Savage

by Lila Dubois

  “It was a mistake, a foolish one.” Siara admitted.

  “I only did it once, but he knew, my husband knew.”

  “How?”

  “I do not know, but he knew. I think he could feel it, knew my beast lay quieter than normal for she was well satisfied.” She blotted at her lips again.

  “You must name the man who tempted you; it is not right that you take this punishment alone.”

  “My husband knows who it is who touched me.”

  Siara was shocked. “He does?”

  “Yes. I told him.”

  “Why was he not called forward to accept punishment also?”

  “A man is not punished for mating a willing woman.”

  Siara sucked in a breath in anger. “That is wrong.”

  “It is the nature of a man’s beast to want a mate, to lull a woman and take her as his own. Women must learn to fight any desires another man raises.”

  Siara struggled to force her anger under control. It was horrible and frustrating that this culture both glorified women whose beast was strong, yet demanded that they control the urges of that beast in a way the men did not have to.

  “You will not return to your husband, will you?”

  “He is my husband no longer; the woman I was is gone.”

  “Your family…”

  “I have no family.”

  After Anga’s reaction, Siara was not surprised.

  “I would like to help you.”

  “What is done is done.”

  “I want to let you know that, if you want, you can come to the Great City, to the Temple, seek peace and solace there.”

  “Leave Den? I could not do that.”

  “Then let me do something for you.”

  “There is nothing I need; I will have a new life, a good life, serving my people.”

  Siara swallowed a protest, reminding herself that she could not force the woman to change her life, as much as Siara might not understand it.

  “I want to write down your story. No one but I will ever see it, it will be hidden away in the Library.”

  “No one would see it?”

  “Only I.”

  “Anleeh-Ori?”

  “He will not know.”

  “Surely there are more important things you must write than the story of an evil woman.”

  “You are not evil, and to me there is no more important thing to write than your story.” Siara tugged on the pouch she wore across her chest, opening the flap to pull out an empty journal, her ink pot and a new quill.

  One swollen hand, wrist marked by deep bruises from the cuffs, stretched out the stroke the journal where it lay on Siara’s knee. The movement was heartbreakingly reminiscent of the way Anga touched Siara’s journals.

  “I will live forever, in this little journal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “What is your name?”

  “Allana.”

  Siara turned to the first page and carefully wrote Allana’s Story.

  “There is no reason for us to join with the Palace.”

  “There is every reason. The future power of the Land Between the Seas lies in unity.”

  “Den is strong without them. We will not use our army to protect those weaker than us.”

  Anleeh ground his back teeth together. The arrogance of his father and uncle regarding the power of Den’s warriors was expected but aggravating. He wanted to explain how horrifically the warriors of Den would be decimated if they went up against the Temple army, but knew that warrior pride would never concede the point. He could describe the diverse weapons and advanced techniques of the Temple army, recount the battles they had won, but it would not make a difference.

  “You have seen me fight; you know that there are things to be learned from the Great City, things that will only make Den stronger.”

  “There is no need. You are here now; you will teach us.”

  Anleeh let the comment go unchallenged. They all three knew that Anleeh would not stay, but it seemed his father was not ready to admit it.

  “I have taught the warriors much of what I know, but if a treaty were agreed upon, you could demand that selected warriors of Den be trained in the Great City, by the General of the Army.”

  Anleeh leaned in, his voice hushed, drawing their interest. “Imagine a man whose skin is black, like that of a summer wolf. His skin is pulled tight over flesh and bone, so you can see the veins pumping blood to muscles knotted like ropes.”

  He could see that both men were intrigued. Mentally apologizing to Rohaj, Anleeh continued his tale. Had the dark warrior been here, he would have slit Anleeh’s throat to stop him.

  “His head is smooth and there is no hair anywhere on him. He wears furs, as we do, but his are from animals unlike those we have ever seen. The beasts were massive, like a bear, but gold and orange, some ringed with stripes, others with spots. It is from this man, the new General of the Temple army, that you could learn.

  “Wealth would flow into Den, for there are no carvers in the Great City whose skill is even close to that of the Den. The scraps from the floor of the wood room would fetch a price enough to buy ten weapons.”

  Anleeh stopped when Jahrl leaned back. He waited. They sat silent, unmoving, at a table to one side of the Hall. Around them men and women moved about their daily tasks.

  “What does the Palace want?”

  Anleeh smiled and began outlining the King and Queen’s requirements.

  Siara, wrapped in a long fur cloak, sat in the middle of a clearing, not far from the Hall. The noise of people did not reach her here; there was only the sky, studded with a thousand diamond point starts, and the cold air of night. She’d flung back the hood to look up at the stars and her hair hung down, blowing in the night wind.

  A figure emerged from the trees across the clearing, shoulders heaped with furs, heavy cloak shadowing his long frame.

  The sight of him raised many things in her. Desire, longing and love warred with trepidation, fear and embarrassment. When Anleeh reached her he held out a hand. Despite all that had passed between them, Siara did not hesitate to reach up, sliding her fingers along his palm. He pulled her to his feet, and in the same movement, cupped her cheeks and kissed her.

