by Maya, Tara
The noises grew closer. She didn’t want to cross path with the hunters. She could make out their shouts now, and they sounded crazed, drunk. Didn’t they know the ducks had already flown further south?
She changed her coarse again, but the sounds honed in on her.
“Do you see it?”
“Where’s the duck?”
“Over there! I have the trail!”
She glanced around: no ducks or geese anywhere. Why would there be?
The stampede grew louder. The first of the hunters broke into view. Initiates. They jabbed fingers. Screamed.
“There’s the duck!”
Out of the trees, like a many-legged beast, a mob of young people loped toward her. Both males and females. People she knew but hardly recognized. Their feet hit the ground in a loud, relentless drumbeat. They bared their teeth.
They blared: “Duck! Duck!”
Pointing. At her.
Her hands flew to her face, feeling at the tight mask, the billed lips. The duck. The duck mask. Mercy, what…
The mob charged like carnivorous swine.
Dindi ran.
Kavio
After Dindi left, Kavio kicked tree trunks until he hurt his foot. The flare of pain did not cool his turmoil, but at least it gave him something else to focus on as he made his way back to the Maze Born.
Gremo intercepted him.
“What is it?” Kavio said in annoyance.
“You asked me to keep a close watch on the woods for signs of Zumo. I may have found tracks.”
“Great.” Kavio scowled. “Have you mastered the ability to change your shape yet? The hunt would be easier from the air.”
Gremo colored. “Not yet, Zavaedi.
“Not very helpful, are you?”
He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Zavaedi.”
Kavio expelled a breath. Wonderful. He was really making friends today. “Show me Zumo’s trail.”
Dindi
Run.
Behind her, she heard the honks of duck whistles. Bodies crashed through the underbrush. Shadows paralleled her zigzag through the trees.
Ahead, a sharp gully slashed across the forest floor, and Dindi was running too fast to avoid it. She tried to take it at a leap, but she didn’t clear the other side. Instead, she hit the opposite bank so hard the breath whooshed from her chest. She skidded in the mud.
The mob of hooting, howling Initiates surrounded her.
They poured into either side of the ditch or even jumped down from the embankment. She thought they might rain blows down on her. Their faces were so twisted with hate and glee, she expected them to spear her through the belly like a pig. For now, though, they only hooted and honked at her, blowing their whistles, laughing in her face.
However, they were only waiting for the leaders of the group to arrive, a contingent of older boys who grabbed her by the arms and lifted her up. Five or six of them carried her aloft to a clearing, a bare bit of land scratched up with jagged stones and weeds. The whole cohort, as near as she could tell, poured into the clearing. She knew most of them, yet did not recognize them at all. Although she was the one in the mask, they were the ones whose faces were contorted into something bestial. Many of them had duck whistles; others chanted, “Duck hunt! Duck hunt!”
There were so many of them that she had no chance at defense. All she could do was try her best to curl up into a ball, and even this was hard to do, for a few pulled her wrists and others tugged her legs.
“Pluck the duck! Pluck the duck!” chanted dozens of voices. Fingers raked her flesh and shredded her shift to rags.
“Spice the duck! Spice the duck!” They rolled her like a log, into the mud, then rolled her into a pile of leaves and debris. The leaves plastered her body. She struggled to her feet, desperate with the need to run, run, run. She broke free of her tormenters. Darting between the reaching arms, she rushed to the edge of the clearing, toward the promise of trees and shadows and escape.
They roared in delight at her panic.
“Make it quack! Make it quack!”
A shove from behind tumbled Dindi to her knees. The circle of beasts hedged in tight about her.
They had sticks.
Pokes and prods jabbed her soft points. She did her best to cover her breasts and duck her head.
“Make it quack! Make it quack!”
“Quack like a duck!” they commanded her. “Do it, or we’ll beat you!”
“And flap your wings!”
Laughter and agreement.
“And waddle on your knees!”
“Quack! Quack! Quack!”
