by Bruce Blake
“Get him.”
The two men advanced. Khirro raised his sword defensively, the muscles in his arms screaming as fatigue rushed back into them.
“Now, Khirro,” Athryn called.
Khirro clenched his teeth and swiped his arm across the sword’s edge. The steel bit deep and he sucked a hissing breath between his teeth as blood trickled down his forearm, dripped on the ground. The two threatening men sank to the ground like half-full sacks of potatoes, armor and weapons clattering on loose stones. Khirro looked up at the last man, the boy held in front of him, its grip tight around his throat. Despite the holes in his gray-fleshed cheeks, the thin lips and non-existent eyelids, the soldier’s face registered surprise. It quickly changed to an emotion more akin to rage.
“The boy dies.”
Khirro saw the rotting muscle in the thing’s arm flex in preparation to slit the boy’s throat. Panic blossomed in Khirro’s gut. Elyea had told him to rescue the boy; what would happen if he failed? Without time for thought, he heaved the sword he’d taken from the fallen Kanosee at the undead warrior. It spun end-over-end through the air and Khirro watched in disbelief.
Why did I do that?
For Khirro, the world narrowed to the sword, its path, the soldier it was directed at and the boy in his grasp. End-over-end, end-over-end, point, hilt, point. The expression of fear on the boy’s face increased to horror and he squeezed his eyes closed, bracing for the impact. The soldier’s ruined face looked surprised again.
Until the point of the sword entered his right eye and exited through the back of its head.
The undead creature dropped its knife and released its grip on the boy, the force of the impact sending it reeling back, until its feet caught and it tumbled to the ground. The boy cracked one eyelid and started crying.
Khirro rushed past the boy, pulled the sword from the undead Kanosee’s eye, and used it to separate its head from its shoulders. A moment later, Athryn was at his side, hand on his shoulder. A sheen of sweat glistened on the magician’s forehead and bare chest in the wan moonlight.
“Nice aim,” he said and went to Graymon.
Athryn knelt in front of the boy and looked him in the eye. Graymon looked back for a second before collapsing into his arms.
“Don’t worry,” Khirro overheard Athryn whisper. “We are taking you home.”
Chapter Ten
“Quiet.”
Lehgan had stopped a minute before, his head canted as he listened to the sounds around them, though Emeline didn’t know why; she didn’t hear anything. A nightbird sang from the forest beside the road, trees creaked and brush rustled, and Iana cooed against her breast as if answering the night. Nothing unusual.
“Keep the child quiet, woman.”
Emeline shifted to pull the neck of her dress down, exposing her breast. Iana’s eyes widened at the sight of the freed nipple before she put her tiny mouth around it and closed her eyes. The calmness of feeding the baby flowed through Emeline’s arms and legs, making her forget where they were and all that had happened, until she heard the sounds that had made Lehgan stop.
Horses.
Somewhere around the bend in the road ahead, a horse whinnied and huffed, then she heard the voices. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered the village they’d passed with its funeral pyre and smashed huts.
Lehgan gestured with his head for her to follow and turned his horse back the way they’d come. Emeline sat for a second, staring down the road.
“I knew we should have turned around and gone home when we saw that village. Come on.”
Her husband’s harsh whisper prompted her into action. She removed the nipple from the baby’s mouth, covered herself, and urged her horse to follow.
Iana began to cry.
Emeline looked down at her daughter’s face strained with anger at having her food taken away. A sob broke through, then a second, louder.
“Quiet,” Lehgan said and grabbed her horse’s bridle.
“Shh.” Emeline put the tip of her finger to Iana’s lips to calm her, but the baby jerked her head away and sobbed again.
“Keep the child quiet, woman.”
Lehgan put his heels to his horse and it sprang forward, dragging Emeline’s mount along and threatening to unsaddle her. She righted herself and hugged Iana tight to her chest. The baby shrieked.
“Who goes there?”
