The Unfinished Song: Sacrifice

by Maya, Tara

  “That bastard,” Rthan muttered. “I know why he sent you.”

  “I volunteered.”

  “I bet. But it was his plan, you can be sure of it. I’ll kill him when I meet him next.”

  “Vultho didn’t send me.”

  “I meant Kavio.” Rthan scowled. “Don’t worry. I’ll kill Vultho too.”

  “He is my War Chief now.”

  “I know damn well who he is, what he is and what he’s done.”

  The way he said it sent a chill up her back. “Do you mean that Vultho was the one…?”

  “Who burned my wife and daughter alive? Yes.”

  “Rthan.” She touched his shoulder. I’m sorry.

  She did not say it aloud. But he seemed to hear. He inclined his head. Gruffly, he said, “I must bind you, Brena. Turn around, take off the sack.”

  She hesitated a moment too long. Impatiently, he yanked it off her and threw it into his own canoe. Then he pinned her wrists together behind her back and tied them. The knot felt snug without biting. Rthan lifted her into the back seat of his canoe, pushed off and returned his oars to water. No magic super-speeded his boat, so he rowed at a human pace. Thanks to the girth he pushed into each stroke, that was a decent clip.

  At sunset, he beached the canoe and set up a simple camp against a ridge of large rocks and driftwood. He kept Brena lashed to a stake in the ground while he fed driftwood into a fire and roasted several fish, but he untied her so she could eat.

  “Rthan…”

  “There’s nothing to say,” he said.

  She fell silent. He was right.

  The salty wind whistled along the beach. The breeze carried a pungent smell. Brena did not recognize it, but Rthan, instantly alert, braced himself in a fighter’s stance.

  Five humans, four men and one woman, all equally gaunt and savage, rushed over the pile of rocks. Rovers! Men and women without a home, a clan, or tribe, often exiled because they had practiced hexcraft or broken taboos, they preyed on isolated travelers. These had the mad glee of the most far gone, those who hunted and devoured human flesh, especially of Tavaedies, to gain illicit power they could not dance for themselves. They held crude spears that were nothing more than fire-hardened sharpened sticks, but large and heavy. They exuded a vile, electric energy, magic in some color that Brena could not see, but could feel like a burn on her skin, as if she stood near a strike of lightening.

  The fire exploded.

  “Watch out!” Rthan threw himself over her to protect her from the ball of flame. He slashed the ropes binding her, hissing, “Run!”

  Brena scrambled out of the way as Rthan faced the five assailants. Three of the Rovers screeched and launched themselves at him. The other two attacked Brena.

  Rthan knifed one Rover in the eye, and ducked under the spear thrust of another. He grabbed the spear on the downswing and used the momentum to flip the Rover onto his back. Rthan smashed the man’s skull with the butt of the spear. The third Rover rushed him from behind, but Rthan jabbed the spear backward without turning around, gutting the man in the belly.

  Meanwhile, the taller of two Rovers who attacked Brena lifted her into the air. The shorter Rover—it was the female—cackled and bit into Brena’s leg. The Rover she-wolf had sharpened her teeth to shark-like points. The bite hurt like a knife-wound. Brena kicked as hard as she could. The male and female did not seem to have coordinated their attack, at least. He jogged away, indifferent to his comrades’ fate, only intent on stealing Brena for himself.

  Rthan ran after the kidnapper, tackled him and knocked him to the sand.

  Brena rolled away. The female howled and attacked her again.

  Brena’s world narrowed to keeping the female Rover’s claws and teeth out of her face. The bitch fought like a madwoman. Behind her, Brena could hear the thud and grunt of Rthan’s battle with the other Rover. Sand sprayed the back of her knees. The female Rover gripped her around the neck and pressed. Brena drew her arms up and out, breaking open her stranglehold, then kicked the woman in the chest. The woman backflipped and ran back at Brena, caterwauling.

  Lunatic.

  Brena kicked her again, this time in the throat.

  Then fast again in the stomach.

  A third time in the nose.