A switch slashed her across the face. “Do it now!”
She reached under her shift for the corncob doll.
Vessia
Tall white walls formed a canyon of houses. The Rainbow Labyrinth tribehold made even the Tors of Yellow Bear look small. Hundreds of people lined the streets to welcome the Skull Stomper, and his army, back home from the expedition.
Vio strode in front, in purple regalia, which included his skull and aurochs-horns helm. He led the captives on a rope. All of them trudged with their hands behind their backs, and the lead-rope around their necks. It laced them together, like beads on a necklace. Vessia was the last captive in the line.
The crowds jeered and threw offal at the prisoners.
Hard bits of dung and rotted food hit Vessia across the face and back. Like the other captives, she huddled in on herself to protect her softer parts. The crowd buzzed with hate, like a stirred up beehive. Faces contorted by hate shouted curses at her.
They have never even met me, she thought. They know nothing about me. How could they hate me?
She wanted to ask them, but how could you ask anything of someone screaming in your face, pelting you with garbage?
A piece of offal hit her so hard that she stumbled into Danumoro, who was tied in front of her.
“Stay strong,” he whispered, as he steadied her. “Don’t let them see your fear.”
Danu meant well. But until he said that, Vessia had not recognized the dizzy, uncomfortable pain she felt deep in her belly, that she felt for the first time she could remember, as dread.
Dindi
A stick hit her hand. The doll flew free. The Vision shattered.
She scrambled on her hands and knees, feeling for the doll, but her fingers scratched at mud and wet leaves. Somewhere between the ditch and the meadow, when they had stripped her of most of her clothes and rolled her in the mud, she had lost it. She wanted to laugh hysterically. After all the trouble she had trying to dispose of it, now, when she wanted it, she could not find it.
Another lash of the stick. “Quack like a duck!”
Dindi balled her hands into fists. Slowly she stood up.
She looked into the faces of her fellow Initiates, forcing them to meet her eyes through the holes in the mask.
“I won’t do it,” she said flatly.
For a moment, the circle of beasts was shocked into silence. They had not anticipated defiance from their prey. Then, as one, they roared in outrage.
Blows fell on her from all directions. Amid the chaos, someone shouted instructions for something more elaborate, and then they grabbed her again. This time they wrestled her to an old split oak, a burnt stump about twice as high as the tallest boy. They had ropes and strung her up by her wrists, from a stub branch of the dead tree.
The rain of sticks descended again, stinging and throbbing, as they batted her back and forth. A blood haze passed over her eyes, a red darkness full of pain.
A brilliant flash smashed out of the sky.
Lightning!
Bizarrely, it did not hit the tree, the highest point in the meadow, but one of the upraised sticks about to heave a blow against Dindi. The boy holding the stick bellowed and collapsed. The other Initiates screamed as well, and scattered like rats. In the same spot where the lightning had struck, hailstones hurtled down from black, roiling clouds.
Only moments befo
re, the sky had been limpid blue, but now a terrible rainstorm erupted all around them. By itself, the torrents of rain might have thinned the ranks of Initiates, but probably would not have driven all of them away. The hardier ones, especially the boys, but also a few girls, only laughed at the rain and defied the lightning to come back at Dindi with their sticks.
But then a man’s voice shouted, “Get away, you wretches, what do you think you’re doing? Leave the girl alone, or I’ll give you something to fight!”
All Dindi could see was a shadow, hidden by the sheets of water, but from his silhouette she could see he was armed. A series of arrows, one, two, three, four, aimed high but with deliberation, added meat to the threat.
“Someone squealed on us to the elders!” shouted one of the beasts.
That was too much for them. They all broke ranks and fled.
Dindi’s band of tormenters abandoned her to the storm, fleeing to seek shelter for themselves without bothering to unbind her from the tree.
Kavio
Following Gremo’s tip, Kavio found Zumo’s tracks easily enough. He kept a respectful distance to avoid detection. Zumo was no fool.
