by Guy Estes
She no longer felt any remorse for those she'd slain. The memory of what Headmistress Rita had told her the day after she’d first killed lanced through her mind like a shaft of sunlight stabbing through the clouds.
Aleena, has it occurred to you that you did exactly what the gods fashioned you for? You are a warrior, with all the warrior’s instincts and skills, yet you have no desire to conquer or dominate. Doesn’t that seem odd? Perhaps, instead of a conqueror, the gods meant for you to be a guardian.
Donya the All-Mother had her dark aspect, Nevawn the Death Breeder. Donya was a beautiful and loving goddess, but should someone endanger her children, she became Nevawn the Death Breeder. When she had an unpleasant job to do, she was Nevawn. So it was with Aleena. Her light side, Aleena the Beautiful Light Bringer, was the one most people knew, the part of her that they saw in day-to-day life. However, when slavers threatened her people, Aleena the Warrior emerged. Then she did not bring light or beauty. Then she inspired terror and brought red, shrieking death. Yet by becoming an agent of destruction, Aleena also became an agent of preservation, just as Headmistress Rita had told her.
Yes, you brought death and destruction to eight of your fellow men, but in doing so you gave life to all who would have been their victims. No one else there last night could have done that as well as you. By destroying some lives, you saved untold others. Destruction enabled preservation.
Whether her gift was a blessing or a curse depended entirely upon her.
This led inexorably to her plan. Upon concluding what she just had, Aleena could not turn her back on her fellow captives. Even if she was not Chosen she could not leave them to their fate. Her parents had not raised her to be a deserter, and the gods had not created her to be a self-serving coward.
Accepting the full responsibility of the gift's owner, Aleena contemplated an idea that truly chilled her: going back to the slavers. As she plotted her strategy, she saw that there were not many things in her favor, such as being in an alien land and not speaking a word of the language, being hopelessly outnumbered, having a price on her head while not being able to blend in with the locals, and simply being a woman in a patriarchal society. However, she did have a few advantages, the best one being surprise. Virtually everything her plan required her to do would be the last things her enemies would expect her to do. One of the key things she'd done to create a good plan was to prepare for her own death, because she would not be going back into chains.
* * *
Ivarr sat in his chair on the front porch, stiff as a fence post, rage rising from him like poisonous fumes as he fought off images of what had likely happened to Aleena. The sun was burning away the darkness in the eastern sky. He could see that it was to be a clear day, though the day's weather did not really mean much to him. Not to a man who had lost everything. His daughter had been taken from him and he was helpless to get her back. His wife had gone completely blind and his hands had become completely crippled, which made his fantasies of revenge something of a joke.
What would you do if they returned now, hhmm? What can a man do with hands like yours? You cannot make a living and you couldn’t take vengeance on the slavers even if they were here. They would only laugh at you.
His rage went from a simmer to a boil. Ilian’s only desire anymore was to sit in the rocking chair Ivarr had made for her when she was pregnant and hold Aleena’s old doll to her breast. No more could they do what they loved. Even his home, which he'd built himself, was no longer his, not since dear Riona had moved in. Her initial visit had somehow evolved into a permanent tenure, and Ivarr was left with the perplexing mystery of how it had happened and why he seemed incapable of getting rid of her.
Riona had managed to take root in every aspect of his life, to the point that it no longer really belonged to him. And the damnable thing was that he had no idea how she'd done it and he had no idea how to get rid of her. If he raised his voice against her, Ilian would be hurt as well, and she had suffered enough. Ivarr could understand his wife's loyalty to family, but things were getting out of hand. Riona was cooking their meals, taking care of their house, going to market for them, and managing their finances. They were naturally grateful for all of this, and Ivarr was certain that Riona knew that and used it to her advantage. As she cleaned up the house, she would erect a new decoration of some sort that she had bought.
