by Laura Taylor
She tried to struggle, but he slammed his fist into her face again, black spots clouding her vision. He let go of her neck and used two hands to undo her pants.
A spurt of warm liquid fell across her neck, and the disgusting weight on top of her vanished. Rochelle fought to clear her vision, to persuade her brain to figure out what the hell was going on. She had to fight back. She had to kill the man. She couldn’t just lie here and be raped yet again…
“Are you okay? Shit, come on, Rochelle, stay with me…” She was suddenly looking at the sky, instead of at the grass, and a blurry face appeared in front of her. The voice seemed familiar… “Look at me. Look at me… Look at my finger. Left… right… No? Shit…” There were blurry things moving around in front of her. If she could just catch her breath for a moment…
“Okay, let’s just lie here for a bit and see if you come around.” She was turned onto her side, and oddly enough, it was that gentle but insistent force of someone else moving her body for her that snapped her out of her daze. She ripped herself out of his grasp and lurched to her feet, spinning around with her fists up to find herself face to face with…
“Stormbreaker?”
He lurched backwards, arms up to ward off her attack. “Whoa, yeah, hey. It’s me.”
Lying on the grass behind him was the slaver she’d been fighting, his throat torn wide open by a sharp blade. She touched the back of her neck, where some kind of liquid was trickling down her back, and her fingers came away red.
“You killed him?” she asked dumbly.
Stormbreaker nodded. “Yeah. Of course. Are you okay?”
Was he okay might have been a better question. He was filthy, blood and dirt all over his arms and face. There was a gash in his shirt, a rip in his pants, and a large, black stain on his right leg that she suspected was his own blood.
“Thank you,” she said, not quite sure what to make of him. Men in general were scum, and there wasn’t much that would ever change her opinion on that front. But back when she’d lived at his village, she remembered that Stormbreaker had been one of the few men who had never harassed her, never tried to compliment her or shown any interest at all in trying to get into her pants. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him, she reflected, as the world slowly stopped spinning around her. If he really was an exception to the rule, then maybe she could at least try to be friends with him.
“The battle’s pretty much over,” Stormbreaker pointed out. “Do you want to head back over to Faith, or do you need a minute?”
The other women fighting nearby had succeeded in killing the other slavers. Back over near the centre of the camp, the men of Aidan’s tribe were in the middle of the familiar ritual of cutting the heads off each of their enemies. The head of The Wolf was now mounted on a pole, displayed for all to see above the wooden platform.
“Let’s go back,” she said, after a moment. “And maybe find some water. I think I’m going to throw up.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Leaning back against the side of the ute, Aidan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Dusk was leaning against him, his arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders, and she buried her head against his chest, seeming to almost fall asleep for a moment. She was exhausted, but she’d refused to stop working once all the slavers were dead, instead throwing herself into the work of cleaning and bandaging wounds, then helping Faith’s women to round up the stray horses. Thankfully, they were all quite tame, and once the noise and chaos of the battle had finished, they’d come trotting over eagerly when someone had the bright idea of shaking a bucket of grain. Now, they were all safely secured back in the stock yard, while a couple of the women gathered what saddles were available and prepared for the slow walk back to their village. This time, though, they were free to take the main road, making the trip both easier and shorter.
When Aidan had asked Dusk if she was okay, if she wouldn’t have preferred to take a rest, she’d snapped “I’m fine,” then followed it up with a sharp warning: “I don’t want to talk about it!” Her eyes had seemed suddenly bright, and she’d blinked a few times and clenched her jaw. “I don’t want to think about it,” she said, her voice tight, her tone less angry, “and if I stay busy, then I don’t have to think about it.”
“Okay,” he’d said, understanding her perspective perfectly. He’d been in enough difficult circumstances, facing the death of his tribesmen or trying to put the village back together after a storm, that he knew there were times when physical action was the only thing that could hold back a storm of a different kind.