A rainstorm started out of clear sky. The storm had to have been summoned by magic, and Kavio knew of only two rainmakers in Faearth. Since Kavio hadn’t danced up the storm, that left only his cousin.
Zumo must know I’m coming.
Tamio
Even the rain did not discourage Vultho. He insisted on hunting Kavio’s woman, which meant Tamio had to sludge along through the mud after him.
Dindi started running shortly after Vultho and Tamio started following her, and at first they thought she had spotted them, but it quickly became clear that someone else was hunting her. The hoots gave Tamio a good idea of who.
You’ve got to be kidding me, Tamio thought. They have to do this now? Couldn’t they have waited to start the Duck Hunt until a time when my life wasn’t in danger?
For a short while, Tamio allowed himself to hope that the crowd around Dindi would foil Vultho, but instead, the Initiates seemed to prepare the stage for the ravishment. They tied Dindi to a tree, and left her there like a sacrificial beast on an altar. Her clothes were half ripped from her body already, revealing an expanse of thigh and swell of breast. Rainwater streamed over her like blood from a doe’s slit throat.
“I’ll take her first.” Vultho was practically slavering. “You can use her after that. Slap her around as much as you like, but don’t kill her. I want her alive to cry to Kavio about what happened.”
“No.”
Tamio didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until he caught Vultho’s furious expression.
“I mean, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Tamio wheedled. He spread his hands and offered an appeasing grimace. “It would be better if we…”
Vultho grabbed him by his vest and spat in his face. The spittle hit Tamio’s cheek and dribbled down. Vultho’s breath smelled of bitter herbs and beer, hot and foul.
“That’s how much I care about what you think. If your spear is too small to make a kill, keep out of the hunt. But if you interfere with me, I will cut off your nose and hoist it up your nethers. That is not a colorful boast, worm. It is a promise, word for word, of what I will do if you annoy me. Do you believe me?”
“Y…yes.” You crazy piece of carrion, you would do it.
Vultho shoved him so hard Tamio fell in the dirt and leaves.
“Kavio’s wench is right where I want her,” said Vultho. “I’m going to rut her so hard her scream will be heard in Sharkshead.”
Dindi
Obscured by the rainstorm, the split oak resembled a hunchback. The gray light fragmented into a thousand shards of shadow as it fell through the trees. Out of the mist, walking toward the tree through the shadows, a black silhouette emerged. At first, Dindi thought he was Deathsworn, because his legwals and vest seemed painted obsidian, but as he approached, she saw he was actually dressed in dark blue cloth plastered to his body by the rain. Blue paint striped his face.
Dindi expelled a breath of relief. “Kavio?”
Even as she blurted the name, she realized her mistake.
It wasn’t Kavio, but his cousin.
Zumo met her eyes through the mask. She held her breath. The bark of the tree dug into her back, and the ropes that pinned her arms over her head bit so tightly that her hands were beginning to prickle as if ants swarmed them. She did not dare ask him for help. Did he recognize her? Did she want him to? Why was he even here? He had sided with the enemy. For all she knew, he would see this as a fine opportunity to slit her throat. Or worse.
Behind Zumo, branches cracked. He stood rigid, instantly alert, and then melted away into the shadows again. She wasn’t sure if she should be disappointed or relieved.
She had no doubt how she felt about seeing Vultho.
The War Chief appeared out of the rain like an ogre, an ugly leer on his face. She recoiled. Her frantic efforts to free her arms only bloodied her wrists.
He sauntered to the tree.
“Please help me,” Dindi whispered.
Vultho gripped her jowls in one meaty hand. For the first time, she was grateful for the leather duck mask, which protected her skin from contact with his. He gestured to someone behind her. She had not noticed the younger man until now. Recognition shivered through her: Tamio. Why was he with Vultho? Why should anything surprise her anymore?