  The woman staggered backwards. Her nose bone had been driven into her brain and she died.

  A male screech behind her. Brena whirled around. The last Rover was the most powerful giving Rthan a fight worth sweating for. The air around him crackled and sparked, as it had during the first rush.

  Brena shouted, “Watch out!”

  She shoved Rhtan out of the way, landing on top of him.

  Where Rthan had stood, the sand shot up in a geyser that spit rock at the sky.

  For a moment, Rthan met her eyes and something wordless passed between them.

  Rthan rolled over her and jumped back to his feet. He lifted a piece of driftwood and shattered the Rover’s skull with a blow from behind.

  The only sound now was Rthan’s panting breath and the laps of the waves. His lip curled as he surveyed the five dead Rovers.

  He glared at Brena, as if the attack had been her fault.

  “Are you happy now?” he snarled at her. “These scum would have killed you!”

  “Don’t think I owe you a lifedebt!” she snapped. “I would not have been in danger if you had not tied me up!”

  “You miss my point,” he said. “They were Shunned. More beasts than men. They didn’t know or care that you were a captive, a woman, or an ally. They simply wanted to tear out your throat and eat your flesh. This is what you and your people would unleash on us. You are wandering our tribeland, rousing these beasts to battle, and this, this, is the result.”

  “Not all Shunned become Rovers!”

  “No, but all would if they could.” He kicked the corpse. “Beasts.”

  She shook her head. “I thought I knew you, Rthan. But you are just as ignorant and cruel as the rest of your tribe.”

  “Fool woman!” Rthan stomped over to her. He clutched her by the shoulders and shook her. “Do you hear nothing I say? They would have killed you!”

  “And instead, now you will,” she said coolly.

  His fingers felt hot on her shoulders. He stared down at her, his breath still fast and fierce. She arched her back to look up into his eyes, challenging him. Her whole body tingled in awareness of his strength and masculinity.

  “I have killed,” he said gruffly. “As have you. I must dance Blue to purify myself, and if I recall correctly, your people also purify yourselves after battle.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I have no one to dance Blue for me.”

  He glared at her again. “Of course you do. If I can fight for you, I can dance for you. Or do you say I am no longer good enough for you?”

  He still held her. Brena did not try to free herself, but she stroked his muscular chest, where a shallow gash oozed blood.

  “You may dance Purity for me if you let me dance Healing for you.”

  He inclined his head.

  Rthan dragged the bodies into the fire pit and burned them. It had to be done, though the stench of roasting flesh made Brena sick. By unspoken agreement, only after the bodies had turned to char did they begin their tama.

  They each danced, separately, but simultaneously. The fire pit separated them, but they moved around it in conjunction, as each played out the steps of their different magics. Brena could not see the Blue trails of magic Rthan must have left in his wake, but she could feel them as cool currents of air when she danced through them. She knew from the expression on his face that he could feel the warmth she left behind as well.

  Their eyes met across the dark pit, and she had to glance away.

  The last time they had danced together, yet not truly together, had been at the Vooma in Sharkshead, when each had been striving to show the atrocity histories of the other’s tribe. Before that, they had danced in each other’s arms in Fertility Dances. Now
they were neither partners, nor, quite, adversaries. She did not know what they were.

  Midnight stars saw the end of their interlocking dances. They ended together, still facing each other across the charnel pit. How fitting, she thought sadly. War and death seemed determined to keep them apart. And now their truce had ended, and they were foes.

  Again. Always.

  She knew she could not defeat him in hand-to-hand combat.

  “Don’t burn my body with the Rovers,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “Put my bones where the Deathsworn can take me to Obsidian Mountain.”

  “Go home, Brena,” Rthan said.

  “What?” She looked at him in shock.

  “Give me your word that you will not return to Blue Waters territory, and I will send you home to your tribe. There’s nothing more you can do here.”

  Brena’s heart beat rapidly. Was he serious? She searched his face.

  Of course he was. He was an honorable man.

  And he did not know about the tiny, injured Yellow faery queen in Brena’s pack.