He was about to go back to his own work when she suddenly spoke again.
“I killed fourteen men today,” she informed him, the words coming out almost like a challenge. “Fourteen.”
The number held a significance that eluded Aidan. He’d killed the same number the day he’d earned his name, but he didn’t think she would be squabbling over something so petty as ‘I killed more men than you’. “Well done,” he said, not knowing what else to say and, apparently satisfied with his response, Dusk turned back to her task, one hand stealthily wiping her eye in a rapid gesture that could just as easily have been swatting at a fly.
Hours later, the work was finally starting to run out. All the useful weapons from the slavers had been gathered, bows and blades alike, and piled into the utes. Once they got back to the Clear River Valley, they’d sort through them and split them between the two tribes. Likewise, the slavers’ horses would be divided amongst them, and Aidan understood for the first time what triumph ancient armies must have felt at plundering the cities they’d conquered. Wealth, in this day and age, came in the form of food, horses and weapons, and they’d just secured a generous supply of two out of the three. There were also all manner of tools and other useful items, clothes, books, candles and so forth, that would benefit both tribes.
The bodies of the men and women from their own tribes had been gathered and placed in a row at the edge of the road. Despite the effort it was going to take, it was very important to everyone that they not be left for scavengers, as would be the case for the slavers. Already, birds were circling in the air, waiting for there to be a few less pesky humans wandering about amongst their next meal. By nightfall, wild dogs and feral cats would also take part in the feast, and when they’d had their fill, ants and flies would take over.
But their own dead would be taken back to the village and burned. The funeral was more than just an opportunity to grieve. It also gave people the chance to express their gratitude to the fallen men and women who’d sacrificed their lives so that the rest of them could live in safety, and Aidan hoped that doing so would ease some of the pain everyone was feeling. Nonetheless, it was going to take a long time to move past these most recent losses, a heavy price having been paid for the victory. Faith’s tribe had lost seven women, while Aidan’s was now missing nineteen of their members, including those who’d been killed back in the initial raid. Five of the women who’d been held captive were also dead.
Aidan pressed a kiss to Dusk’s mussed hair as she leaned against him, and he looked around at the rest of the survivors. Willow was holding Mikey, while Julia had apparently refused to let go of Whisper ever since they’d trekked back up the hill with their rescued captives in tow. He was supporting her against his hip, her tiny hand clutching a fistful of his shirt as if she was afraid he would vanish from beneath her.
Mei-Lien was bandaging the last of the wounds, with Torrent a faithful shadow beside her, handing her scissors or holding a light for her to get a better look at a wound. A little further into the paddock, a group of men and women were sitting down, taking the time to have something to eat. Rochelle was there, Aidan noted, and it looked like she was chatting to Stormbreaker. He didn’t hold any particular hopes for Stormbreaker’s desire for a relationship, but it would be nice if the two of them could at least manage to be friends.
Faith was sitting on the edge of one of the utes, a bandage tied around a long and blo
ody wound on her thigh. But even though she couldn’t walk for the moment, she was still getting things done, snapping orders about counting the bows or sending someone to collect any undamaged arrows from the battlefield, asking question after question about how each of her women had fared, who was injured, who still needed medical attention. She was focused and relentless, putting her tribe’s needs well ahead of her own, and Aidan was going to have to find a way to thank her later. Of course, he’d have to come up with something that would benefit her tribe and not inadvertently offend her at the same time. They couldn’t have done this without her, and the fact that they had not only rescued their loved ones, but also destroyed the entire camp, was remarkable.
For now, though, they had to get everyone back home, and when there was a break in the flow of people around Faith, Aidan managed to grab a few minutes of her time. “Heading straight down the main road, it should take us about four hours to get back home,” he told her. “The bodies will be in one of the utes. Anyone who’s injured can ride on the horses, or if they can’t manage that, they can ride in the second ute. Everyone else will have to walk.”
