God's Last Breath

by Sam Sykes

  She held herself, tense and trembling, as she spit on the ground at Shekune’s feet.

  “Deny it,” she snarled. “Tell me I’m wrong. Give me another one of your bullshit speeches and tell me that you see this ending any other way than thousands of dead shicts.”

  The smile lingered for a moment longer before it melted off Shekune’s face with a sigh. She shook her head.

  “You’re not wrong.”

  The curse that Kataria had been brewing died on her lips. She stared at Shekune blankly.

  “I know we’ll die,” the khoshict said. “By the hundreds, by the thousands, maybe. Maybe down to the last shict, we’ll die. I can’t see an end to this war that doesn’t see so many of us dead.”

  “But … then why …”

  “How old were you when you lost your mother?”

  Kataria recoiled, as if struck. A hundred different emotions—sorrow, terror, pain—battled to show on her face. Anger won out, as it so often did with her, and she bared her teeth once again.

  “Kwar,” she growled. “She told you.”

  “No.” Shekune shook her head. “That girl wouldn’t speak a single word to me about you.”

  Kataria stiffened against the rock. “Then how did you know?”

  Shekune reached up, tapped her ears. “Your Howling.” She turned toward the desert and gestured over the endless sand. “For miles, I can hear every shict. And theirs speaks so clearly to me, tells me everything I need to know. But yours …” She looked at Kataria. “You barely know how to use it. It’s always screaming, whining, whimpering. The others can’t make sense of it. They shut their ears to it.” She smiled. “But it speaks to me.”

  Over many years, Kataria had been shot at, cut at, poisoned, hunted down, tied up, on her back with blades at her throat, holding back the jaws of vicious beasts with only her boots, nearly burned alive, and wounded.

  And only twice before could she ever recall feeling as vulnerable and helpless as she did at that moment.

  “I listen to it,” Shekune continued. “I hear it. And after a time, it starts to make sense.” Her ears twitched, curled at the tips. “It screams out things. Things you don’t want to speak, but are desperate to say. You lost your mother.” She canted her head to the side. “You lay with a human.” She stared at her intently. “You feel alone, betrayed … but you don’t hate me, do you? Because you think I’ve lost someone, too.”

  “Didn’t you?” Kataria asked. “When I think of my mother, when I think of the people who killed her, who failed to save her … only then could I understand.”

  “My father and mother are still alive. They live on the edge of the desert. My sister takes care of them. My brother hunts for them. They are all very happy.”

  Kataria shook her head in disbelief. “Then how? How can you want this war?”

  “Because I can hear them,” Shekune said. “As clearly as I can hear you. All my life, I’ve been hearing them. Whatever it is about the Howling, it all makes sense to me. I can hear their fears as the humans move in on their lands. I can hear their cries as they remember the ones they’ve lost. I can hear every terror in the night, every dead hope, every roar of anger, and I can’t stop hearing them.”

  She stalked to the nearby fire. Thrust into the earth, her spear stood tall and unyielding. It all but leapt into her hand, its saw-toothed grin gleaming against the firelight as she pulled it free of the earth.

  “It’s killing them,” she said. “The uncertainty, the fear, the humans … if we don’t fight, if we don’t do something, we’ll all be dead anyway. I can’t hear any more pain, any more terror …” She looked over her shoulder at Kataria. “I won’t let any more mothers die.”

  She hefted the spear over her shoulder and walked back toward Kataria. With one swing, she took the weapon in both hands and leveled its grinning head at Kataria’s chest. Kataria felt her heart beat a little less quickly, as though afraid doing so would catch the spear’s notice, as she stared at her own terror reflected in its metal smile.

  “Your turn.”

  Kataria looked up. Gone was the softness, the sad smile, the gentle curl of her wrinkles. Shekune’s face was a hatchet’s, all hard lines and hard sneers, dark eyes set in a bleak scowl.

  “Look me in the eyes,” the khoshict said, “and tell me I’m wrong.”

  Kataria met the woman’s gaze for a long, quiet moment. She could hear the wind howling, the fire crackling, the sound of the ropes creaking as they held her in place. But of the Howling, she could hear nothing.

