Savage

by Lila Dubois

  “And when you return to the Great City…”

  “I will have a path.”

  “And Anleeh?”

  “Will not want me anymore.” Siara’s eyelids slid closed, pushing the tears to roll down her cheeks.

  “I have called you the heart of my son, for that is what you are, but I know that only his words will make you believe it. You have learned to value yourself as a scholar, but not as a woman.”

  Throat tight Siara merely shook her head.

  “You humans are all alike.”

  The comment drew Siara from her misery. Tears drying, Siara turned. “We humans? You speak as though you were not one.”

  “I am not.”

  “That … that is not possible.”

  “Did the tomes you read not speak of people who were more, monsters and demons?”

  “Merely legends.”

  “Nay, and until you learn that, you will never see the world for all it really is.”

  Anleeh’s mother reached out, and touched a fingertip to one of the columns of runes. Light flowed through the wood, rushing to fill each line, moving around the room as fast as water in a rushing river. Startled by the brightness Siara brought a hand up, shielding her eyes against the moon-white light that now filled the room.

  “Do you know my name?” she asked, and Siara tentatively lowered her arm.

  “Nay, Lady, they always call you Serdick’s wife, or Anleeh’s mother.”

  “Did that not make you wonder?”

  “It did, it was on my list of questions to ask you,” Siara admitted.

  The dark haired woman laughed and the sound caused the light to rise and fall, pulsing with her pleasure. “They do not speak my name for to do so might let the Gods know where I am. Names are power in Den.”

  “Gods?”

  “You worship only the Goddess in the Great City, but know this, heart of my son, there is more to those who rule the stars than a single Goddess.”

  “The Queen speaks with her; the ways of the Goddess and her wishes are well known.” Siara defended.

  “I heard, long before I came to the earth, of the blessed Priestess and she is a good and obedient servant, but the Temple does not know all.”

  Siara wanted to dismiss the older woman’s words, but she could not. It should have been easy to consider Anleeh’s mother unenlightened and provincial, but she spoke with such surety and authority. Heart racing, Siara struggled to form a thought or question complete enough to utter aloud.

  “What—who?”

  “You are pale, sit.”

  Siara nodded in agreement and sank to the ground with less grace than she might have hoped.

  Anleeh’s mother moved to a painting of the night sky, touched her fingers to it, and the painting began to move. The twin moons trekked across a blue pigment sky as stars circled.

  “There is a way to all things, heart of my son. Long ago there were more men, more races then you could name, created by the Gods. They were not all meant to survive, and so all did not. Humans, with their depth of intelligence and breadth of spirit, rose. The Gods retreated, for there is more to do in the sky than look down upon the earth.

  “Humanity grew, hurt itself, and found great joy, but this is not a story of humanity, it is a story of a people, created much as humanity was, but favored of the God, not the Goddess.”

  She moved to a second panel of images and brought them to life with a brush of her fingers. Now stick figures, men with triangular torsos and single lines for legs and arms, ran through a forest of simple trees. At their feet, beasts—lion, wolf and deer—ran. Siara expected it to be a scene of the hunt, but there were no weapons. The animals ran with the men, not from them.

  “The God’s race of men were not nurtured as the Goddess’s humans were, so they began to fade, but were too stubborn to die. The humans came and these fierce people took some of the humans for their own, men and women alike, breeding with them, as they drove the other humans away.

  “Humanity gave them the gifts of the Goddess, softness, creativity, the ability to nurture, and they began to flourish again, but never lost their wildness.

  “Time passed, and the God’s people broke into pieces. They warred among themselves, for they each had a grain of the God’s battle lust in them.”

  She lit a third panel, the rich colors bright inside the border of light-filled carvings. The stick figures here went to battle; hand to hand they fought as animals looked on from the trees.

  “The God’s people became the people of Den, His name in a language so old none save the Gods know it.” Anleeh’s mother paused, watching the fighting men, but Siara was watching her.

  “Are you … a God?”

  “No, and yes.” With a long sweep of her hand, Anheeh’s mother quieted the paintings and Siara bit back a protest; she desperately wanted to see what the other paintings showed.

  “The people of Den, their fierce nature, has faded through time, and the God did not want to let his people fade away. Every fifty years he sends one messenger, one token, filled with the Battle Lust of his own soul. This messenger is crafted by the Goddess and given enough human traits that she will fit in with what the God’s people have become. The God’s token is sent to earth and for a single day must remain. If none capture her, then she can return. If she is caught she must remain, and by doing so bring back the God’s power to his people.”

  Siara’s heartbeat picked up speed as she fit the pieces together. “You are the God’s messenger.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sedrick caught you.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Anleeh…”

  “Is God-touched.”

  Siara bent her knees, wrapping her arms around them and pressing her forehead to them. Her body hummed with excitement or fear, she did not know which, but she tingled from tip to toe. Everything was different now. She did not doubt the woman’s words, and could never go back to not knowing. She was ashamed that she’d considered herself a great scholar, a learned woman, and yet had not known even the most basic truths of their world. Conflicting desires to run from the room and to stay and demand answers warred in her, until her fingers shook and arms twitched from it.

