Mamna never slept well after the fragments of those memories woke her in sweat-soaked terror, and tonight, when the shaking of the earth began, she was already wide awake.
The protective amulet she wore tucked beneath her nightdress remained silent, but she withdrew it for added reassurance that she was not under demon attack.
She rubbed it between her fingers. Its smoothness was gone. The fine cracks that shattered the desert varnish after she had summoned the demon that afternoon had deepened considerably. Had it lost the last of its power?
Was that what this trembling of the earth signified?
She crawled from the soft, warm depths of her canopied bed and padded across the swaying floor. Thin shafts of moonlight beckoned to her through the slit where the two heavy brocade curtains did not quite meet. She inched the crack wider and peered outside with one eye.
Her bedroom window, crafted from cut glass and exorbitantly expensive, overlooked the manicured garden of one of the many fortified inner compounds designed to keep Freetown’s wealthier inhabitants safe from thieves and murderers.
She pulled back one curtain and tried to see beyond the city’s main walls to the east, where the mountain dominated the horizon, but the night was too dark.
The raised voices of people swarming in the street outside the compound reached her ears. They, too, wondered what the quaking earth signified. The last time, it meant the mountain burned and the goddesses had abandoned them.
The tremors slowly died away. Mamna watched for a long time as the crowds thinned, and eventually, the street emptied.
The earthquake might have something to do with the spawn on the mountain. It might have much to do with her damaged amulet as well. The timing was too much of a coincidence, and Mamna did not believe in coincidences.
She remained at the window for several more hours. When night shifted to morning in an explosion of sunshine, Mamna crawled into her bed to rest and think.
If the Slayer succeeded in bringing the spawn back with him, she now had a problem. She could no longer rely upon her amulet. Therefore, she had no method to control the spawn if he did succeed.
She smoothed the silk pillows. The Slayer quite possibly possessed the only remaining amulet that could be used against demons. He would not give it up willingly. That meant she either had to convince him to control the spawn for her, or she would have to take his amulet from him by force.
…
Hunter and Airie reached the trading post by midmorning. They rode into the main yard of a long, low, weathered building constructed of shaved logs. A creaky, sagging verandah lined with barrels ran its full length.
It was what Hunter would expect to find in a remote location once devastated by fire. The logs for its construction would have been hauled from the far side of the mountain where the fire had not been as rampant.
Here, though, on the westward face of the lower mountain region, signs of the fire remained. Fast-growing thickets of conifers had squeezed out much of the struggling hardwood in the forests, although a few saplings of the hardier varieties had persevered and thrived.
Homesteads were scattered throughout the mountains, so he had not expected to find the trading post completely abandoned. It sat well out of range of any possible landslides from the implosion and would have made a good gathering place. That it was empty indicated that people remembered those terror-filled days of the demon fires and preferred to take their chances in the desert.
A part of him was disappointed to find the trading post empty because he had expected Airie’s appearance to trigger some sort of riot, and at the moment a good fight might be just the thing he needed to burn off some of the frustration he felt.
He entered the low-ceilinged building with caution, Airie behind him, making certain that it was, indeed, abandoned. Only the groan of the floorboards welcomed them.
“Take anything you think we might need,” Hunter said, tossing her a sack from a pile he found beside the counter. He began to fill one of his own.
Airie caught the sack but did not move. “I have no money to pay for what I take. I left everything behind.”
Hunter swept some dried meat from a hook on a rafter and dropped it into his sack. “You’re a thief. This isn’t a good time to develop morals.”
“I am not a thief.”
He stopped with his hand on a jar of preserves. “You tried to rob me.”
“I asked only for what the goddesses demand from anyone who enters the mountain. You aren’t exempt from that law.”
He struggled to be reasonable. “Since the goddesses are gone and you aren’t a priestess, I’d say that does make you a thief.”
Her expression grew cold and remote. “My mother is—was—a priestess and therefore entitled to receive alms. She could no longer collect them herself. I did what had to be done.”
The reference to her mother, reminding him of her loss and her reaction to it, did not improve his mood. She was a thief and a spawn. Those were the two most important things about her he needed to remember, and what silenced his conscience when he thought about her future.
“I’m not getting into a theological argument with you right now,” Hunter said. “Fill that sack, and I’ll leave money on the counter—although chances are good that some person other than the owner will come along and help himself to it first.”
They filled both sacks and Hunter, true to his word, tossed a few coins on the counter. Airie looked at him. Hunter sighed, then placed a few more beside them.
“There. I’ve paid for both of us. To repay me for your share, you can tell me why you didn’t want to be seen here.” He wondered if she would tell him the truth.
Her cheeks turned red, and she avoided meeting his eyes. “There might have been a slight altercation with a few traders. And they might have decided to talk about it.”
Hunter turned that information over carefully in his head. Wild stories of her had already reached Mamna. The fact that Airie reddened as she spoke of this particular incident suggested it had been worse than others.
