by Guy Estes
Over time, Aleena mastered this new anxiety as she instructed the more aggressive patrons to keep their hands to themselves, lessons she was required to give several times a day. Those who did not at first take her instructions to heart did so after her second week of work. Three patrons held Aleena’s attention. Jac noticed how she rigidly held herself with her attention completely fixed on the three men, like a tigress looking at a rival.
“Aleena? Is all well?”
“Those men are slave traders.”
“How can you be certain?”
“No one else carries whips around in public.”
Jac saw what she said was true. All three of them had whips coiled onto their belts, something only slave traders did.
“Aleena –“
“Do not ask me to serve them, Jac.” Aleena’s voice held a commanding tone she had never used with him. He felt like he was conversing with a lioness. He noticed her fingers gently curling and uncurling, like a dragon flexing her talons. The muscles in her forearms danced. As the sight of roasted meat set off one’s hunger, so did the sight of slave traders set off Aleena’s hate, a hate that bordered on psychotic. It was all she could do not to kill them on sight.
“Of course not,” Jac said.
Aleena went about her duties, keeping well clear of the three slave traders, but sometimes the crowded tavern compelled her to walk near them. She was passing by them when a pair of rough hands grabbed her hips and hauled her down onto the lead slaver’s lap.
“Come here, my juicy little tart!”
One hand left her hip and latched onto the front of her bodice while the other slithered between her legs. The Strength of the dragon exploded from its hiding place within her spirit. Aleena instantly responded as her gift, the Strength, her instincts, and the raw hatred she felt for slave traders demanded. Her hand held open and rigid, she drove her fingertips into his face squarely between his eyes. Her hand pierced his skull and she went in up to her wrist. She held him upright at arm’s length, his dead body suspended by her hand through his skull. The muscles in her forearm writhed under her skin and there was a slight, wet smacking sound. Then she jerked her hand out and he flopped to the floor. Opening her fist, she dropped the handful of brain matter she’d grabbed.
Once again, Jac’s floor was stained with copious amounts of blood. Jac, Rachel, and the others who’d been present the first time Aleena slew men did not get a repeat performance of that night. She did not fly into hysterics. Using only one arm, she merely picked the body up by the belt tossed it out the door as casually and easily as she would any other trash.
“You,” she commanded, pointing at the two remaining slavers, her hand clotted with blood and gore, “clean up this mess.”
They immediately complied. Aleena went to the kitchen to clean off her hand and wrist and returned to her duties. When the mess had been cleaned up, she ordered the other two slavers out. They complied. Gradually, activity returned to normal levels, but Aleena no longer had to cope with invasive hands. Indeed, she was treated with utmost respect.
The next day three councilmen came into Jac’s. They looked around until they saw Aleena, seated at a table. She recognized them as the three who had interviewed her when she’d first killed. They hesitated when they saw her. They exchanged glances among themselves, then came over to her. There were almost no customers.
“Aleena Kurrin,” greeted the same older, short plump man who’d spoken to her the last time the council had investigated her actions. She said nothing but nodded as she looked him in the eye. He had difficulty meeting her gaze. How different she was from the last time they’d spoken! Before, she’d been crushed by guilt and as frightened as a cornered rabbit. Now she seemed completely unaffected by yesterday’s violence and simply looked at him the way a she-wolf would, an elemental creature that was neither threatening nor afraid, just supremely indifferent. She gestured at the empty chairs at the table and they sat. The leader cleared his throat and continued.
“We need to hear your account of what happened yesterday.”
She told him, as calm and dispassionate as someone reciting a shopping list. He nodded when she finished.
“Your account matches those of other witnesses we’ve interviewed.” He sighed and looked at his colleagues, then continued. “While your actions may have been a bit… abrupt, slavers really ought to keep their hands to themselves. There is no love for slavers hereabouts, and no one would object to a woman defending her virtue. And if the woman in question also happens to be a Chosen warrior, well…” He shrugged. “Suffice to say there are no objections from the council. Consequently, you are under no penalty and this inquest is closed.”
Aleena continued looking at him with those large storm cloud eyes, her flawless face expressionless, and nodded slightly.
“Well, then,” he sighed, placing his palms on the table. All three of them stood. The leader hesitated, as if to say something, then pressed his lips together and turned away. The councilmen left.
Word got around the trade roads that the barmaid who’d slain eight slave traders had returned. She was a woman now, a warrior in the full bloom of her power who’d driven her hand into a man’s skull and pulled out his brain. No slave trader dared to set foot in Jac’s tavern ever again.
She quit once school started, partly to concentrate on her studies and partly because she felt both the job and school would be too much, and she felt she deserved a break after what she'd been through. She wanted to soak up as much of her home’s atmosphere as possible. She knew that she could not recover that year-and-a-half that had been stolen from her, but she yearned to try. In so doing, she managed to get most of her possessions back, including her weapons. Constance, the barmaid for whom Aleena had fought that pivotal night, had the two swords she'd used. Constance was only too willing to return them, for she had vowed to do anything Aleena asked of her. Aleena had been impressed at how well Constance had cared for the weapons.
