d end up dead, and in Dusk’s mind, it would be a sad and pointless end to what had been an epic five-year-long fight for survival.
The fear, on the other hand, had little to soothe it. Dusk’s fear was only partially due to the physical terrors of being raped and beaten. Another part of it – a darker, more insistent part – came at a far more existential level. Would Aidan and her tribe come to save her? Was this a temporary trial that she merely had to endure? Or was this her final landing place in a world that was more cruel and callous than she could ever have imagined?
When Steve, the homesteader’s wife and daughter had been kidnapped, Aidan had steadfastly refused to rescue them. The Gully was too large, he’d said, and their own tribe too small to even contemplate such a battle. And when Dusk had asked him what he’d do if it had been his own tribe’s women, he’d refused to give a straightforward answer.
A part of her was desperately trying to convince herself that the men would be coming for them. Of course they would. The women of the tribe were no longer an ideal, a goal, a vision for the tribe’s future. They were friends, lovers, comrades; integral members of the tribe, as much as any of the men were. Of course they would come and re
scue them.
But with the cold weight of captivity settling in her mind, doubts inevitably crept in. How many of the men had been killed in the raid? How many were injured and unable to fight? They could be down to as few as twenty or thirty men, and with the best intentions in the world, there was no way a force that size could take on this camp.
They would find a way, Dusk told herself firmly. Surely Faith would help them. Wouldn’t she?
Steve’s wife and daughter could still be here, she realised, as she forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. When she got the chance, she should ask around and see if anyone knew of them. They’d been captured roughly six months ago, and they could easily have been sold to another tribe by now, but it was worth asking.
Even as her mind swirled with dark thoughts, Dusk made the effort to look around the camp. Despite The Wolf’s order that they be separated and taken to their ‘accommodation’, there was apparently some delay in getting things organised, and instead, the guards had sat her and the other women in a row in the unkempt grass. Survival was now a deeply ingrained instinct, and it was second nature to make mental notes about the layout of the camp, the location of various landmarks, the comings and goings of the guards. As she watched, two guards came out of one of the marquees, a woman being escorted between them – no doubt to be taken off and raped by one of the men. She was young – maybe in her early twenties – and frightfully thin. She had a large birthmark on her face – something that had no doubt lowered her price as a sex slave – but then Dusk gasped as she saw that the women didn’t have her left hand, just a stump at the end of her arm. Was this a punishment by the slavers for some crime or other? Or had she lost her hand in some accident or illness before the collapse? Cutting off people’s limbs came with a strong risk that the person would die, either from blood loss or infection, and there were far less crude ways of getting people to behave. Even so, the detail made Dusk’s stomach roll, at the same time as it strengthened her determination to get the hell out of here. Pay attention, girl, she scolded herself. In any plan to escape, she had to assume the worst predictable circumstances and start from there. In this case, that meant that the Tribe of the Clear River Valley were either not going to rescue them, or their rescue attempt would fail, and so Dusk would have to work out how to get her friends and herself to safety on her own. And in order to do that, she needed to know more about this tribe.