But it bothered him that she could blush over it, and insist on paying for the goods they were taking, as if she really did know right from wrong. “Do I dare ask about the reason for this altercation?”
“Does a demon need one?” she threw back at him.
He grabbed one bulging sack, slung it over his shoulder, and turned away without another word.
They rode back the way they came, although as soon as they could Hunter intended to leave the common trail and find a place for them to rest. He was beyond tired. His muscles ached and his eyes scratched when he blinked. But he had no intention of being caught asleep by anyone returning to the small mountain outpost once the initial panic wore off.
They left the scarred mountain behind and entered the foothills, where the trail tended to curl around some of the more jagged hills. The forest remained thick, tapering off in the distance where the silver snake of the river and its delta divided the end of the mountain’s foothills from the beginnings of the desert flatlands. The river eventually entered one of the many canyons, where it disappeared into an underground waterway.
Hunter scanned the immediate landscape closely for any signs of those who had fled before them. The indications were there, but they told him that very few of the refugees were traveling together.
“Here,” he said, pulling Sally to a halt and pointing into the forest. “See that little patch of light, way back in there? It’s a clearing. We can make a shelter, and maybe get some sleep before nightfall.” He preferred traveling at night when few others would dare because of the threat of demons.
They dismounted, and as he led Sally through the undergrowth, he took care to erase any traces of their passing.
Airie proved to be an able woodswoman, requiring very little direction, and building a shelter out of spruce boughs and saplings went quickly.
For Hunter, the difficulties arose once the shelter was complete. He had made it big enough
for them both because he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight, but how was he supposed to sleep and keep an eye on her as well?
He was not comfortable sleeping with a demon’s spawn at his side, although even he had to admit that a spawn who healed animals was unlikely to pose a threat to a sleeping man. But he also knew the only reason she was with him now was because of the cracking of the mountain and their forced flight.
How, then, did he make certain she was with him when he awoke?
She did not know she was his prisoner, and he had no desire for her to find out just yet. Even though she was spawn, he could not bring himself to tie her up, or to him, which was what he would have done if she had been a man.
Airie tossed down the last armload of sharp-scented spruce boughs and made two separate beds on the floor of the shelter. Hunter unfurled the blankets.
“You aren’t to leave this shelter without me,” he said to her. “It’s too dangerous for a woman alone. We don’t know who else might be around.”
She met his eyes, her response sharp and direct as if she’d read his thoughts. “It’s fortunate, then, that I’m not a real woman.”
“You give enough of the appearance of one for it to be a problem for you.” A sense of wrongdoing on his part, which he did not like, intensified. “But by all means, do as you wish.”
The boughs, when he collapsed on them, proved so comfortable that he immediately closed his eyes and decided to take his chances on Airie disappearing before he awoke. If he found her gone, he could simply track her down again.
Right now he wanted sleep more than anything.
…
Airie watched him sleep, her hand curled under her cheek and her arm resting on top of the prickly matting. The day had vanished far too soon, and night now rapidly approached.
He looked much younger when he was asleep. In fact, he was probably no more than five years older than she, ten at the very most.
He had darkly tanned skin, and bleached, shoulder-length hair spoke of many hours spent in the sun. His eyes, when they looked at her, were a shade of blue that could chill like winter’s ice or heat with the intensity of a clear summer sky, depending on his mood. Several days’ stubble, a few shades darker than his hair, covered his cheeks and chin, but did little to hide the sharp angles and planes. She knew from the hours she had spent in the saddle with her arms wrapped around his waist that solid muscle underlay an otherwise long and lean body.
Compared to the men who frequented the trading post, she supposed Hunter was a fine and rare specimen of mortal man.
But he had called her spawn and a monster, and Airie had yet to forgive him for that. She’d wept again over the loss of her mother and her home while he slept, but now she was ready to move forward.
Grief had kept her from taking note of the route they traveled. She had not asked him where they were headed because she did not care. She had made up her mind as to what she would do, and Hunter’s opinion on that wouldn’t matter because she did not trust him any more than he trusted her. He had not explained what had brought him to the mountain, and she knew he had not happened there by chance.
He opened his eyes and blinked, slowly adjusting to the dim light and foreign surroundings.
Then, his eyes settled on her. She wore only her thin chemise and cotton knickers, and the length of his scrutiny told her he noticed them.
“We should grab something to eat and be on our way,” he said, but he did not move.
Airie’s mother had warned her constantly of the dangers of two women living alone, even under the protection of the goddesses’ temple, so most of her small extended world knew her as a boy. No man had ever looked at her in a way that made her so self-conscious.
She rolled from her bedding and stretched her stiff limbs. She had no need to worry about protection from Hunter. He saw her as an abomination. Any other impression he might give was a product of her imagination, brought on by the frightening knowledge she was now all alone.
“We also need to talk about what will become of you,” Hunter added, continuing to watch her with unreadable eyes, but following her line of thought.