Gradually, over the weeks and months, the house no longer looked like it belonged to Ivarr or Ilian. Riona slowly phased out the usual meals they liked to eat and replaced them with the monstrous creations her twisted palate favored, all the while knowing that the Kurrins' sense of gratitude would prevent them from protesting. Ivarr had wanted to get rid of her from the very start, though he would not physically eject her. Obnoxious though Riona was, Ilian's family would never forgive such a thing, and he couldn't blame them. In any event, he saw that they could no longer do without her. His and Ilian's infirmities worsened by the day. Very soon they would be incapable of seeing to their own needs. Ivarr would have gladly embraced racking death rather than shoulder that fate. He knew not which was worse, watching it happen to Ilian or having it happen to him in her presence. How must she feel about him? Her husband, once a proud man, as strong as an ox and as loving as a faithful old hound, now a broken, embittered invalid who was scarcely capable of lifting the hammer he'd once wielded with ease.
His stomach rumbled. Looking at his broken hands, Ivarr was reminded that he could not prepare food himself, causing his anger to flare even more. Pride kept him from waking Riona, but he hoped she would rise soon. Then he cursed himself.
* * *
It was midday, and Lorn had staked out his wares on a large platform. A few yards away was the place where five of his employees had been slain the night before, their skulls smashed to smithereens by an enraged wench with twelve feet of chain she'd somehow snapped.
No, he corrected himself. This was no mere wench. How did she break that chain? In all the years I've done this I've never seen anyone, not even the mightiest, most furious man, even come close to breaking a chain, and yet this slender girl does so as casually as if she were merely stretching! Perhaps she is not mortal. But if that is so, why did she wait so long before freeing herself? And why the sudden change in spirit? She's been perfectly quiet the entire time we've had her, and then she suddenly breaks free and slaughters my men as though they were sheep. All told, this girl has single-handedly killed fourteen of my men.
Lorn shrugged off the cycle of questions and busied himself with making a profit. The clearing was rapidly filling with hopeful buyers, their purses weighted and full. There were still plenty of men left to help him peddle this current load, though some had quietly slipped away last night upon seeing what had happened. Lorn could not have cared less. Now the wages they would have earned were his, and there were plenty of people out there needing jobs. Hiring replacements would be no problem.
Every single one of the escapees had been rounded up last night, with one notable exception, only the richest catch in the bunch. Lorn consoled himself with the other blonde. She was still untouched and would fetch an exorbitant price.
Eager bidders had filled the circle to capacity by now, so Lorn got down to the lucrative business of selling his brothers. The auction got off to a lively start, and no one noticed the figure in brown garments slithering through the crowd, working its way closer to the platform. Aleena was doing her best to blend in, stooping over to conceal her stature and moving without haste. The secret to blending in, she knew, was to act as if she belonged there. She apparently succeeded because no one paid her any mind. Aleena had spent about half an hour in a deserted alley practicing with her scimitar. She was accustomed to straight blades, and this curved design took a little getting used to, but after that half hour, the weapon was like a third hand to her. Then she had set out into the city to do the last thing she was expected to do.
It took much longer than she'd hoped, but soon enough Aleena
found herself in the area behind the platform where the slaves were held. There were several traders with them, but the slavers were too busy to pay her more than a cursory glance. Aleena took a deep breath and prepared to die. She felt she was too young to exit this world, but if she did she would do so carving such a swath through her enemies as the world had never seen. She would create such destruction and chaos as to carry word of her valiant death all the way back to her parents.
Aleena mounted the stairs that brought her up on stage with Lorn, two of his henchmen, and four slaves that were being sold. Still acting with the unquestionable confidence of one who belonged where she was, Aleena strode over to the only slaver she saw holding keys. He looked up at her approach and started, asking, "Who are you? What business do you have here?"