“I know this is an imposition,” Faith said, “but I was hoping we could all camp at your village tonight. A lot of these women are exhausted, and it’s going to be slow going to even get that far. We’ll move on in the morning,” she assured him, though he was far from worried about the request.
“You’d be more than welcome. You’ll all need a decent feed and a good sleep. And we’ll need to hold a funeral as well. We’d like to pay our respects to your warriors, as well as our own. If you like, you can take the ashes back to your camp with you afterwards.”
Faith nodded, and Aidan could recognise the weight of sorrow currently pressing down on her. “Don’t think this means we’re merging into one tribe, or any other ridiculous notion,” she told him sharply. “These women have been brutalised for far too long, and -”
“I know, I know,” Aidan interrupted her. “They need time to heal. I agree. We’re happy to help in any way we can, but at the same time, I know that sometimes the most helpful thing we can do is just to leave you alone.”
Faith seemed mollified by his easy acquiescence… but a moment later, a look of faint unease was back on her face. “I think it would be foolish not to maintain some sort of alliance between us. Sooner or later, we’ll have to learn to live together – for the sake of children, or so we can help each other after storms or when raiders come through. Because they will come back. The Gully weren’t the only tribe of slavers on the coast.”
“Good God, you’re not actually trying to be friends, are you?” Aidan asked, good-natured sarcasm a reliable fall-back when emotions were running too high. “Careful now. Much more of this and I’ll start thinking you actually like us.”
“Well, one thing you could do, if you’re so damn eager to be best buddies,” Faith shot back, following his lead, “is help us feed all these freeloaders we’re suddenly landed with. Look at them! They’re going to spend the next month whinging about a few cuts on their arms and legs and refusing to do any work. And some of them are going to end up living with you anyway, so you may as well start paying rent for them now.”
The request for food was both genuine and serious, despite the manner of asking, and he knew it must have grated on her to have to admit she needed help. “We can bring food to you once a week,” he volunteered immediately. “There now, we’ve just resurrected home delivery. Who said civilisation was lost?” His tribe had worked hard to have not just a plentiful supply of food, but a generous surplus as well. They had a small mountain of grains, dried fruits and nuts stored that would last the entire tribe nearly six months, if push came to shove. Aside from that, they were now all well versed in the wild weeds and plants that could be eaten, and while many of them weren’t particularly palatable, they would keep someone alive well enough. The surplus meant they could share a portion of their fresh produce, supplement it with stored goods, and everyone would get enough variety to keep them feeling satisfied.
“Thank you,” Faith said. “We’ll have to come up with new trading arrangements to pay you back. Now that you have your own horses and bows, our two main industries are worth a lot less than they used to be.”
“We’re all done,” Mei-Lien interrupted the conversation, wiping her hands on a rag as she joined them. “A lot of the wounds will need more treatment when we get home – Nicholas can make poultices to help stop infections – but everyone’s good enough to travel.”
“Celeste? How are we doing?” Faith called to one of her warriors.
“We’ve got fifty horses and forty saddles. We’re as ready as we’re going to get.”
“Qadira? What’s the story with the food?”
“We’ve stripped the vegetable garden. Sally and Komali are packing it in sacks and we can strap them to a couple of the horses.”
Faith nodded and gently eased herself back onto her feet. “All right, let’s get everyone loaded up. I can ride, if someone can give me a boost up there.”
Aidan was about to volunteer, then reconsidered. It was something one of the other women was more than capable of doing, and as he’d said earlier, sometimes the more helpful thing was to simply stay out of the way. Instead, he helped the people who would be riding in the ute. A few of the injuries were serious, and there was one in particular that he was worried could lead to one of the women losing a limb. At the very least, she was going to have limited use of her arm once it healed.
It took a good fifteen minutes to get everyone ready to go. The two utes eased off down the road and those on foot fell in behind, the horses bringing up the rear. Though the vehicles could have travelled the distance back to the village multiple times in a single day, they’d all agreed that sticking together was a better strategy. As Faith had pointed out, the Gully were not the only tribe of slavers to travel this road, and Aidan wasn’t inclined to let any more of his mates get killed in ambushes.
