Walking The Razor's Edge

by Ileandra Young

  Lenina scrunched her eyes shut. Strained. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Muscles deep in her thighs and calves screamed but neither foot moved. Desperate, she looked around the room. Her sights fell on the tray beneath the bed. The steak knife close beside it. She hesitated.

  Shawn’s face had darkened to deep purple. He gurgled.

 

  Growling, Lenina threw herself backwards. With no help from her legs she landed hard on her shoulders, hands thrust out to take the impact. Her feet remained rooted to the carpet. Groping backwards she fumbled the handle of the knife. Scraped it. Stretched and closed her fingers over it. Curling into a stomach crunch she sat up and threw the dagger point first.

  Thunk.

  The guard blinked dully. Fell.

  The handle of the steak knife protruded from his chest. Blood welled around the entry wound.

  Shawn gasped and rolled to his back. ‘How did you do that?’ His voice emerged rough and hoarse.

 

  She couldn’t look at him. ‘You need to run.’

  ‘I won’t leave you.’

  ‘I can’t move. That knife won’t keep him down long, please don’t let this be for nothing.’

  Slowly, Shawn took off his glasses and tucked them into his pocket. He unbuttoned his shirt and swapped it for one of the fluffy ones. No need to button it up. Gathering up the moth balls, he rubbed a handful over his hair and face then shoved the rest into his pockets. Pause. ‘Lenina—’

  ‘Please just go, Shawn.’

  He left.

  #

 

  Lenina closed her eyes, turning her attention inward to watch Saar. He paced, a lion stalking through a narrow cage. He had torn down one wall and worked hard on the others, worrying the bars with huge paws and sharp, yellowed teeth.

  ‘Let go.’

  He didn’t answer but continued to roar, scrape and pull. Each thud of his attempted escape rattled Lenina’s mind as surely as if he held her by the shoulders and shook her. Purple dots danced across her vision.

  ‘Stop it, I’m still in control.’

 

  ‘Worthless?’ She reached out again, straining until her fingers hooked over the lip of the tray. She dragged it closer and felt across the surface for the fork. ‘If I were that worthless you wouldn’t care where I went.’

  The presence in her mind paused.

  ‘I’m sick of everyone underestimating me. You, Kallisto, Tristen. I don’t even know what I’m capable of any more. You certainly don’t.’

 

  Lenina closed her hand around the fork handle and pressed the tines to her throat.

 

  ‘You don’t sound sure.’ A muscle in her thigh twitched. She dug deeper with the fork. Felt the dull prick of metal through the first layer of tender skin. ‘Do you want to find out? Is that a risk you can take? Do you have a spare Vessel lying around?’

  Saar stopped. Pulled back for a fraction of a second. It was enough.

  Lenina threw all her energy into forcing him back, squashing his presence into a small, sealed box. He fought all the way. Like trying to force kittens into a sack. But she gritted her teeth, scrunched her eyes shut and shoved him in. Snapped the box shut.

  Her knees dropped sideways, released from his grasp.

  The room spun, dizzying swirls that left her panting. She clutched her head.

  ‘Ow . . .’

  Shaking off the creeping weakness was almost more than she could stand. But there was no choice now. She had to move. And keep moving.

  She stood and stumbled immediately when a hand closed over her ankle. It dragged her down and across the carpet, closer to the guard with the bloodied stain across the front of his shirt. His eyes were empty black holes.

  ‘I don’t care who you are,’ he hissed, reeling her in with a hand over hand motion. ‘Nobody cuts me like that.’

  She kicked at him, but he swayed out of range, chuckling as his hands clawed over her hips, then her ribs. ‘I can hurt you in ways you’ve never dreamed, princess. And no one will be able to tell. No bruises. No marks.’

  Her hands fluttered over the handle of the discarded steak knife. A quick swing brought it up, but he grabbed her wrist and pressed in with his thumb. All four fingers flexed at the pressure on the nerve and the knife fell.

  The guard caught it easily, grinning as he flipped the weapon and plunged down with it.