Aleena inclined her head within the depths of her hood, just enough to let him see the grey eyes that could not possibly belong to a local, the ones with which he'd grown so familiar over the last four months. The bartering went on undisturbed, the crowd oblivious to the trader's shock. Nor could they see the sardonic smirk that curled Aleena's lips, but they could not miss it when she tore off her robe and drew her scimitar, cleaving the man's breast. He fell to the platform and spilled blood, like wine from an overturned cask. Astonished stillness swept the circle, everything perfectly still except for Aleena. She snatched the dead man's keys from his belt and tossed them to the nearest slave. The other slaver on-stage shook off his confusion and stepped towards her, his hand going for his whip. Aleena's blade slammed into his left shoulder, severing his weapon arm and slicing through his heart.
She spared a few moments to check on the slaves. They were freeing themselves with all the rapidity of a glacier, their bodies stiff and weak from captivity, their wills numbed by the abuse. One was too stunned to move at all. Aleena set them aside in her thoughts and concentrated on survival. She went after Lorn. He had drawn his weapon, a single edged long knife with a blade eighteen inches long, and was closing with her. Aleena was quite looking forward to the meeting.
"You damned she-devil," he snarled. "You'll not take another coin from my purse!"
The crowd, momentarily angered at the interruption, became quiet and expectant, watching the final battle between the two rivals. Lorn had a formidable reputation for cruelty in battle as well as in business. This was matched against what this insolent wench had done to his staff. All in all, the crowd thought, this should be an interesting contest.
Lorn swept his blade down at her skull. Aleena swept her blade up so its edge hit Lorn’s descending arm, then slashed at his head, but Lorn scuttled away from her, his right forearm cut more than halfway through. Aleena noticed how large his eyes had become, their whiteness glaring from his bronzed face. Lorn was a hard man, and he could take his lumps, but he knew he was facing no ordinary opponent. While she appeared to be a simple girl, he remembered that she'd killed eight of his men in that tavern four months ago, and last night she'd killed five of his men while her hands were manacled.
For the first time in many years, Lorn knew fear. This fear made him draw another knife with his left hand, rush forward and thrust for Aleena's neck. Aleena used her sword to smack his knife away, then slash his left arm and render it as useless as his right. She finished by stabbing him low in his belly with her edge up, then ripped her blade upwards, zipping his belly open and gutting him like a fish.
The crowd, which had been cheering Lorn on, fell back into silence. His hoarse cry of terror became a sigh as he fell over and expired. This was nothing like that night in Jac’s. Aleena felt not the slightest twinge of guilt. She felt the satisfaction of a job well done, a deep urge satisfied, a bothersome itch scratched. She felt Nevawn smiling upon her.
Then she concentrated on helping her associates. Two slaves were free, including one of the hellcats, and Aleena was unchaining the other one. The first did nothing but sit there.
"We must hurry," Aleena informed her. "Your chains are off. We can leave."
The former bride shook her head. "The master did not give me leave to go."
"That is because the master is no longer with us. I split his belly."
"I must obey only my master."
They did not have time for this. The buyers were angry now, a seething tide of frustrated customers who wanted their beasts of burden. In a few moments they and the remaining slavers would enforce their will with steel. Aleena did the only thing she could think of short of knocking the woman senseless. She said, "I am your master now, and I say we leave this place immediately."
The dazed woman obeyed. Her friend seemed to have recovered some of her old fire, for she now held Lorn's long knife, and it dripped with the blood of buyers who had gotten too close. Aleena spotted some tethered horses a few yards away and made for them, dragging or pushing as many freed slaves as she could. She pushed her way to the front of the freed slaves, swinging her sword at impetuous buyers. It seemed that the moment they gained the ground behind the auction block the remaining traders came after them. Aleena was surprised that it had taken them this long to retaliate.
A whip rent the air. The slaves shrieked and fell to their knees, blubbering for mercy. The whip cracked a second time, searing Aleena with more pain than she ever dreamed a simple length of leather could inflict. The lash kept her enemy out of reach. The pain was beginning to anger her, as was the sight of the slaves slobbering for deliverance. When the whip sang in again, Aleena held up her left arm and let it take her limb in its stinging embrace. She then grabbed the whip and tugged. The man on the other end did not let go, so he stumbled forward into her slash.