  For so long, she had trouble with it; where other shicts could communicate so effortlessly, she struggled to hear anything through her people’s wordless language. She had always considered it a curse, a distance between her and her tribe. Never once had she considered what she might have been spared from, all the pain and fear that the shicts couldn’t help but share.

  The pain and fear that Shekune couldn’t help but hear.

  Kataria’s mind drifted back to that day, so long ago, when she had woven a white feather into her hair. She could still feel it so keenly: the ache in her chest, the shallow breath, the great cold emptiness beside her where a warm, comforting body should have been.

  How many agonies like that had Shekune heard? How many times had she felt that same pain? If Kataria had such a sensitivity, were she capable of even hearing the barest hint of that sorrow …

  Would she side with Shekune, like everyone else?

  She looked down at the spear leveled at her. There was no terror in the reflection staring back at her. Nothing but a sadness she thought she had put away long ago.

  And she sighed deeply. And she looked up at Shekune. And she spoke.

  “You’re wrong.”

  Shekune offered nothing more than the barest twitch of her mouth, the slightest narrowing of her eyes.

  “What?” the khoshict snarled.

  “I lost my mother,” Kataria replied, firmly. “But I’ve lost many people. There’s always going to be pain for the shicts. For us, the fighting never stops. That’s what we do. And the only way it does stop …” She met Shekune’s eyes. “Is when we’re all dead from your war.”

  And Shekune’s face twitched just a little more. And all the fury behind it seemed to come oozing out between her teeth as she bared overlarge canines in a snarl. The faintest hint of a growl began to boil up in her throat as the spear trembled in her hands, begging for her to sink it into warm flesh.

  Kataria held her breath. She tightened her hands into fists. She fought to keep from looking at the grinning spear, fought to keep her eyes on Shekune’s.

  You kill me, Kataria thought, you damn well look me in the eyes when you do.

  And as if she could hear even that thought, Shekune shut her eyes suddenly. She swallowed her anger with a long, hot breath. She lowered the spear until it dipped into the sand.

  Shekune looked long to the hills. Her ears rose high, the tips trembling. In the back of Kataria’s mind, in the quiet parts of her Howling, she could hear a single wordless sound slip from Shekune out into the night.

  And Kataria’s eyes widened when she recognized it as a command.

  A command that was answered but a few moments later by the sound of sand scraping and a snarling voice.

  “Let me go! I said let me go!” Kwar’s roar preceded her appearance over the dune by several feet. And when she came, hands bound behind her back and dragged forward by two khoshicts, she did so kicking, snarling, and biting. “Come closer, you shithead. I can smell you pissing yourself and—”

  Kwar’s attentions were suddenly seized by the scene before her. In an instant, she took it in: Kataria bound to the rock, Shekune’s cold stare fixed upon her, the spear dangling from her hand. And in another, she acted.

  With a roar, she lunged forward—whether to try to save Kataria or merely to chew Shekune’s face off, it was unclear. Nor did it matter, for the two khoshicts seizing her by her bound arms and dragging her to the ground. They forced
her to her knees ungently, holding her in place by her hair.

  Yet no matter how hard they pulled or pushed, they couldn’t keep her from twisting her head up and fixing her dark eyes, alive with anger, on Shekune.

  “I’ve heard every legend about you,” Kwar growled. “I know every story about how great you are, and everyone has a different tale about you. But if you touch her, I swear the only story anyone will tell about you is the one where I force-fed you your own intestines.”

  If the threat shook Shekune, she did not show it. Rather, she turned to Kataria, contempt branded across her face.

  “Do you see?” She raised her spear and leveled it at Kataria. “You did this to her.”

  “Drop that spear!” Kwar snarled. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Kataria echoed her anger. “It’s you who will kill everyone! She knows that!”

  “Do you not know why we call humans a disease?” Shekune shook her head. “This is how it happens. You sympathize with them. You start thinking they wouldn’t kill you if they had the chance. And then …” She scowled back at Kwar. “It spreads. Do you see what happens …”

  She narrowed her mouth, spit her next words out, and let them lie hot and ugly on the sand.

  “When you lie with a human?”