  Shiny steel sank into her thigh, an explosion of pain that shuddered through her entire body.

  She screamed, blinking away tears as she twisted to be free.

  ‘Okay . . . one mark.’

  ‘Please . . .’

  He snorted. ‘What, no smart, witty comeback? Kallisto was right; you practically are human.’ He twisted the knife.

  Lenina roared and thrashed against it. It hurt too much to be still, but moving only spread the pain across her body. She whimpered, torn between freezing and fighting for freedom. Her vision blurred.

 

  The chemical scent of insect repellent tickled her nostrils a split second before she heard the dull thunk of something hard against flesh. The guard cried out and the sound came again, this time with a strident crack.

  She opened her eyes.

  Shawn stood to the side, lowering his arms. Both hands clutched the handle of a golf club with a thick black head. The god-touched guard blinked and slumped to the ground. Blackness winked away from his gaze. The steak knife thudded to the floor.

  Chest heaving, Shawn peered at the matted red mess on the head of the club. His skin paled. Slowly, he put the club on the ground and wiped his hands on his shirt. ‘Can you get up?’

  Lenina wriggled away from him. ‘Yes. No. Give me a minute.’

  ‘We don’t have a minute.’

  ‘Why are you here? You were supposed to run.’

  He folded his arms. ‘I just saved you.’

  ‘Why? They want me alive—none of these idiots would do more than hurt me.’

  ‘So I shouldn’t have come back?’ He dragged a hand through his hair. ‘Well sorry, but I couldn’t just leave. I help people. Even you.’

  Lenina accepted the assistance to reach her feet. The injured leg wobbled ominously but the damage was already less than it had been. She limped two steps then stopped as a wave of dizziness threatened to dump her back on the floor.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled it over his shoulder, hugging her close with the free arm hooked around her waist. ‘How far did you think I’d get without you, anyway? Either we both go, or neither of us do.’

  ‘You said it.’

  His arm stiffened around her. ‘Can you walk like this?’

  Shame and anger mingled into a throat-stopping blend that stoppered speech while Saar cackled in the depths of her mind. She settled for a curt nod.

  Shawn led the way into the hall, pausing at the door to glance left and right before towing her along the plush carpet. A trail of blood marked their path.

  ‘I thought you guys were supposed to heal.’

  Lenina bit her lip and forced her feet to keep moving. ‘Guess everyone’s right about me needing blood.’

  The walk to the lower levels of the mansion was the most tense of Lenina’s life. Unable to think passed the pain in her leg, she clung to Shawn as he guided her along the first corridor, down a short set of steps and on to the mezzanine. The exposed nature of their position made her heart thud so hard against her ribs she felt sure somebody would hear. If they didn’t, then the trail of blood would give them away.

  ‘I need to stop,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t keep moving like this. I’m sorry, it won’t heal.’

  Shawn gave her a pained look. H
e gazed down the steps leading to the lower level and the huge doors just within sight. ‘Okay. In here.’ He pushed open the nearest door and helped her into it, easing her down to the floor when far enough inside.

  It was dark within. The distinctive hulk of a baby grand loomed on the left. On the right, a chaise lounge lined one wall.

  She dragged herself over to it and heaved herself on to the soft cushions. ‘I won’t be a second,’ she murmured, watching an agitated Shawn shift his weight from foot to foot.

  When he saw her trying to inspect the wound, he left the door and crouched beside her. His features softened. ‘Let me see.’

  Lenina shoved his hands away.

  ‘I’m not going to stick my hands in my mouth, let me check you over.’ He peeled away a piece of denim then kissed his teeth. ‘Not that I can see in this light. Hang on.’ He darted out of sight and then, moments later, a shaft of moonlight spilled in, released by a drawn curtain. ‘That will do.’ He retrieved his glasses from his pocket and put them back on.