  Don’t draw attention to it. She walked over to her rucksack and put it on, heart still hammering. She expected him to change his mind any moment, but he only watched her with grief in his eyes.

  “When we meet again,” he said, “I will protect you and your daughters if it is within my honor and power to do so. I give you my word.”

  “If your people conquer mine, you mean,” she said, angry again.

  He only looked at her steadily.

  A chill ran down her back. He had no doubt his people would win. How could he be so confident? What did he know?

  Did he know the Golden Lady was dying? Did he know her death would leave Yellow Bear—and the whole world—to the vengeance of the Blue Lady? Could he live with that?

  She studied the bleak set of his face.

  Yes, he could.

  He lived for vengeance. Revenge mattered more to him than the living. He had made that clear from the start. Now that his greatest personal enemy, Vultho, the murderer of his family, had been elevated to the rank of highest honor, nothing would stop Rthan from destroying her people, even if he had to wipe all human life from the earth to achieve it.

  Dindi

  Dindi reached the Tor of the Initiates in the afternoon, but she did not enter until just before curfew. The Initiates were gathered for the evening meal by then. They fell silent when she walked through the courtyard between the lodges. People stared, pointed, whispered, giggled.

  She recognized faces from the crowd that had chased her, beaten her and tied her to a tree. They smirked at her.

  “Quack, quack!”

  Dindi whirled around but didn’t see who made the noise. Someone behind her.

  “Quack, quack!” Another one. To her left.

  “Quack, quack!” To the left and ahead of her.

  “Quack, quack!” From the right. And all around. “Quack, quack!”

  Most mouthed the words, others blew duck whistles. They were all around her, but when she jerked her head to see who had made the sound, she only saw a sea of innocent smirks.

  Her heart sank. Any hope that the incident might have ended with the duck hunt died. They weren’t going to let it go.

  She tried to ignore them. Eyes focused straight ahead, she walked to the outdoor kitchen, where the smell of roasted venison and buttered bread wafted from the clay ovens. By this time, there was no more line, except for a few boys who had returned in hopes of seconds. The serving maidens were still there.

  Dindi started to pick up a piece of flat bread to make a pisha, but the serving maiden snatched it, spit on it, threw it in the dust and stepped on it with her dirty foot. The serving maiden picked the soiled bread back up, scooped meat and greens into it, folded it and held it out to Dindi.

  “No thank you,” she mumbled, backing up.

  “Now that’s just rude,” said someone behind her.

  Two young warriors who had been loitering inside the low wall grabbed Dindi by either arm and immobilized her while the grinning serving maiden brought the pisha to her mouth.

  Dindi thrashed her head side to side, jaw clamped tight. Her resistance only exited her tormentors. Another maiden yanked Dindi’s head back by the hair, while a third boy pried open her jaw. The first serving maiden shoved the dirty pisha into Dindi’s mouth so hard that it bruised her nose and smothered her tongue.

  Unable to breathe, she fought with freakish strength. They all released her at the same time, so she fell into the dirt. One of them kicked her. A crowd had gathered and everyone was laughing.

  She spat out the food. Gasped for breath.

  Another kick.

  They’re going to kill me.

  She almost welcomed it.

  One of the teachers, Zavaedi Uma, stomped into the kitchen. “Get out of here, go!” She waved the crowd away. A few more kicks, more spittle, and many quack, quacks, but they dispersed. Dindi looked up from cowering to thank the teacher, but Zavaedi Uma regarded her with contempt no less cold than the Initiates had.

  “Stop fooling around, you lazy girl,” snarled Zavaedi Uma. “And if you want to eat, you should be here when the meal is served. Go back to your lodge. You’ll get nothing here tonight.”

  As if on cue, Dindi’s stomach rumbled. She’d not had middle meal either. She did not argue with the Zavaedi, only shuffled to her lodge.

  “Quack, quack!” People hissed it as she passed.

  Inside the lodge, she found that her blanket and belongings had been thrown into all the four corners of the large building. A few items had even been tossed into the ash in one of the hearths.