  Kwar’s eyes went wide. Her mouth dropped out. And though she valiantly tried to keep it back in, the anger slowly leaked out of her face and left bare only the look of a wounded, frightened beast.

  “Or had she not told you that?” Shekune asked. “Did you think she was one of us? Did you think she was worth killing me over? Worth killing hundreds of shicts over?”

  The fight left Kwar. Her head sank low. “I knew,” she said softly.

  “And do you still think she’s worth it?”

  Kwar looked up. There was no defiance on her face, no fury, no coyness, nothing Kataria had grown accustomed to seeing on the khoshict’s face. What was there, glistening in her eyes, was something weak and plaintive.

  “She is,” Kwar said. “I would die for her. I will die for her. It was me who planned the attack.” She looked at Kataria. “Let her go.”

  “Kwar …” Kataria whispered, breathless. “Don’t …”

  “Look at what you have done to her.” Shekune turned on Kataria. “She lost everything, too, you know. Her mother, her brother …”

  “I know,” Kataria replied. “I was there to see it. I was there to see the humans do it because you—”

  “And now she begs for death to spare you,” Shekune interrupted with a hiss. “You, who’d see more of her family dead for the sake of a few humans. You, who’d condemn us all to die by breaths rather than make a stand.” She shook her head. “I can’t let you do this. Not to one more shict.”

  The spear came free with a metallic ring. Its sawteeth seemed to curl upward in an ecstatic grin as Shekune took it in both hands and leveled it at Kataria’s chest.

  “Look away if you will, daughter of Sai-Thuwan,” Shekune said. “But know that I do this for you.”

  “No!” Kwar screamed out, fighting against her captors once more. “Shekune, don’t! Please!”

  “There’s no other way,” Shekune said. “The humans put this sickness in her. I cannot let it spread.”

  “Look away, Kwar.” Kataria gathered herself up against the rock and stared down Shekune. “Don’t listen to her.”

  Kwar was not listening. But not to the right person.

  “Shekune, please!” she screamed. Tears fell down her cheeks. Her voice cracked. “Listen to me! Spare her! I beg you! Let her go!”

  “There is nothing to be gained from her living, child,” Shekune replied, her voice eerily cold. She raised her spear high, eyes locked on Kataria’s chest. “This is for your own good. I promise.”

  “LET HER GO!” Kwar screamed again, pulling so hard against her captors that it looked as though she might break her arms. “Shekune, release her and I’ll … I’ll swear service to you! I’ll vow to help you! I’ll do whatever you want! Shekune! SHEKUNE!”

  Shekune’s ears folded over themselves, unhearing. Her eyes narrowed on Kataria’s, seeing nothing else but the grim deed that needed to be done.

  Kataria met her scowl with one of her own. She drew in a breath, held it so that she would have nothing left to scream with, to beg with, to give Shekune the satisfaction. She gritted her teeth and sent a thought out into the wind.

  Kwar. Lenk. I’m sorry.

  She stared as Shekune drew back her spear. She stared as Shekune tightened her grip and thrust. She stared as a coy smile tugged at the corners of Shekune’s mouth.

  Wait. What?

  “I’LL SHOW YOU THE WAY INTO THE CITY!”

  The spear came to a halt. The tip of it grazed the flesh of Kataria’s sternum, forced her to hold her breath. And yet, for all that, all eyes were on Kwar. She stared up, dark eyes desperate, breathing heavily.

  “I’ll show you the way into the city,” Kwar said. “Let her go. Spare her.” She swallowed hard. “And I’ll show you.”

  “We know the way already,” Shekune said. “Your father told us.”

  “He knows the old hunting trails into the Green Belt,” Kwar said. “But he’s never been outside Shicttown. He doesn’t know the way into city and its districts.”

  “We can find them.”

  “Not into Silktown you can’t,” Kwar said. “The fashas control the city. You could kill every human but them and they’d still have enough money to bring more people, more humans, more armies. And the moment they hear you coming, they’ll call out every last guard they have. Dragonmen. You know what happened to the tulwar.”

  Shekune scowled, but the memory played clear enough on her face.

