She startled when a warm hand wrapped about her upper arm. She leaned back toward it without truly meaning to, the heat even greater from the greater source. “You are cold,” he stated grimly, his pace suddenly outpacing hers, the trees only just beginning to thin. “We are not far.”
She rubbed at her arms, difficult to do with his hand continuing to hold firm, and she vaguely wished he’d let her go. The one warm patch of skin was making the rest all the more aware of how neglected it truly was, and the numbness seemed a better alternative.
She half-heartedly made to pull away from him, but his grip only tightened. He wasn’t looking at her, his attention seemingly far away, on precisely what she couldn’t fathom.
Silence was fine by her. She didn’t have her own name anymore, and it probably didn’t matter if she didn’t have a voice to go with it.
Her lip gave a tremble and she bit it to keep it still. There was no use crying about it, not when it would only irritate the man next to her. Not that she knew that for certain. She had yet to see him not irritated, but the men in the colony always seemed annoyed by a crying woman, so it seemed better not to do that anymore.
“It is our way,” he said abruptly, and she blinked up at him. He still did not look at her, but his voice was clear and precise. “You will be provided with new things once we have reached… our home.” He stumbled over the word, and it sounded odd coming from him. She looked carefully for a wince, but couldn’t find one, and for that she was glad.
“I’ll keep out of your way,” she assured him, hoping that would make him feel better. She would gladly be invisible if she could, just tend her work and disappear, leaving him alone to do the same.
He ignored her again, though his mouth tightened all the same. “You will not be left with nothing, regardless of how it might currently appear.”
The trees finally opened, and she could not help but stare. She had seen the barren expanses of the Wastes—where sky and sand stretched seemingly forever, the only mark upon the horizon the occasional dune rising a little taller from the rest.
But here...
The first sun was beginning to drop low, the wild grasses bathed in the first streaks of gold, fields carefully nurtured into tidy rows, their bounty full of lush greens. There was no settlement yet to be seen, only open lands.
“Our work,” Machrus told her, gesturing toward the fields. “There is plenty of it.” She could not quite make out his tone, as it was said with almost a grimace, yet full of pride as well. She could understand why, for there was an orderliness that impressed her, the vastness of the space showing just how many of their people there must be if they were able to tend it all.
She looked at it all, suddenly overwhelmed. The Marzon certainly did not need anything that her people had to offer—what she could offer. Perhaps she could work in the fields, or find some other occupation, but that was not the same as being needed. She did not think she had a skill that they lacked, had some knowledge that they desired. She had been given none of their remaining technology, some marvel from a lost world by which to fascinate these people.
And she wondered precisely how long it would take before they realised that.
Not all of the fields were crops. The far edges were bare, just seas of yellow and green grasses mingling, punctuated only by slowly moving creatures that littered the otherwise unmarred landscape.
She wanted to ask what they were, her curiosity hoping they would move closer so she could see them for herself, but they were moving away, Machrus’s hand still firm upon her arm, and she did not ask him to change his route.
The suns were warm but the air was growing colder, and they continued on, their pace steady. They overtook the others eventually, Machrus ignoring their questioning looks, and she tried not to stare at all she passed.
She expected them to descend to the valley beyond, but they kept to the tree line, returning to the shadows of the more densely arranged forest.
Confusing to be sure.
“You do not have homes?” she asked at last, irrationally disappointed. She had never had one, not a real one, not like her parents had described from their own youths. But apparently some part of her had desired one, had thought that there would be some consolation in all of this.
Machrus gave a grunt, and suddenly people were all about them. Perhaps there had been populations like this in the old-world, with cities and towns and the like where they mingled together and called it home. But for them to suddenly appear, so many faces peering at her so intently...
Machrus’s hold was the only thing keeping her from fleeing.
Sladec and Adelmar appeared, the remaining three men accompanying them—guards perhaps?—disappearing into the crowd.
She did not know what she expected, but this had not been it. She was used to her small community, well known and perhaps not well loved, but familiar in its way. But here, the small glimpse she had of the people who were now suddenly hers, there were many. Too many to think that she could know them all, or them know her, and the thought was an intimidating one.
No two faces were the same, all a mingle of different features and colourings that made the Marzon seem even more a jumble than she had thought them before. None of them spoke, adding to their strangeness, as she was certain her own people would have long before injected either a greeting or a question.
Sladec walked forward, his fist suddenly rising in the air, the people about them releasing such a whoop in answer that the noise carried through the trees, amplifying until it began to hurt her ears.
Machrus dropped his hand away from her, and though she could have slipped away, could have bolted back out toward the open fields, the comforting sky, she found herself drawing nearer to him. Not that he would protect her from the noise, not when he was simply standing there, his expression unreadable. They were speaking about her, their voices high and excited, and she shrank a little further, Sladec eventually waving them off with a laugh.
Only they didn’t wander back through the trees as she anticipated.
Instead they were heading upward.
And for the first time, she looked up.