“Cut off this thing,” ordered Vultho. “Maybe Kavio can’t stand to look at her, but I want to see her face twist in pain while I rut.” He laughed. “Or maybe the slut will find she enjoys my spear more than his. Either way, he will howl when he finds out another dog has enjoyed his bitch.”
Tamio moved to the side of the tree. A stone blade hissed near Dindi’s neck. She screamed, a sound that a warning tap of the blade against her throat quickly discouraged. The knife slid upward. She expected to feel pressure against the back of her head, as the knife cut the laces on the mask, but instead her arms fell free and the rope dropped to her feet like a decapitated snake.
“Idiot!” yelled Vultho. “I said, cut off the mask, not untie her!”
“Sorry, sorry!” said Tamio. “My mistake!”
Vultho’s strong hand gripped her arm, pressed her back against the tree. Hot, stinking breath panted in her face.
Fear jolted her like lightning, and she saw something like a Vision, instantaneous and electric: herself from outside her body, jabbing her fingers into the eyes of the man holding her captive, pushing over and off him, then somersaulting forward into a dead run. Then she was running, and it hit her this was no Vision. She had really done it, without thought, without plan and without remorse.
Vultho screamed in rage and tackled her from behind. They wrestled, but he was twice her weight and a warrior. Straddling her, he punched her in the stomach and tore at her rags. His knee forced apart her thighs.
Someone lifted the weight from her waist. Zumo threw Vultho against the tree, advanced three paces and aimed at Vultho’s head with a stone club. Vultho deflected the blow. The two warriors grappled like bulls locking horns. Saplings snapped beneath their feet, dead leaves snarled into the air where they rolled and kicked. At last, Vultho staggered back and ran away. Zumo muttered, “Coward” and “Drunk” and other insults under his breath, but didn’t try to stop him.
“What about you, Tamio?” Zumo asked aggressively. “I’ve heard about you. Did you come here hoping for a notch on your stick?”
“No, uncle.” A tremor ran under the words. “Not my style.”
“Get out of here.”
“Yes, uncle!” Tamio ran off in a different direction than Vultho had, but just as fast.
Zumo knelt by Dindi’s side. He pulled out a dagger and grabbed her by the hair.
She cringed, but he only cut away the duck mask. He tore it off her face and tossed it in the mud. Rain splattered her face. The wind tasted fresh and wonderful.
“I knew it was you.”
His examination grew insulting. Dindi blushed at her disarray. She clutched the tatters of her dress over her body, tensed to fight again.
“How?” she asked.
“Whenever I find myself in the most annoying situations, you seem to be at the center of it, for some reason,” Zumo said dryly.
He stood up and matter-of-factly retrieved the arrows he had earlier shot as warnings to scare off the Initiates.
“I would see you back to your lodgings,” Zumo said, “but Kavio is hunting me as we speak. He made this rainstorm to slow me down.” He glanced at Dindi. “Maybe he left you here to slow me down too.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“He would. In a heartbeat.” Zumo wiped the rain from his face. More sluiced down. “You still haven’t learned that about him?”
Dindi said nothing.
Zumo laughed softly. “Maybe you have.”
That scraped a raw wound, too close to the truth. The rain pounded the earth so hard it sounded like drums. Then, just as abruptly as the storm had started, the rain thinned and the cloud dissipated. Pale sunlight crept into the clearing.
“Strange,” murmured Zumo. “Why end the storm now, before the river is engorged and my escape is cut off?”
Her whole body felt sore. She lifted herself to her feet like an old woman. Zumo stepped close to her. Each footstep squelched in the mud. She cringed again. With hands warm and gentle, he steadied her.
“Come with me,” Zumo said. “My canoe will hold two.”
She shook her head.
“You will die if you stay here,” he said.
“Why should you care?”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t. I don’t want to.”
He caressed her face, tipped back her chin and lowered his lips to hers.
She had neither the strength nor the will to fight him, but he only brushed his mouth against hers, like bee to a flower. The taste of him, salty-sweet, lingered after he released her and disappeared into the woods and the shadows.