Emeline's right foot slipped out of the stirrup as she looked back over her shoulder at the words made foreign by the soldier’s Kanosee accent. She saw six or seven mounted men behind them before the horse’s movement made her slide in the saddle. Her foot dug for the stirrup but found only empty air. Instinctively, she let go of the reins and hugged Iana tight as panic surged through her at the feel of her dress slipping on the saddle leather. She lashed out a hand, grabbing for the horse’s mane, but missed.
“Lehgan,” she squealed.
Two thoughts occurred to her simultaneously, one an instinct, the other bred through years of riding: Protect the baby. Get your foot clear of the stirrup.
If her foot caught, she’d be dragged behind the horse, and then it wouldn’t matter what she did to protect her child. Although the horse hadn’t yet gotten up to speed, it wouldn’t slow down when it noticed her bouncing against the ground beside it.
Half-on, half-off the horse, Emeline twisted and wrenched her foot free, then twisted again to put herself between the baby and the hard ground. Her grip tightened, her muscles tensed, and she felt for a moment like she was floating, weightless and carefree as a bird.
The ground brought her back to reality.
Her back slammed against the dirt road, bones jarring with the impact, breath forced out of her lungs. A gray cloud clawed at the edge of her vision, seeking to steal her consciousness, but she willed it away and felt Iana writhe in her grasp, though—through her struggle to find air to feed her lungs—she heard no cries of pain or panic from the baby.
Laying on the ground, she stared up at the night sky, at stars twinkling against the black tapestry. The first flakes of snow tumbled down from on high, floating and twirling as they danced toward the ground. Despite the panic in her chest, she felt awed by the tranquillity of the darkness above and the falling snow. Not until Lehgan slid off his horse and stood over her blocking the stars, his lips moving without sound, did she realize she couldn’t hear anything.
Her husband crouched beside her, grabbed her shoulders. She saw desperation in his eyes, strain upon his brow, but she couldn’t figure out how to respond. He stared at her for a few seconds, the look in his eyes giving her the impression he held himself back from shaking her, then he looked up and away from her.
His expression changed and he stood, backing away a step. Her eyes followed him. His lips moved; he shook his head. Emeline shifted her gaze the other direction and saw the horses stopped a few yards away. Two of the soldiers dismounted and she realized where she was and what had happened.
Her breath returned along with awareness, and with her breath came the searing pain in her back and the screams of her child in her ears. She struggled to sit up and comfort Iana, hoping the baby was scared and not injured, but one of the soldiers put his foot against her chest and pushed her back to the ground.
“Stay put, wench,” he said.
The pain of the pressure of his foot against her achingly-full breast was nothing compared to the torment of her back hitting the ground again. Emeline fought back a scream and held Iana tighter against her shoulder. Two of the soldiers jumped past her and she saw one rip the sword out of Lehgan’s scabbard as the other grabbed his arms behind his back. Lehgan did nothing to stop them.
The man who pushed her down loomed over her. The week’s-worth of stubble on his cheeks was ginger-colored, though the hair trailing out from under his open-faced helm appeared blond. He showed her a menacing smile; one of his front teeth was missing.
“You’re a pretty one, ain’t ya?”
He poked his finger
out toward Iana but Emeline twisted away sending a fresh explosion of pain along her injured back.
“No. Leave her alone.”
Her voice was shrill and panicked to her own ears and she felt a twinge in her belly that she couldn’t find enough control in herself to sound threatening instead of fearful. The soldier laughed and held out his hands.
“Give me the child and we won’t hurt it.”
Emeline shook her head painfully and felt tears roll down her cheeks. Iana’s distressed shrieks rang in her ear. Barely distinguishable over it, she heard Lehgan shouting, but his words soon stopped. She glanced his direction and saw his head hanging, one soldier holding him up as the other rubbed his knuckles, then the man with the missing tooth grabbed for Iana and Emeline forgot about her husband.