* * *
The first day of school was rather pleasant. Before her abduction, Aleena had always been terrified on the first day of school, dreading being the object of irrational hate. After what she’d been through, however, her long-time antagonists were but a tasteless joke. For the first time Aleena started the school term with a solid feeling of confidence.
In the months prior to the start of the present term, Ilian had fashioned a new wardrobe for her daughter, but this day Aleena was once again proudly wearing the black tunic of a provost. A scramasax, a knife she’d made herself with a single edged blade a foot long and a clipped point, occupied her right hip and she carried her sheathed southeastern sword in her hand. Once swords got beyond a certain length she preferred to carry them in hand, for she did not care for the way they flopped and swung on the hip. Moreover, having it in hand made for a faster, easier draw.
She was early, for class would not convene for another twenty minutes, but Aleena wanted some time to speak with the headmistress. She found Rita in her chambers.
"Aleena," Rita greeted as she glanced up from some scrolls upon her desk, surprised. "You are early. And why do you bear steel?"
"That is why I'm early. There is something I wish to discuss with you."
"What might that be?"
"As you may have guessed, I was compelled to anger a great many people in my journey home. My death would be a welcome thing for them. Some of them may even go so far as to try and find me to see their wish fulfilled, and they would not concern themselves with any noncombatants that might get caught in the middle. Do you see what I'm saying?"
"Yes, I believe I do. And I shouldn't have to tell you to keep track of your weapons."
"They will never leave my side."
"Then you have my blessing to bear them."
"Thank you, Mistress."
"Think nothing of it. If men of that sort come prowling about here, I would most certainly want an armed Aleena to call upon."
A
leena left the building and sat under a small tree in the schoolyard near the school's entrance to study the arriving students.
"So you have returned to continue your interrupted studies," Dirke said in a mockery of Aleena's voice as he tried to strut over to her, but it was difficult to strut well when one's belly jiggled like giant wineskin. Aleena looked up at his approach and gave him a faint smile. Dirke waited for her to say something. When she didn't, he filled the silence.
"And why would you be needing to bear steel on a school ground? Do you fear me that much?"
"My collection of enemies had expanded beyond you, I'm afraid, and they have no qualms about bearing steel on a school ground."
"You have more enemies now than what you started out with? Why in the seven hells would you do something like that?"
Aleena looked at him for several moments before asking, “Dirke, are you truly that stupid?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where have I been, Dirke?”
“I don’t know. The slave traders took you.”
“Yes, Dirke, that’s right,” she said in the patronizing voice of someone explaining something very simple to someone who was very stupid. “I was taken by slave traders. And how do you suppose I got back here? Did the slave traders simply open their cages and set me free? Does that sound like something a slave trader would do?”
“No.”
“No, of course it doesn’t. So how did I get back here, Dirke?”
Her voice was awash in scorn. She hated him for his role in Cormac’s death, but while she could restrain herself from physically harming him, she could not restrain her contempt from flooding her voice.
Dirke was silent for some time before answering, “You escaped?”
“Yes, Dirke, that’s right. I escaped. Now, how do you suppose the slave traders felt about that?”
“They wouldn’t like it.”
“No, Dirke, they didn’t. In fact, I killed no small number of them in the process. I made them very angry, Dirke. Consequently, I made more enemies, some of whom might go so far as to track me here. Do you understand now, Dirke?”
Dirke’s face slowly fell into a scowl as he began to realize what her tone of voice meant.
“Why do you talk to me like I’m a probationer?” he demanded.
"Why does your head do nothing but whistle in the wind?"
A small crowd of spectators had gathered, and their laughter commenced upon Aleena's scornful reply to Dirke's demand.
"What are you laughing at?" Dirke raged as he lumbered over to them.
They were all younger children, and they scattered at Dirke's charge. One little girl was too slow, and Dirke caught the child up by her shoulders and began shaking her while yelling at her.
"Dirke."
He stopped shaking the child to face the speaker. It was Aleena, but he'd never heard that tone from her before. She was standing, regarding him with an expression that was as unnerving as the tone of her voice.
"Release that child, Dirke."
That soft voice was getting to him. Most people, including the Aleena he remembered, would be raising their voices in such a situation. This Aleena wasn't. She did not raise her voice because she was concentrating so hard on reining in her gift. She was focusing on not slaughtering Dirke. Though she did not know the little girl Dirke threatened, she had always felt the need to defend the defenseless, a need that had been made stronger by the time she had spent with slave traders. Then, of course, there was also Dirke’s role in Cormac’s death. Her hatred combined with her instincts made her spirit’s demand for Dirke’s head almost unbearable. It was like trying to hold back a tidal wave.
"Take your hands off that child, Dirke, or you will have no hands."
"You would draw steel on me just for this?"
"Do you recall the fate of the last man who tried to hurt a girl in my presence?"
He did. Who didn't? But would Aleena really go that far? Her left hand held her sheathed sword by its blade while the fingers of her right hand were tapping the dark wooden grip as lightly as a spider's legs.
"That blade does not frighten me," he told her, trying to sound brave but not succeeding. Another crowd had formed, but they were completely silent.