  “I know the ways into Silktown,” Kwar said. “I’ve been there before. I’ll show you.” She looked to Kataria. “But you have to let her go.”

  “Kwar, don’t!” Kataria shouted. “She wants you to do this! She wants—”

  She was silenced as Shekune lunged forward, clapping a hand over her mouth. She let out muffled protests, but Shekune’s attentions were back on Kwar.

  “I can’t do that,” Shekune said. “She’s tried to kill me once already. She’s poisoned you against me. If I let her live …”

  “Then exile her,” Kwar said. “Banish her. Tell every shict not to speak with her. But let her live.” She took in a ragged breath. “Swear you’ll let her live and I’ll show you how to kill the fashas.”

  Consideration battled scorn on Shekune’s face as she looked back to Kataria. “And how do I know she won’t try anything else?”

  “She won’t. I promise you that.” Kwar slumped forward. “Please, Shekune.” She bowed low, pressed her head to the earth, and let out a soft sob. “Let her go.”

  There were legends about Shekune. A few of them Kataria had even heard. She had killed five tulwar with one spear strike. She had raced for five days and nights to outrun a mounted human hunting party. She had killed all manner of beasts, birds, and monsters so that the wilds themselves bowed before her. There were countless stories about her courage, her skill, her cunning.

  But none of them, not one, ever spoke of how cruel she could be.

  And when she turned to her prisoner and flashed her just the briefest glimpse of a broad, self-satisfied smile, Kataria knew why.

  “Shekune swears,” she said simply.

  Her ears twitched, her Howling sending out another command. The two khoshicts responded, pulling knives free. They cut Kwar’s bonds loose, backed away from her. But she did not rise. She knelt there, in the sand, her head bowed low and defeated.

  “She is more than you deserve.” Shekune dropped her spear to the earth. She drew a knife from her belt and cut the ropes from Kataria’s wrists. “Her brother, too. They are a good family.” She pulled Kataria away from the rock and shoved her forward. “Take comfort that you will bring them no more pain.”

  Kataria didn’t listen to her. She rushed t
o Kwar, collapsed onto the sand, and grabbed the khoshict by her shoulders.

  “Kwar,” she whispered, desperate and heated. “Kwar, you can’t do this. You can’t let her win like this.”

  “I can,” Kwar said, “I have to. She was going to kill you. She was going to—”

  “She’s going to kill us all.” Kataria took Kwar gently by the face and tilted her gaze up. “Look at me, Kwar. Look at me.” She saw the khoshict’s eyes brimming with the same tears in her own. “Don’t let her do this. Not for me.”

  “Only for you.” Kwar’s voice was almost serene, despite the tears in her eyes. She smiled softly as she took Kataria’s hand. “I have done so much to hurt you. I’m sorry that I have to do it again.”

  “But she’s going to kill so many.”

  “I know,” Kwar said. “I don’t care if they die. I don’t care if I die. But you …” She pressed her brow against Kataria’s and slid a hand around the back of her head. “You have to live, Kataria. Anything else that happens, whoever dies, I don’t care. Just promise me you’ll live.”

  Kataria tried to find words: pleas to make, plans to voice, curses to spew. But all that came out of her mouth was a wet shuddering sound. She had nothing but a loose quiver of her lips and a long, mournful sound inside her head.

  “Promise me,” Kwar said. She shut her eyes as tears fell, squeezed Kataria’s hand in her own. “Promise me you’ll live.”

  “I promise.”

  Weak words. Breathless and soft and frail. They were a brittle blade twisting inside her chest. They hurt to speak, hurt to hear coming from her mouth. But she said them. And she meant them.

  Kwar’s tears came too rarely for her to waste them.

  Kwar forced a smile onto her face. She nodded weakly. She leaned forward and gently kissed Kataria on her brow. Her ears trembled. And inside her head, Kataria could hear a single sound in a wordless language made just for her for just as long as that kiss lasted.

  And then it was gone.

  A rough hand was on her neck. Shekune tore her away, hauled her from Kwar, and dashed her against the sand. The khoshicts hurried over, tossing at her feet her bow, her quiver, and a single waterskin. Shekune folded her arms, towering over her.