He got one hand around the baby, his fingers digging painfully into Emeline’s breast; she struggled to hold on, but the soldier’s strength and the pain in her back worked against her. The man wrenched Iana free from her grip and she screamed again in rage and panic. He stood, foot planted on her chest, easily holding her in place as he gestured for the man rubbing his knuckles to take the baby from him.
“What do you want me to do with that?”
“Just hold it,” he said leering down at Emeline. “These two’ll behave better if the child is alive.”
“But--”
“Take the damn whelp. I’ve got some work to do here.”
He handed Iana off to the other man then reached down, threw off the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and grabbed the bodice of Emeline’s dress. She clawed at his hand, but the leather glove covering his fingers and the thick fabric of his coat rendered her attempts useless. He yanked hard, wrenching her back and lifting her a couple of inches off the ground. When that didn’t produce the desired result, he grabbed on with his other hand, too.
“No,” Emeline whimpered. “No. Please give me my baby back.”
“You’ll have your whelp back soon enough.” He tore her bodice open and crouched on top of her, sitting on her hips.
Emeline felt the cold air on her bare breasts, the pain of their fullness, the weight of him on her bladder making her want to urinate, but it all disappeared as he leaned forward, grabbed her by both wrists and pinned her to the ground. A second later, his mouth found her ear. Her world became the slobbering sounds of his tongue on her ear and neck and the hoots and hollers of the other soldiers.
And the pains.
The man tried to put his mouth on hers, but Emeline turned her head away. Through the blur of her tears, she saw Lehgan being held by a Kanosee soldier. He’d raised his head and a line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth to his chin; he was looking at his wife, watching what the man was doing to her. Lehgan didn’t struggle against the soldier’s hold, he didn’t yell threats or offer words to comfort his wife, he just watched, an expression of defeat on his face.
One of the other soldiers grabbed her hands and the man sitting atop her moved his face away from hers. His now-free hands found their way under her dress, between her legs.
Emeline closed her eyes and bit down hard on her teeth wishing to be somewhere else, wishing that she hadn’t made this journey prompted by a ghost woman’s words. As flakes of snow melted on her burning cheeks, she prayed it would end soon.
***
Emeline opened her eyes and felt the hard ground under her back. Above, a few stars remained in the pre-dawn gray sky, but the snow had stopped without collecting on the ground; she must have slept a little after the soldiers finished with her.
The pain caused by her fall had mostly waned as a fresh discomfort between her legs usurped it. Four of the soldiers had forced themselves on her before it ended. She didn’t know how long it went on; she’d made herself retreat to a hiding place inside her head before the third man settled in on top of her.
She looked at Lehgan sleeping beside her, Iana snuggled tight against his chest, but jerked her gaze away. She wanted to snatch the baby away from him but knew she wouldn’t have the strength. After seeing Lehgan stand watching without making a sound in protest while the soldiers raped her, she didn’t want to see his face. After seeing the stark fear in his expression freeze him from at least trying to come to her aid, she wasn’t sure she would ever look at him the same again.
“You will forgive him. There was nothing he could do without forfeiting his life.”
The voice didn’t startle Emeline, nor did it surprise her when she saw the ghostly woman standing over her.
“He could have tried,” she replied, the whispered words forced between her clenched teeth.
The ghost woman crouched at Emeline’s side. “I know it’s difficult to understand now, but all this must happen to reach the needed outcome.”
“It didn’t have to happen to me.”
The ghost’s green eyes were soft with an understanding Emeline wouldn’t have expected to see in them.
“It did,” the ghost woman said, “and I’m sorry it did. No one should have to go through what you did.”
Emeline pressed her lips together, fighting back more tears. She’d cried enough as she endured those men lying atop her, forcing themselves into her. She didn’t want to cry anymore. Ever. She waited until she felt her control return, then looked around quickly to make sure no one noticed her speaking to a shadow before replying.