  Though Shawn worked carefully, he cast repeated glances at the door. His shoulders lifted high against his neck, hands trembling with every motion as he widened the hole in her jeans. He grunted and tore the ruffles off his borrowed shirt to make long strips. ‘I can tie it like this, but it’s better if I can get right against your skin. You’ll have to take your jeans off.’ He kept his gaze on the ground but Lenina could still feel the warming of his skin. Hear the increase in his heart rate.

  She stared at him for long moments before shoving her hand into the hole and tearing downwards. The material on that side came free easily, sliding off her leg like a huge, blood-stained sock.

  ‘Oh. I should have thought of that.’

  She touched his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  Shawn tied the wound in silence.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kent, 11 November AD 452

  Sunlight vanished with a last wink and left the road shrouded in darkness.

  The true road vanished long ago and the pitted track beneath his mount’s hooves little resembled the straight, paved roads favoured by the Romans. Small surprise people here had moved so swiftly to abandon the habits and rules set down by their oppressors of over four hundred years.

  Seeing such changes gave Saar hope.

  Though the horse seemed to know the way, he shifted in his saddle and gripped the reins so hard his knuckles trembled. To his side, hilly stretches of green stretched miles in either direction. He knew they were green, but in this light they, along with everything else, took on a grey hue.

  The air stank of sheep and cattle, waste and the sweat of dozens of men. Work had ended but their taint lingered, clogging Saar’s senses. Their stink seemed to lie in the soil, the grass, the leaves of the trees.

  So this is the legacy of Rome? Barren stretches of land, stinking animals and poorly washed people?

  The village he sought rose gradually out of the gloom, a wooden, sharp-edged shape thrusting out from the ground like a large toe on the foot of the land. Ten buildings of similar shapes and sizes made a cluster within a tall wall, built with thick, round shafts of wood. On the southern edge, small puffs of smoke drifted from the roof of the largest building. Warm, damp air wafting from the eye holes carried the sound and scent of snuffling horses.

  An owl hooted in the darkness. A tiny squeak signalled it catching prey and the air above his head shifted as the graceful bird flew overhead. He watched it glide away until, with a sharp breath, he returned his attention to the road. To his mission.

  The trace had moved and it was stronger. Instead of a single candle flame, Saar likened it to a torch, or a burning building; a vast blaze visible for miles around.

  It seemed impossible that nobody could feel it. Or see it. Saar imagined a blood coloured cord running from his middle, winding away into the darkness towards the small, broken down building where it ended. Gritting his teeth, he drove his heels into the flanks of the beast and urged the creature forward. The brooches across his cloak and tunic jangled as he moved, bouncing with the gait of the horse.

  A light drizzle filled the night air with cool mist. Moisture dotted his woollen cloak like tiny gems.

  Closer now.

  A pair of chickens scuttled across his path, followed closely by a pig. The fat, pink creature paused to glance at him with small beady eyes before lumbering away. More chickens. A barking dog.

  Crunching footsteps approached from the right. A tall, thick waisted man, in similar garb brandished a heavy axe with a broad head while growling in the strange tongue of the Brythons.

  Saar hated it, much as he hated any language other than his own. He spoke in Egyptian. ‘Leave me,’ he murmured, ‘and I’ll not hurt you.’

  The big man laughed. He grumbled something else, and though Saar remained unsure of the exact meaning, the stranger’s knitted brow and tense shoulders gave a clear message.

  The horse shied, sensing the tension. Saar dismounted and treated the beast to a slap on the rear to get it moving. With his cloak tossed over one shoulder, he advanced. No waiting, no discussion, no mercy; he walked straight into the brutish Brython and grabbed the axe. As the startled man tightened his grip, Saar jerked him forward and slammed his forehead into the bridge of his nose.

  Blood spurted from the cracked appendage, almost black in the dim light.

  Saar lapped it up, startled at the new, fresh taste. Nothing like the blood of the Roman men he preferred to feast on. He licked his lips as the memories arrived; images of cyul boats, fields, women, battles and blood. ‘I will eat your women and children if you stand in my way.’ Now he had the words, he spoke slow and clear to ensure the other man understood. ‘I am more than I appear.’