An hour later, Aidan was feeling rather grateful that they were taking this trek at the cooler end of the year. The main road south offered little in the way of shade, and since it was now a little past midday, it would have been extremely unpleasant to be walking all the way back to the village in the heat of the day. Dusk was walking on one side of him, while Faith, on her horse, plodded along on the other. Mikey and Julia were riding in the ute, Whisper and Willow strolling beside them as the drivers trundled along at a steady walking pace.
“A few of the slavers escaped,” Faith was saying as she rode beside Aidan. “Some of them might find homesteads to join, or other tribes that will accept them. Some of them might die in the wilderness. Either way, there’ll be too few of them to start a new tribe.”
“There are some decent supplies back in the Gully,” Aidan pointed out. They’d taken the most valuable items, but there were plenty more that wouldn’t fit into the vehicles. “We’ll send the utes back in a week or two, once we’ve recovered enough to make the journey.”
“Maybe wait until the scavengers have finished with the bodies,” Dusk advised. “The smell alone is going to be nightmarish.”
“If you don’t mind, we might lay claim to the garden tools,” Faith said. “We’re going to need some of those if we’re going to set up a decent veggie garden.”
“I could work with that if we get a couple of extra bows out of the ones we looted from the slavers,” Aidan replied. It was partly because his tribe needed them, and partly to make Faith feel like she wasn’t being given a free ride. The politics between the two tribes was going to be a delicate balancing act. For all Aidan’s good intentions about helping them, Faith was a hard and independent woman, and she would lose all respect for him if he made it too easy for her. But at the same time, she would find it all too easy to hate him if he didn’t help her at all.
“There are going to be plenty of other tools for you to have,” Faith answered, with an air of nonchalance. “Do we really have to start bargaini
ng over them already?”
Fortunately, Dusk was one step ahead of her. As usual. “You’re going to need seeds to grow those veggies of yours,” she pointed out. “And we’re going to need teachers to help us learn to use the bows. Or to make our own arrows. We’ll have plenty of things to trade with for a while yet.”
Without warning, an arrow shot out of the undergrowth, embedding itself in Faith’s saddle, an inch or so in front of her leg. Her horse reared up, but she kept her seat.
“RAIDERS!” The cry came from one of the women further back in the line, and a split-second glance told Aidan there had been plenty more arrows… and more were coming. In an instant, everyone was scrambling for cover. Those in the ute flattened themselves against the tray. In the cabs, the drivers ducked down behind their doors. Those on horseback headed into the undergrowth, while everyone on foot ran for cover, either behind the utes or behind trees.
Skidding to a stop behind one of the utes, Dusk drew her two swords. Beside her, Willow was trying to keep the children calm. They’d had a rude shock when she and Whisper had grabbed them forcefully off the tray and dived for cover. Further up, Whisper darted across to the first ute, a long knife in his hand. He peered around the front end, then dashed around the corner and disappeared from view. He would circle around to cut them off from behind, Dusk knew, a silent assassin blending into the bush like he’d been born part tree.
“Fucking assholes don’t know when to die!” Faith cursed from nearby. She nocked an arrow to her bow, eyes combing the trees for a likely target. Dusk peered out around the back of the ute, ready to go and increase her body count to fifteen.
Off in the bushes, a sudden scuffle broke out, ending on a high-pitched yelp. Whisper had found his mark. But the arrows were still coming, and Dusk wondered just how many of the slavers had survived. One of them found its target, Dream catching an arrow in her leg, and she screamed in pain. Her horse reared, throwing her off, and that set the others off, all of them still edgy from the stressful morning. A minor stampede followed, as the riders all tried to get their mounts under control, and those on foot had to scramble out the way to avoid being trampled.