  Siara slid her hands under his cloak, easing them along the trim line of his waist as his tongue teased her lips open, slipping between her teeth. Siara sighed as he broke away. She could kiss him forever.

  “I finalized the treaty with my Uncle,” his whispered, mouth only inches from hers, hands still cupping her face.

  “Our mission is complete; we can begin preparations to return home.”

  “You feel you have learned everything?”

  “Not everything, but enough.”

  “I know that what happened last night was wrong, but do not let it change…”

  “Do not worry for me; I understand it, even though I cannot accept it.”

  “Change has happened. There is a time when she would have died for her crime.”

  “So I have learned.”

  “I am sorry … for the way I treated you, that I could not be the man you expected me to be.”

  Siara’s heart lurched when she realized how her berating must have made him feel. “Forgive me that I would accuse you of such things, when I know you are a good and honorable man. I know now that it was as hard for you to watch as it was for I.” She reached up and brushed the hair from his brow, “How hard it must have been for you to change from who you were to who you are now.”

  “It was, and I will never regret it.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “I am haunted by the knowledge that if I had stayed, if it had been you who was discovered in another man’s arms, I would have seen nothing wrong with beating you.”

  Siara shivered, for that moment terribly aware of the breadth of his shoulders, his greater height and the power in his hands where they still cupped her face. Then his fingers stroked her chee
kbones, his hand so tender that her love, not dimmed in the least by the events of the past days, rose up in her.

  “I could never crave another’s touch,” she admitted, dragging in a breath tinted with the smell and taste of him.

  Anleeh slid his hands down her body, palms covering her neck, pressing down over her breasts, to her waist. Holding her there he slowly, with all the dignity of a man performing a ritual, lowered himself to his knees before her, head bowed.

  Remembering Raven’s words, Siara asked, “What does it mean for you to kneel before me?”

  “It means that I value you above all others, that I would die for you.” His words were thick with conviction, pulled from him by emotions he would not speak. Those unvoiced emotions watered the hope Siara had worked to keep dormant.

  Siara slid her hands into his hair, cool silk around her fingers, cupping his head and pulling until he rested his cheek against her belly. Anleeh’s arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her to him in a grip that was almost painful.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  He did not respond, but as she stood beneath the stars, with all that he was, the confident warrior, the smiling laughing Lord, the vulnerable conflicted man, laid bare at her feet, Siara’s heart knew a joy it had never felt before.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Anleeh woke a moment before the battle cry echoed through the Hall. As the last note of the war cry died and the drums started, Anleeh slid from their bunk, slipping into his leggings, his mind going blank, entering the calm white light the Priestess and his fellow Zinahs had taught him to find before battle.

  “What is it?” Siara whispered from the darkness, voice thick with sleep. It had only been a few hours since they’d crawled into bed. Her sleep soft voice caused an unexpected tightness in his throat. Anleeh reached into the dark and her fingers slid through his, her lips brushing the back of his hand.

  “Battle cry.”

  “What has happened?”

  “I know not.”

  “You must fight?”

  “Yes.” Anleeh turned, pulling his shirt out of the cupboard and shrugging it on. Naked, Siara knelt, helping him into his boots and lacing them. Around them the Hall came to life. Men dressed quickly and silently, women shrugged into their furs, running for the kitchens or moving to fetch weapons.

  Siara lifted a pelt, holding it in place against his leg but Anleeh shook his head.

  “I will not wear those.”

  “You will be cold.”

  “There is only fire in a battle in Den.”

  She rose, shivering in the night chill, and Anleeh took a moment to wrap a fur lined cloak, ankle length, over her shoulders.

  “Siara, you must listen to me. I know you have found friends among these people, but if I do not return, the battle for you will be fierce.”

  “Don’t speak that way, you will return…”

  “Listen. I must know you will obey me. Seek protection with my father and uncle, but understand that, especially after what we did in the Hall, they will not want to let so powerful a woman go. They will let you ease your grief, and then mate you to the strongest warrior.”

  “Anleeh please…”

  “This is truth. I do not speak to frighten you, merely warn you.”

  Siara looked at him, in the dim light of the Hearth Fire, as around them men prepared for war. She did not weep or plead with him; she handed him his sword.

  “Go to battle, and return to me.”

  She was magnificent. Hair tousled, draped in the white fur, holding his sword, the orange and red light of the fire danced over her skin, she seemed Goddess-like. Fierce and protective, brave and vulnerable.

  Anleeh accepted his sword, shrugging the strap over his head so it lay diagonally across his chest.

  “Pray for me.”

  “I will.”

  “Then I will return.”

  “I will wait for you,” she said, and they both knew she meant forever.

  Anleeh kissed her, and left.

  They did not return for many days. The first day Siara was able to keep herself busy, ignore the gnawing ache of worry in her stomach. By the third day fear lay over her like a shroud; she was unable to eat for the knots that had formed in her belly.