  Two girls had taken up the space where her mat had been.

  “There’s no room for you here,” one girl said.

  Dindi looked at her a long moment. The girl tittered nervously and glanced at her friend for support.

  Without a word, Dindi trudged through the lodge, picking up her scattered things where she could find them. When her pile seemed as complete as it was likely to be, she took it outside, behind the lodge. There, under the eave, she smoothed out her straw mat and her sticky blanket.

  Sticky.

  She lifted the blanket. Someone had rubbed pine sap on it. This was her spare blanket; the first had been thrown in the piss pit. She had no other.

  Eyes squeeze shut. Eyes open. Stare at the sky. See nothing.

  She eased down on the mat. Every vertebra made contact with the straw. The ground smelled like fungus and dung. The cold would not bite until deep night, when she knew she would suffer, but the mosquitoes were bad already. With no blanket to ward them off, her flesh made them a nice feast. At least someone would eat this evening.

  It occurred to her that she did not see any fae. Perhaps they realized that she would never dance with them again. Perhaps they had abandoned her too.

  Kavio

  Kavio was in the clanhold of Hertio’s sister when Brena returned from her journey to Blue Waters. He set aside his other duties, summoned food and drink, and invited her to rest, eat and report what she had seen. Outside, the ladies with the yellow stripes painted down the middle of their faces thumped maize and sang songs, but in his hut, it was cool and quiet.

  She began by wordlessly handing him a black arrow.

  “What is this?” he asked, holding it up. He examined the obsidian tip. The workmanship was unusually fine, perhaps the finest he had ever seen. He did not touch it, because he noted the sticky sheen. “Poison.”

  “Break it in half and throw it in the fire,” said Brena. “But don’t touch the tip.”

  Kavio snapped the arrow and tossed it in the fire. “Waste of a fine arrow.”

  “You would think so,” she said grimly.

  “Zavaedi Brena, what is the point…”

  “Wait.”

  The arrow burnt to ash. Even the stone tip was lost in the flame. Kavio shifted restlessly.

  “Look,” she said.

  She handed him an identical black
arrow.

  “Ah,” he said. “You have two.”

  “No. It’s the same one.”

  “What?”

  “It cannot be lost or destroyed. It was made by Death. If I do not feed a life to this abomination, it will take the life of the Golden Lady, who, even now, lies in my hut, grievously weak. If she dies, Zavaedi Kavio, all of Yellow Bear will die with her. We will not be able to defeat the Blue Water tribe in war. The balance of all magic will be skewed, and the whole world may be in peril.”

  The arrow was slender. He rested it on one fingertip. The balance was perfect.

  “I tried to kill Rthan,” she said.

  Kavio almost dropped the arrow. He handed it back to her. “You ran into Rthan?”

  “Yes. I was successful in recruiting several clans who want to change how they treat the Shunned, but Rthan caught up with me. I tried to kill him with the arrow, but it was lost at sea, or so I thought. He captured me, and demanded my parole I would return home in exchange for my release. It was on the way home that I discovered that the arrow I thought lost had returned to me. I must give it a life.”

  “There are plenty of people in the world that could use an arrow through the heart,” he mused. Vultho, for instance. “But is there no other way?”

  “No,” she said. She hesitated. “I have been thinking about it, and I believe… the arrow will not let itself be turned from its original target that easily. I think it did not want to kill Rthan. It does not want to kill anyone other than the Golden Lady. So, it will not be enough to simply shoot it at someone. It must be…forced, or tricked, into taking another’s life.”

  “Do you have a trick in mind?”

  “Zavaedi, I believe that if I thrust the arrow into my own throat, it will not be able to escape my purpose.”

  Kavio snatched the arrow back from her hand.

  “What are you doing?” She stood up, hands on hips. “That belongs to me!”

  “No,” he said. “I will not let you make that sacrifice. We will find another way!”

  “There is no other way!”

  “Thank you for your report, Zavaedi Brena. I think you should leave now.”