She passed the sword to her left hand and took the whip with her right, using it to part the throng before them. The keys had been given to another slave, and as he released the others, many of them took up weapons to aid their liberator. Aleena knew that most of them would only be recaptured, but if she could get to those horses a small handful of them stood a chance. If she tried to save them all she would certainly lose them all, along with herself, and all of this would have been pointless. She just had to accept that she had done everything humanly possible.
Aleena and her followers were halfway to the horses when soldiers burst into the courtyard behind them. The jumbled chaos of buyers managed to organize themselves long enough to get out of the soldiers' way. Aleena continued to lash the crowd before her, trying to get used to the unfamiliar weapon. The whip was awkward due to its length and lightness, making it prone to snap back at the user, but after lashing herself a few times, Aleena mastered the weapon, as she had mastered all others. Finally, with the clamor of the charging soldiers pressing them like grapes in a wine vat, they reached the horses.
Aleena got them mounted and told them to stay behind her. The other horses would instinctively follow the one in front of them. She swung herself onto her chosen mount's back and swatted his rump with the flat of her blade. It instantly broke into a gallop, and the others followed. They accelerated so quickly that many of the former slaves nearly tumbled off. The gate through which the militia had come was still open, and Aleena thundered straight for it. The soldiers, all on foot, readied their spears. Aleena flicked her whip at them, and while it was quite awkward from horseback, it served her purpose in keeping the soldiers back, though they managed to impale one of the last horses and recapture the slave.
Aleena and her desperate little band gained the street, and her uncanny sense of direction brought them to the gates through which they'd passed yesterday as property. Now they meant to exit as free men and women. Word had not yet reached the gate keepers that the slaves were escaping, but the sight which confronted them was sufficiently unusual for them to close the gates. Aleena saw what they meant to do and urged her steed harder. She did not concern herself with the foolish citizens who did not get out of the way. She had absolutely no love for these people. The gates were tall and thick, not easy to move even with the closing mechanisms. With maddening slowness, they b
egan to creak shut. Aleena had been planning to claim that she was running an errand for the nobleman who owned her when she remembered that she did not speak a word of their language. All she could do was urge her horse on and pray.
A soldier stepped out before the gates to stop them. He was confused as to what was going on, but he did not yet suspect anything, so he was unprepared to defend himself from Aleena's slashing blade. As he fell, she bolted through the closing gates, the other fugitives close behind. The three brides and two others were through before she turned to monitor their progress.
Many more had attempted to follow her than she'd thought. Ten desperate souls were bouncing on the backs of galloping horses, tears of supplication to their gods streaming across their temples, washing trails in their grimy faces, and all Aleena could do was to sit there and watch as the gap between the city doors narrowed. Two more made it through, the last one hitting his legs on both of the giant doors. A third was coming on hard, and Aleena's heart soared as his horse entered the shrinking gap. His legs also caught the doors, and his horse could not pull him through. He kicked the animal with the frenzy of a trapped rat, but as the gates closed the hose had less and less to work with, until it was forced to pull its head back into the gates to keep it from being pinched off. Aleena saw the look in the young man's dirty face, and as that disappeared she heard his howl of torment at having freedom within his grasp, only to have it yanked away.
Then she heard a hiss and a scream and saw one of the free ones tumble from his mount, clutching at the feathered shaft that had gone almost completely through his chest. The gate keepers had gotten their recurve bows and were using them. These people were legendary for their powerful composite bows and their skill with them. At such close range, she and her band would be feathered in a twinkling. She turned and galloped away, the other horses following. She heard another scream and a thud as another slave was shot and tumbled from his mount. A third fell before they gained enough distance for the archers to have difficulty hitting them, though several shafts whistled uncomfortably close to her head. The archers would know by now what was going on and who was leading the runaways. They all wanted to claim credit for her death. An arrow nicked her horse's rump, inspiring him to new speeds. She stopped when they were a safe distance from the city. They were at the top of an enormous dune, but they were well out of bowshot.