"It should."
Dirke licked his lips. "Wi-," he stopped to lick his lips again. "Without that blade you are worthless."
His voice had started the sentence with a quiet tremor but had gained volume and stability as it went on. Aleena gave him a smile similar to one a famished dragon would give to a cornered sheep. Dirke nearly took a step back, but he caught himself.
"That may be. Unfortunately for you, I do have this blade. So it remains: I am armed. You are not. Are you willing to shed your blood over one little girl?"
“Are you willing to shed yours?”
“Yes,” she said. Then she chuckled, her dragon’s smile widening, “But I do not think it will come to that.”
They exchanged stares for a few moments. Dirke's expression was one of frantic review of his options while the amusement – and eagerness – on Aleena's face could only be described as predatory. He had never seen that look in another human being’s eyes. It was a primal, elemental lust for blood. Not just any blood, but his blood. It was like facing a predator that had evolved specifically to prey only on him. When he’d known her before her abduction, Aleena had still been Chosen, but her power had been untried. Now she was a Chosen warrior, her gift fully realized and battle-tested. Now she was a creature more dangerous by several orders of magnitude. He silently let the little girl go.
"If he bothers you again," Aleena told the little girl, "come and tell me, child, and I will give him a refresher course in manners."
"Your time is coming, Aleena," Dirke groused. "My friends will dampen your spirits."
“Oh, Dirke,” she said in a near whisper of rapturous anticipation, a murderous gleam brightening her eyes and that involuntary, slightly demented smile curling her lips, “if you only knew how I long for you to try something like that!”
Dirke could only slink away. Class convened a few minutes later, and Aleena felt a sort of dark satisfaction at seeing Dirke, Valkira, and most of their disciples in her class. They should have finished school two years ago.
As a child, Aleena had always thought if she’d ever gotten the chance to pay Dirke and Valkira back for the misery they’d inflicted on her, she would gladly take it. Now that very opportunity had presented itself, yet Aleena was surprised to see how little she cared. It was rather like taking revenge on ants that had bitten her years ago. She simply did not care and generally left her old enemies alone.
Dirke and Valkira, however, still cared. Aleena had returned, her spirit, body and gift fully realized. She’d won accolades for defending others and rising to the challenges her abduction had presented. All of this simply fueled her enemies’ hatred and jealousy. Dirke went so far as to resort to physical attack on a few occasions, all of which Aleena won with laughable ease.
Not so easy was resisting the urge to slay her opponent, but resist she did. It was simply what the nature of her gift compelled her to do. Little did Dirke know of his precarious state when he fought Aleena. It was almost like he was jumping off a cliff and hoping gravity would make an exception for him. Not only did Aleena have to rein in her gift, she also had to rein in her hatred for Dirke. Restraining both impulses, powerful and primal and forged by the gods themselves, bordered on impossible, but she did it. The final time she defeated Dirke, Aleena explained it to him.
“I’d like nothing better than to slaughter you like the swine you are, Dirke,” she told him. Her face was mere inches away from his, her hair bristling like a mane, her smokey eyes hooded with death. “But if I do that, I’ll bring dishonor to my family. That is the only reason I haven’t strangled you with your own innards. But if you do something stupid, like attack me,” she smiled a wicked smile and gave a distinctly unpleasant
chuckle, “well, that’d be a clear-cut case of self-defense, wouldn’t it?” Her smile fell off and her face returned to being a monument of hate. “This is the only warning you’ll get from me, Dirke. I let you live by the thinnest of threads. Do not give me an excuse to snip that thread.”
Dirke’s dim wits gradually arrived at the conclusion that underneath Aleena’s beautiful, quiet exterior lurked a complete lunatic. As for Valkira, she and her friends continued their twittering laughter whenever Aleena was present, but it was wasted effort because much of the time Aleena didn’t even notice. The fact that Aleena could not be bothered to waste time on her as well as the fact that she was constantly losing admirers to Aleena (who, aside from their reunion after she had returned, was never actually trying to steal Valkira’s admirers) finally infuriated Valkira enough to try slapping Aleena, but it was like a chipmunk assaulting tiger. Aleena locked Valkira in a relatively harmless, but quite painful, hold. This one occasion was sufficient to convince Valkira that physical attack on Aleena was a bad idea, so she instead went after Aleena’s reputation and spread whatever salacious gossip she could. Usually it was along the lines of all the boys Aleena had bedded. Having acquired reputations for bedding a virtual goddess, the last thing the boys would do was set the record straight. Aleena ended up forgetting half of their confrontations because they were so trivial. Valkira and Dirke did not.
* * *
Under Anlon’s rule, the Charidian expanded its power over the steppes. Neighboring tribes were conquered. Anlon personally slew their very best warriors in single combat. Tribes who surrendered were quietly absorbed. Tribes who resisted were exterminated. For all his conquests, though, Anlon felt unsated. He knew why. No matter who he defeated, he hadn’t defeated her. She had not merely defeated him. She had used him, just as Marcus had said she would. She had escaped before Anlon had left the infirmary.