  “You must eat,” the women scolded each other, but none did. They cooked, great sides of venison and precious beef, preparing for their men to return, but none spoke of it.

  At night the Hall rustled with the sound of those who could not sleep. Feet padded over the floor as the women roamed the Hall, bodies aching for the touch of the men who had left to defend them. Those who had homes of their own came to the Hall, slept in great piles of rounded limbs and blond hair near the fire, taking comfort in another’s presence.

  On the fourth day the drums sounded once more.

  Children, sent to keep watch to distract them from waiting, as they too had grown fretful and worried, came screaming down the paths, yelling that they could hear the war horns the men carried.

  One of the women dropped her bucket of water and ran, hair streaming behind her, to the drum tower near the wall. Siara, her own empty water bucket dangling from her fingers, watched as the woman flew up the steps, grabbed the heavy mallet, and began beating the drum.

  Four times she beat the drum, letting the reverberations of the last blow fall into silence. Mothers quieted chirping children as everyone strained to listen. Then, faintly, a horn sounded. Everyone exploded into action, some running inside to help Cook prepare food, others scooping up the smallest children and herding them away, but the vast majority of the women ran for the walls, hoisting ladders into position and climbing high enough to see over the wood spike top.

  Siara didn’t know what to do. It seemed more practical to go and help prepare the Hall. But even as she analyzed the most logical course of action, she headed for the wall, hoisting a ladder into place and climbing. Once her head and shoulders were clear, Siara wrapped her hands around two of the spike-shaped tops of the wall beams, holding herself in place.

  Every other minute the drum would sound. The echoing war horn grew closer and closer. They were coming from the north, circling around the wall to reach the gates.

  A hush fell as they finally came in to sight, each woman looking for the one they loved. Cries of joy rose in the cool air as fathers, husbands and sons were spotted. The men were silent, continuing their relentless march home. The gates were thrown open as the men marched in, and Siara scrambled down her ladder. She didn’t see Anleeh.

  At the rear of the party, men carried stretchers and Siara headed for them. Her mind was curiously blank, as if the possibility of Anleeh injured or dead was something so horrific and remote that she could not even visualize it. One of the women caught her arm, pointing away from the stretchers, towards the center of the mass of marching men.

  Siara changed course, quickstepping alongside the warriors, but she still did not see him. A sea of wide shoulders, hung with weapons of every style, blocked her view of the men in the middle. Jahrl moved to the front of the pack. He stepped forward, to the Hall doors, but he did not open them. Instead he stood before them and turned. When he raised his hands, the men stopped and the women fell silent. Warriors and women alike looked at him expectantly, waiting for their leader to speak.

  “Many days ago, a warrior returned to us.” Siara looked around, and found several people looking back at her. He was speaking of Anleeh; Siara’s search for her lover doubled in its frantic intensity.

  “He was returned to us a man of great skill, of great learning, more than any of the rest of us may claim.” A few of the warriors nodded.

  Where was Anleeh?

  “But that is not what makes a warrior of Den!” The men roared in agreement. “Today my brother’s son returned to us in truth. Release him!”

  The warriors began to move away, pushing the women back, forming a large circle in front of the Hall doors. Siara stumbled backwards as a warrior pushed her hard. When the
circle was formed, five men stood in the center. Four of the men held ropes in one hand, spears in the other. The spears were pointed at the fifth man, and the ropes led to nooses wrapped around his neck, waist, bound wrists and one ankle. His features were hidden by a rough hood, pulled tight to his features by the rope around his neck.

  “Anleeh,” Siara whispered, “What have they done to you?”

  “It is for protection that they bind him.” Raven slipped a hand around Siara’s waist as she spoke. “The God’s battle madness came upon him.”

  “Look what they’ve done to him; they treat him like a prisoner.” Rage at those who abused her lover, her mate, warred with a deep and terrible fear.

  “There is no other way, the God’s rage cannot be trusted. When it comes upon him, Anleeh does not know friend from foe.”

  She could not leave him like this. Siara had a brief but terrible vision of Anleeh, bound as Allana had been, beaten as she was forced to watch. She could not bear it. There must be a way to help him.

  “I … I was told that a child’s beast will respond to that of its mother. He loves you—help him. Help him!”

  Raven stroked Siara’s arm, but Siara could feel her fingers tremble. Raven was as frightened as Siara was, and that terrified her.

  “I too am of the God. If he had a normal mother, one fully human, he would perhaps have a chance, but to see me, to feel my magic will make it worse.”

  “What about Sedrick? Can’t he help him?” Siara ripped her gaze away from Anleeh and his circle of guards in time to see Raven’s lips tighten. “Sedrick does not want to calm him, does he?”

  “The battle madness is greatly revered among the warriors.”

  “Than why do they treat him like a—a…”

  “Animal? Because now he is closer to animal than human. His beast is in control, thirsty for blood, angry to be trapped in the human skin, but retaining the creativity of a human, which makes him deadly.”

  “Did they make him march all the way home like this?”