  The stranger grunted. Tried to lift the axe. Saar wrenched it away and swung the weapon above his head, swinging the sharp edge down with stunning force. It cut easily through the human man, crunching through bone and muscle with sloppy, wet squelches. He left the body twitching in the dirt and turned towards a hut on the western side.

  As he approached the door, Saar let the power of his own mind break through the dams he’d erected and flow free. His skin prickled. Knots of writhing discomfort wriggled through his gut but he held on, pushing on his power and shoving out with it, directing the flow through the door ahead of him.

  The flimsy wooden barrier crashed open, one edge splintering from the impact.

  A gasp floated from within.

  Panting now, half running, half stumbling, Saar threw himself through the open doorway and peered inside.

  #

  His hair is longer.

  A ridiculous thought, but face to face after so many years, Saar found himself lost and unable to think of more. He took the time to stare at those familiar features, drinking in the full lips, soft cheeks and sad brown eyes. ‘You look older with a beard,’ he said at last.

  Mosi looked up from his drinking bowl. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘I felt you.’ Saar loitered in the doorway, gripping the wood with both hands. ‘Three years ago I felt your pain. Your weakness. I’ve followed ever since.’

  ‘I knew there would be consequences, but I didn’t expect they would involve you. I believed you dead.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ He smiled, running his hand through his tangled hair, a gesture as familiar now as it had been five hundred years ago. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I did.’

  Saar gave a soft moan, gazing deep into those eyes and remembering what he once saw there. Pleasure when he claimed Mosi’s body. Longing and love when he kissed Mosi’s cheek, his neck, his chest . . . other places.

  His fingers bit into the damp wood. ‘Why are you here?’ The threat of tears choked him. ‘Have you nothing to say? No word for me after so long?’

  ‘It’s good to see you.’ Mosi spoke using old Egyptian words. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  After so long, hearing those familiar sounds from the
mouth of another quickened the tears in Saar’s eyes. He rushed forward, flinging his arms around those slender shoulders and squeezing. After a brief moment of resistance, Mosi relaxed into him. Their bodies fit together perfectly, as though the intervening years meant nothing.

  In that moment, Saar was in Egypt once more. In Alexandria. He lay in his own rooms in a quiet corner of Cleopatra’s palace with Mosi on one side and Kiya on the other. He felt the warm, solid planes of Mosi’s chest and thighs while Kiya’s cinnamon scented hair tickled his face. The soft cushion of her breasts pressed into his arm and between her legs grew a welcoming dampness.

  Growling, he yanked back from Mosi’s embrace and struck him across the face.

  Mosi fell, crashing through the low table. The glass drinking bowl smashed and spilled a thick, red fluid across his tunic.

  ‘You killed her. You killed them all. How could you? Did you not love me?’

  Mosi thumbed a spot of blood from the corner of his mouth. ‘I loved you more than anybody before or since. I love you still.’

  Outside the dog barked again. A voice called out in surprise and fear. The whisper of rain became an insistent patter. Small drops of water began to leak through the straw roof.

  ‘Then why? Why turn against us and destroy everything we hoped for?’

  When Mosi stood, he did so slowly. He kept his hands out in front of him, as though wary that one wrong move would lead to another punch. ‘You hoped for conquest, Saar, not I. Long before that battle my thoughts turned merely to survival in the face of this gift of yours.’

  Saar watched him move, chest heaving, skin prickling, lips tingling with the all-consuming desire to kiss him again. It had been so very long. The bond between them gave a twitch, a pulse, like a deep breath.

  This close, after so many years, Saar lost sight of his own mind. A mere step away from Mosi, the other man’s thoughts and emotions were so close that they smothered his own. He shook his head and backed off until he bumped the wall of the hut. ‘You’re unwell. Weak. Have you not given tribute?’

  Mosi’s gaze strayed to the broken shards of glass. ‘Pig’s blood appeases Set for a short time. I’m content.’