There was not much to see, not immediately, the leaves thick and barring most things from view. But the longer the look, the more detail came to view. An elaborate network of ropes hailed from above, platforms marring any glimpses of sky.
They lived in the trees.
She swallowed. She’d never much cared for heights. On a dare she’d once climbed one of the sparse trees in the Waste, a thin, reedy thing with only a few leaves at the top. The trunk had scraped her hands and the view below had made her woozy, and she’d frozen, uncaring of the mocking of the children below, resolutely waiting for her father to eventually come and fetch her down.
And he had, shaking his head and reminding her not to listen to the foolishness of others, and she’d tearfully nodded, clutching at his neck so hard that he had laughingly asked her to release him before he choked.
She tugged at Machrus’s little finger as the people began to disperse, ropes appearing from above, hands grasping strongly and bodies flying upward. None appeared frightened, none fell, but the sight was horrifying all the same.
“I don’t want to go up there,” she told him, her voice more pleading than she’d intended.
Machrus turned, glancing down at her. “Our people are there,” he reminded her, a frown beginning to play about his lips.
Sladec appeared, Adelmar still at his side. “Trouble?” he asked, watching them both carefully. “You needn’t be nervous, Renna, they were joyful for your arrival, as you could plainly see.”
She gave him a thin smile, still uncertain why they would care much for her being here. “I didn’t know you lived,” she eyed the trees warily, “up there.”
He shared a look with his wife, before he glanced at her again. “Of course you did not, for we did not speak of it.”
Adelmar stepped forward, her hands clasped before her. “Your hom
e was on the ground, yes?”
Renna nodded. “Always.”
The other woman looked at her in sympathy. “As was mine. But you will grow used to our ways, just as I have done. The view is lovely.”
She did not care for views—she was certain that anything seen from that height would only cause her stomach to revolt in any case—and she was increasingly fearful that she truly would cry if she was forced to go up there.
“My home is not with them,” Machrus informed her, and for the first time she was tremendously grateful that this man had been chosen for her.
Sladec shook his head, apparently displeased. “Machrus, we have discussed...”
Machrus tried to shake away her grasp, but she held firm, and he was apparently unwilling to be more forceful for he relented, though with little grace. He glared at her briefly before he turned it toward his brother. “No, you have spoken at me. There was no agreement. My home is my own, as it shall remain.”
Adelmar cut in, evidently seeing the beginnings of an argument between the two brothers. “Machrus, she will need us. You know this well.” She gestured above them, to the people beyond. “We are one.”
“We,” he insisted, bowing his head lowly in what she thought must be a sign of parting. “Are retiring to my home. She is cold, and I am hungry.”
She was hungry too, but it didn’t seem worth mentioning since he apparently was as well. She liked that he realised she was cold and wished to do something to help. Her feet hurt as well, walking so long without her boots, and she was sorry she hadn’t paid more attention to the man who had her things. They were gone now, along with her name, and she couldn’t dwell on it. Not now.
“Machrus,” Sladec cautioned, his voice dropping low, the first glimpse she’d had of anything but kindly concern.
“Brother,” Machrus warned in turn. “I took her, as you commanded. I have had quite enough of your orders.”
Sladec closed his eyes, his displeasure obvious, and Renna looked between the two men, torn about who she should be trying to appease. Sladec might be their leader, her new leader, but she would soon be alone with Machrus—wouldn’t she?—and she certainly did not want him angry with her so soon.
“I like the idea of food and somewhere warm,” she cut in softly, hoping it was all right to do so. Adelmar had come and held her husband’s hand, though she did not know if that was a sign of support or restraint.
Sladec glanced at her, his smile as warm as it had ever been, but his eyes still seemed harder than she had previously seen. It didn’t suit him. “They wish to welcome you,” he told her, “and you would receive both. We do not mean to keep you cold and hungry.”
“Yet instead she will receive them at my home.” Machrus’s tone was firm and as he grasped her arm, his hold was firm as he led her away from his brother, from his people. She hoped it wasn’t far as she truly was cold. But she was still on the ground, and she supposed that was what mattered most.
“You have a duty to your people, Machrus!” Sladec called after them. “You cannot ignore it, no matter your desires!”
Machrus’s grip on her tightened, and she bit her lip to keep from asking him to loosen it. It did not seem wise to draw attention to herself, not when he was in a temper. “For tonight I can,” he grumbled lowly, and she must have made some sound of discomfort for he seemed to remember her, his hold immediately loosening and his fingers rubbing lightly where they had pressed too hard.
She shivered, crossing her arms about her chest, not entirely sure it was only from the cold. His words were so dissimilar from his touch, now soothing in their way, even as he revealed how little he had wanted to marry her. She was proud that she did not flinch from him, but she felt unsettled all the same, confused at this man who was apparently her husband. He didn’t want her, of that she was certain, but then he shouldn’t be touching her so nicely either. She did not want him cruel—of course she didn’t—but she did not want him to think she could be affectionate in return.
“Do you live far?” she asked by way of distraction.