  “This is much for you to learn, heart of my son.”

  “Do they all know what you are?” Siara finally asked.

  “They know, but many do not believe. The messengers became a thing of legend. It was said that if a man came across a woman bathing, and saw an animal pelt or feathers nearby, she was an alsmun, a creature that, once kidnapped, would be the perfect wife.”

  “Sedrick kidnapped you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are prisoner here.” The horrific injustice struck Siara and her tears started again.

  “Yes and no. The legend was true that an alsmun has an animal’s pelt, and for as long as Sedrick holds mine, I will remain here.”

  “Does he know—does he know what you truly are?”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet he still keeps you?” Sara’s chest burned. “We must find your skin!”

  “I did find it once; I could have left.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I had a baby, a bright eyed boy of four summers, and what is in me of the Goddess would not let me leave my child.”

  “You stayed for Anleeh.” Siara reasoned, tears continuing to course down her cheeks.

  “Yes.”

  Siara had been plucked from the bosom of her family at an early age. Her family had lived in a village much plagued by the old King, and times were hard, every hand needed to labor in the fields. Women had children not for love but for need.

  The Zinahs, those before Anleeh’s time, had come through their village and noticed her, a dirty peasant girl, scratching symbols in the dirt to represent sounds. Upon hearing this tale the previous Priestess had sent the Zinahs back to collect Siara and bring her to the Temple. Siara’s father saw it as a waste that they had fed her for five years, only to lo
se her to the Temple as she was becoming a good worker. The Zinahs had paid her father gold coin in exchange for her, and this sale, the proof of her father’s lack of love, was Siara’s deepest shame.

  For all of her adult life, Siara had wondered if her mother had let the Zinah’s take her out of love and the hope that Siara would have a better life, or out of relief at having one less mouth to feed and greed for the coins they’d offered for Siara. She’d never returned home, never been willing to face the answer. If her mother was loving, Siara knew she would have collapsed under the grief of having lost a lifetime with a caring parent. If she was forgotten, a child more remembered for the price she’d fetched, Siara was not sure she would ever recover.

  And here was a woman who had chosen to stay with her kidnapper, turning away from a life with the Gods, to be with her child.

  “Anleeh is grown, can we, can I help you…”

  “Do not weep for me, child. Sedrick loves me, and I him. My longing for freedom is a product of what I am and will never fade, but does not have to be obeyed.”

  “Anleeh knows what he is? That he is ‘God touched’?”

  “He does. The God is strong in him; that is why he is such a fierce fighter, and why he fears his beast.”

  “He does not fear his beast,” Siara protested.

  “He does, but he hides it well. I have heard your tales of the Zinah Anleeh. I know that he learned to suppress his beast, to fight without it, and what a great relief this was to him.”

  “Please, I want to understand, why does he fear his beast?”

  “His beast is strong, strong enough to kill many in battle, and from the time he was young his father and uncle have encouraged him, fed his beast, knowing that, because he was my son, it would be dominant. Soon he was more beast than man. Only the presence of my beast, or that of his father and uncle, those he recognized as Alpha to him, could calm him and call him back to himself.”

  A knot of dread formed in Siara’s belly. “What happened?”

  “You are wise to know this story does not end well. Anleeh went into battle against a battalion of King Throlock’s men. They were terribly outnumbered and many died. The more of his friends that died, the more terrible his beast grew. He slaughtered without regard for the wounds that were inflicted on him. The God’s battle lust, his beast, rode him. Sedrick was injured and Jahrl took him away. Without the presence of Alpha beasts, Anleeh lost control. He killed a hundred men that day, and when there were none left standing, he finished those who lay dying. When their blood ran red, he found their horses and slaughtered them, for all he could see was prey.”

  Siara was unaware of the fresh tears that slipped from her eyes until the older woman reached over and brushed them away.

  “You weep for him.”

  “The man he is now—would never do that; he is kind and clever, always laughing, just. He believes in the law.”

  “Yes, the man he is now. After word of Anleeh’s deed reached King Throlock, he sent five hundred men. The warriors of Den went to meet them, traveling beyond Den’s borders to protect the land. When they arrived, there was a force already there, the Temple army, sent to protect Den. Anleeh saw them fight, saw the control and power of their skill, so much more effective than brute force. Three weeks later he left for the Temple, pledging to return trained in the ways of the Temple army.”

  “He regretted what had happened.”

  “His heart was hurt by it, but he was heralded as a hero. They call that day ‘the slaughter of horses’ and still talk about it. He had nightmares, and for almost a month afterwards had to be watched at all times because his beast was so close to the surface he was dangerous.” Anleeh’s mother smiled, but it was sad. “To the people of Den he was the greatest warrior, an unparalleled compliment among these people, but he’d lost their trust. He defended his homeland to the point of near madness, and when he returned no one would get within ten paces of him. He left to learn control, though he told his father and uncle it was to acquire the knowledge of the Temple army.”

  “But he did not want to return here.”

  His mother looked away, and black hair slithered forward over her shoulder. “I know.”

  “I am sorry.” Siara whispered

  “Why do you say that to me? You’ve done me no harm.”