“We don’t need to talk,” Airie said. “I know what I’m going to do.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to Freetown.”
She had thought it through and weighed the advantages and risks. She was young and strong, and reasonably well-schooled. At least, she believed so. The priestesses had once been educators, although only to the finest and most promising girls, and while Airie had no idea if she would have been selected as a student under normal circumstances, her mother had been pleased with her efforts. She could cook, she could clean, and she could sew. She might even be able to teach. Surely she could find work to support herself. Her needs were few.
She could control her demon temper and blend in.
He raised himself to one elbow, propping his head on his hand.
“Why Freetown?” he asked.
Because it was the only town Airie knew of in spite of all that Desire had taught her. She had heard it spoken of at the trading post. It sounded big, and anonymous. She could make a place for herself there. More than anything, it allowed her to remain close to her mother.
“I have to go somewhere,” she said.
There was a long stretch of silence.
“What kind of work do you think is available to you in Freetown?” he asked.
The way he posed the question made her feel ignorant, which in turn left her defensive. “I can do anything any other woman in Freetown can do.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
Airie turned her back on him and the subtle hint of sarcasm he conveyed. His opinion of her and what she was—or wasn’t—might not matter, but it stung nonetheless. The makeshift bedding rustled, and his discarded blanket landed beside her.
“Since I’m going to Freetown too, we may as well continue to travel together,” he said.
The level of relief she felt at that statement surprised her. They did not like each other. They did not trust each other. She had not forgiven him for the things he had said, and neither of them felt any need to impress the other. The trip would be awkward at best.
But she would not be alone.
“Thank you,” she said.
Hunter tugged on his boots. “If you want to thank me, you can try to remember two things the women in Freetown don’t do. They don’t light themselves on fire, and they don’t get into slight altercations with men.”
Airie reached for the overskirt she had removed before going to bed. He was so arrogant she could not resist a gibe. “Then those are two things I can teach them to do.”
“Goddesses help them,” Hunter muttered to the toes of his boots.
…
The early morning sun soon dispelled the chill of the night.
The Demon Lord wore his mortal form. Morning meant it was time for him to move underground, yet he continued to sit on his heels in the warm, sandy shade of a spiny soaptree yucca, his attention on the smoking remains of the mountain on the horizon.
As part of the exchange for his protection, Mamna had agreed to keep him informed of any unusual activity on the mountain. He considered its peak disintegrating into dust and rubble to be unusual, and had waited several days for her to send word to him of what had happened. So far, he had heard nothing.
Perhaps he was too impatient, but he did not believe so. He expected a certain degree of loyalty from his followers, and he disliked being at the mercy of a woman who had once betrayed her mistresses. He had never fully trusted Mamna because of that, and now she was becoming an even greater cause for concern.
He would send someone else to the mountain to see what had happened. He would deal with the priestess later.
The white, bell-shaped yucca flowers around the cliff’s entrance bobbed on their long stems, nodding their approval.
“Agares!”
The demon was one of several who had remained behind afte
r the fight with Be’el. He was indolent and easily bribed, and remarkably nonconfrontational for a demon.
Agares appeared at the front of the cavern, naked, also in his mortal form. Although it was easier for demons to bear the touch of the sun this way, the Demon Lord sometimes suspected wearing mortal form accelerated the ravages of time.
Agares, however, showed few of time’s ill effects. His thick dark hair was untouched by gray, and his eyes were unlined.
“I’d like you to find out what has happened on the mountain,” the Demon Lord said.
Shielding his eyes with his hand, Agares looked to the smoking horizon. “The top has blown off.”
The Demon Lord tossed the stick aside and rose to his feet. “I meant that I want you to go there and see why.”
“I know what you meant.” Agares’ eyes shifted to his, his expression calculating. “It’s daylight. I would have to travel in mortal form. And the goddesses’ protection of the mountain may as yet be unbroken. What if I can’t get close enough to see?”
Asking Agares to travel in mortal form during the day meant the Demon Lord would have to grant him permission to hunt, and Freetown lay directly in his path. The agreement with Mamna would be broken, at least in part, and if Agares could not get close enough to the mountain to discover for certain what had happened, it would be broken for nothing.
Perhaps not for nothing. It was past time to renegotiate that agreement.
“Do what you must,” he said to Agares. He would deal with Mamna when or if the need arose. “The Demon Slayer may be near the mountain. If he is, he may also have a woman with him. If he does, follow them. I want to know where he takes her.”
“Who is this woman?” Agares asked, anticipation as well as curiosity now lighting his eyes.
The Demon Lord did not intend to reveal who she was, or what she might be. “She is from the mountain. Someone Mamna is interested in. Therefore, she is of interest to me. She may already be dead,” he added. “The Slayer may be as well, if they were caught in that blast.”
Agares grew more animated, no doubt at the possibilities for pleasure such freedom would give him. “If they are alive, I could kill the Slayer and bring the woman to you.”
Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws) Page 9