“No,” he assured, though his tone was not particularly so.
“Good,” she murmured as they exited the trees, the wide fields once more before them. She did not see any shelters, but he walked with purpose, so evidently there was something. “I’m glad.”
He glanced down at her. “Are you?”
Her brow furrowed a little. “Should I not be?”
Machrus hummed low in his throat, something she had not heard from him before. It was a pleasant sound, and she found herself nearly hoping he’d make it again. “We will be alone. I was not aware you viewed such a thing with gladness.”
She suppressed a grimace of her own. That part of things still left her horribly uneasy, but she was not sure how much she actually wanted to disclose to this man. She already appeared weak enough in his view, with all her crying and shivering, so acknowledging her fear of being up so high, warring with her trepidation at being so alone with him, was not at all appealing. But he deserved some measure of truth from her, or so she told herself.
“That does make me nervous,” she admitted quietly, not daring to look at him.
“Of course it does,” he grumbled beside her, He did not sound angry about it, which heartened her, but he wasn’t pleased either.
“I don’t mean to be insulting,” she hastened to clarify. “But I don’t know you.”
He stopped suddenly, his eyes dripping incredulity. “Did that require stating? You think I am unaware of our current situation?”
She flushed, upset with herself. She only wanted to keep from irritating him further, yet everything she did seemed to result in the opposite of her intention. “No,” she murmured, hoping he would stop looking at her that way. “I just... I don’t know what to say.”
He grunted, walking again. “You like to talk then?” He sounded rather resigned.
She blinked, thinking back to her days in the Wastes. “I... I hadn’t. But there wasn’t much to talk about before. Every day was pretty much the same.” Not precisely true, but true enough. Interruptions to the routine meant a death, or a visit from the Arterians. Maybe a baby being born. But the rest were simply heat and sweat and digging, punctuated with little else to mark the days or prove worth conversing over.
She didn’t bother asking if he liked to talk. His grunts and scowls were enough to show that even if he did, he certainly was not interested in doing so with her.
It troubled her more than it should have.
She did not ask him any more questions, though she would have liked to. His people were strange, overwhelming in the sheer number of them, but she wanted to know more of them. But his hand had fallen away, and she did not want to bother him anymore with her insistent touch, so instead she followed him onward.
She was glad when they stepped down into the soft grasses. She did not readily see a home, a lone hill signalling the beginning of the valley. He led her away from the trees, but not so very far—they would be alone, but not isolated. She wondered why he had chosen to live there, apart from his people, but she could not question him on it.
The little dots that she supposed were creatures were dots no longer, and they ambled closer, showing no signs of wariness of her strange presence, intent were they on reaching Machrus. He nodded at them, a few coming to bump against his legs, and she eyed them warily, though now that she was closer, they hardly seemed daunting at all.
They were small, the largest not even coming to his hip. They were an unexpected colour of green, mossy in a way. Creatures in the Wastes typically were mottled, blending in with the endless sands, surprise and sharp teeth their primary weapons, but she saw no signs of anything threatening. At least, not yet. Their legs were nearly unidentifiable, so much fur did they possess, but she saw small feet nestled in the grasses, hoofed and equally green.
She was ignored until Machrus turned, grasping her bare wrist yet again. She pushed away the pang of loss that it should be so. “
These are mine. I care for them.”
One of the smaller creatures seemed to notice her, its nose twitching and snuffling as it neared her, the wet tip nuzzling at her toes before nibbling lightly. She yelped and sprang backward.
Machrus knelt, snatching up the little beast and tucking it under his arm. It did not protest the action, its fluff surrounding his arm, the body evidently even smaller than it first appeared. She wondered if it would be gangly if not for all that fur. Its ears were long and drooping, and a long, wriggling tail beat against Machrus’s side.
“What are they?” she asked, feeling her wariness now entirely justified. Her husband sighed, coming forward, ignoring her shuffling step backward as he touched her hand and bade her repeat herself.
She glanced at him and for the briefest moment thought she saw a flicker of amusement cross his features. “Grenpeets,” he informed her, manoeuvring the beast in his arm so she could get a better look. “As harmless as they come.”
She glanced down at her bare toes instead, unconvinced at his assessment. “Maybe they eat humans.” That incredulous look was back. “You don’t know!” she defended. “They haven’t seen one before.”
He hummed, low and strangely compelling, and put the creature down, taking her wrist once more when he stood. “True,” he relented, doing little to comfort her. She eyed them all miserably, wishing she could be as relaxed as he was, but finding it impossible. She had never thought much about her toes, but now that they were potentially in jeopardy, she wanted them to be safe inside and away from any teeth.
Or to have her boots back.
But they were gone along with everything else.
She swallowed, forcing herself to stop being a ninny. He had said these were his to care for, and that probably meant she would be helping him. “Are they... food?” It seemed plausible enough, though she was a bit dubious. They were too small to feed many, but they had eaten what they could in the Wastes, and perhaps they did the same here.
Trade (Deridia Book 2) Page 6