  “He is why you stayed on earth, and then he left you alone here.”

  “But he found peace in the Great City, he found a part of himself, the part you know, that would have been forever locked away under the Battle Lust had he stayed here. I can only imagine what a balm that was to his human heart.”

  Siara could no longer sit. Springing to her feet, she began pacing around the room, too restless to even stop and look at the paintings.

  “You have told me much.”

  “Much of what I’ve spoken of is secret, and I will ask you to never speak of it, though you may chronicle it in your little book.”

  “Why? Why did you tell me?”

  “I trust you, diligent scholar, to write my words, make the truth of them known, so that the truth of Den will be known.”

  “You want the rest of the world to know?”

  “Nay. I want those who have the desire to understand, those who seek out the books, to be able to find the truth.”

  Siara turned, a chill calm settling over her. “This is a great burden you give me.”

  “I hope you will take it, for I have grown weary of carrying it alone.”

  Siara’s empathy for the other woman rose once more and she moved forward, wanting to offer comfort. They embraced, but Siara took as much comfort as she gave.

  “Have you no name I could call you?”

  “Call me Raven, for it was black feathers, like those of a raven, Sedrick gathered to capture me.”

  “Thank you, Raven.”

  “I will give you a new name, for you are the heart of my son, but now you are a part of my heart too, Daughter.”

  The Hall was wild with noise. The men shouted each other down, hearty laughs booming against the walls, girls shrieked their high laughter as they chased or were chased by their men.

  Anleeh, tired from a day spent training, grimaced at the noise level and then searched the room for Siara. He’d tried to be sure he always made it back to the Hall in time to dine with her, but this miserable day had kept him away from her through all of dinner.

  He finally spotted her, sitting in a prime spot on a mound of fur close to the hearth fire. She was still, a pool of calm in the sea of noise. Her gaze was on the fire, and even from this distance he could tell she was distracted. She sat straight, her posture thrusting her breasts forward. Around her couples lounged, wandering hands eliciting shrieks and moans.

  The only people left in the Hall were those with lovers, or searching for one.

  He settled on the furs beside her, relaxing on one elbow and stretching out his legs. Siara did not look up. Curling an arm around her bare belly he pulled her down, forcing her to lie back against him.

  “You are distracted tonight, lover.”

  “My mind is so full of things I barely have space to remember breathing.” Her voice was distant, its intense hush in contrast to the riotous frivolity of the others in the Hall. Her gaze was still on the fire, her body stiff against his. Anleeh stroked her hair back, studying her face.

  They lay together in silence for a few moments, Siara still lost in the flames, Anleeh slowly relaxing after the difficult day. Just being with her was calming. She was a part of him in a way he’d never expected, a balm to his wounded soul.

  “What did you learn today?” he whispered.

  Siara blinked, tearing her attention from the fire to look over her shoulder at him. “I do not want to speak of it yet.”

  He tugged a lock of hair forward, and then casually danced the end over the mounds of her breasts. “Then we will not speak of it.”

  Siara turned and tucked her head into his shoulder, curling against him. The embrace was closer than n
ormal. Anleeh brushed his hand over the top of her head, smoothing her hair, a frown of worry wrinkling his brow. Whatever she learned had left her seeking comfort. He would wake her in the early hours of dawn, when they could talk freely, and ask her again.

  His musings were broken by a load cry, the sound quieting all those lounging in the Hall.

  Anleeh leaned up, so he could see over the flames, and then slowly smiled.

  “I think you will want to see this, lover.”

  An arm at her back, Anleeh helped her sit up. Siara leaned in to him as she peered around the fire, and Anleeh knew by her gasp the precise moment she realized what she was watching.

  “Are they…?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  The warrior had his woman seated on the end of a table. She rested back on her elbows, hair spilling in all its white gold glory over the wood. The warrior knelt at the end of the table, his woman’s legs over his shoulders, his face buried between her thighs.

  She cried out again, hair thrashing about, body straining almost as if she tried to get away, but was anchored in place by his white-fingered grip on her hips. She still wore her dark brown furs, and her small breasts heaved within the confines of the halter-style top.

  Her lover rose, leaning over her on the table, forcing her to lie back. Everyone in the Hall watched as he leaned his face close to hers. They were still for a moment, her panting breath loud in the quiet Hall, and then he growled.

  She responded with a fierce snarl. Her arms came around his shoulders, fingers scratching at his leather covered back, body pressing up against his. The warrior slipped a fist beneath her back, keeping her body arched, and he bent and bit at the exposed tops of her breasts.

  Siara moved against him and Anleeh tilted his head to peek, to make sure she was not frightened or embarrassed. It was quite the opposite: her eyes were huge and dark with arousal, and, as the warrior ripped the fur from his lover’s breast with his teeth, she sucked her lower lip into her mouth.

  Anleeh slid one hand to her thigh, brushing it lightly, and Siara’ legs parted, hips tilting to coax his hand to her sex.

  The warrior unlaced his leggings, and when he thrust into his lover, she snarled again, the beast riding her, each thrust eliciting animal sounds of satisfaction.