“If it will be like this, I cannot continue and do what you want.” She shifted on the ground and immediately felt the pain of the movement between her legs. “I would rather be dead.”
The ghost put her hand on Emeline’s shoulder, the touch of it surprising in its solidity. “Think of your mother and father. And Iana. What will happen to her if you give up and Khirro fails?”
Emeline closed her eyes and remembered the ruined town, the villagers burning their dead. It could easily have been her parents' village. But could she really do anything to prevent it?
“I can’t,” she said, eyes still closed. “I’m not strong enough.”
“Yes, you are.”
Emeline opened her eyes again and peered into the ghost woman’s understanding face. “How do you know?”
“Because I have seen others like you who didn’t think themselves brave, yet have shown courage beyond compare.”
“Khirro.”
“Yes, Khirro. Something you have not considered: you now know what it is like to be raped. For a year, Khirro has carried around with him the idea that he did that to you. Can you imagine how it made him feel?”
Emeline sighed a slow breath and thought about lying on the ground, a stranger pressed inside her, wishing it would be over. She thought about how helpless she’d felt.
“Yes, I think I do.”
The ghost woman nodded and stood. “Then you know you can do this. For the kingdom, for your family, for yourself. And for Khirro.”
The sky lightened further and the ghostly form faded.
“Yes,” Emeline said to the spot where the woman had been standing seconds before. “Yes, I can.”
“Who are you talking to, wench?”
The soldier’s hand rested on the buckle of his belt. Was he putting it on or taking it off? Emeline didn’t know, nor did she answer. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, waiting for whatever might come next because she knew, no matter what it was, she would endure.
She had to.
Chapter Eleven
No one had passed their hiding spot crouched in the bushes at the verge of the forest for more than an hour, but Athryn insisted they wait longer, both to ensure their safety and to let the boy rest. Khirro fidgeted and looked at Graymon curled on the ground between them. Even in sleep, his face showed the strain of his experiences. After all he’d been through himself in the past months, Khirro could imagine what it must have been like for the boy.
“I don’t understand why it worked, Athryn,” Khirro said shaking his head. “I drew blood for you, but I obviously didn’t die, yet you cast a spell.”
&n
bsp; “You did not die, my friend, and thank the Gods for it, but death walked all around us.” He leaned forward and peered along the road. “Those soldiers were already dead.”
“Their death and my blood.” Khirro touched the bandage covering the cut on his forearm and winced. “How did you know it would work?”
Athryn leaned back and looked into his companion’s eyes. “I did not know it would.”
Khirro’s gut clenched; he raised his head and stared at the magician. “You didn’t know?”
You risked my life.
Athryn shook his head.
Khirro opened his mouth to protest about the magician taking his life in his hands, but stopped himself before he spoke. What choice did they have but to take such chances? If he didn’t, either they or the boy or both would have been dead, and the journey would have come to a premature end—no different than if Athryn had done nothing. Khirro decided not to say anything about it.
“We should move out,” he said instead. “Before anyone else comes.”
“They are already coming.”
Khirro stared at Athryn for a second, then pivoted to look down the road. At first he didn’t see anything as the gray of dawn leeched color from the world and smeared shapes together. He squinted to focus, looking for any movement on the dirt track, until he realized the reason he didn’t see anyone was because he looked in the wrong place. A figure moved through the brush at the side of the road, swinging his sword to cut a swath before him, but still far enough away that distance hid the sound of his blade shearing through the brambles.
Looking for something. For us.
Now he’d spied one man, Khirro saw others—three Kanosee soldiers on each side of the road, and more might be hidden in the trees. All of them walked slowly with their weapons in hand, eyes turned to the ground in front of them, searching.
“They’re looking for us,” he whispered leaning over the sleeping boy so Athryn would hear him. “We have to go.”
“If we go, they will see us.”
“They’ll find us if we stay.”
Athryn sighed quietly, seeming indecisive for the first time Khirro could recall. “They must have found the wagon,” he said.
