by J. D. Sonne
The small path led into the larger way that ran into the main entrance of the camp. Every troughlength that brought them closer to the outlying hearths increased Rane’s anxiety a hundred-fold. Then they came across the first bodies. Rane stooped and examined the group and stroked the face of the woman whose throat had been laid open, her children in like condition huddled nearby. It seemed Murman would gain his mate and children in the Afterwaters. The dread had fallen, now. She doubted anyone was left alive. She wasn’t sure that Lead Larad and her mother would want to bother with tethered prisoners all the way back to their sector.
Saruah quickened her step and started yelling, seeming oblivious to the increasing carnage she and Rane encountered as they moved toward the camp’s main hearth. “I found her! I found Rane! Praise all the gods and the waters! I found her!”
She yelled this blustering yell all during the approach to the hearth where Rane could see the warriors? butchers? gathering about. As one, every Titled and Lead turned toward Saruah’s shouts and with joy alight in their faces rushed the two women, Rane’s mother leading them.
For the first time, Rane felt the confused emotional trappings from her imprisonment fall away as she fell into her mother’s arms. The kisses and embrace were a little strange as her mother usually shied away from demonstrative displays. But all inhibitions disappeared as Tollichet surrounded her daughter with all the love and concern kisses, tears and encircling arms could proffer. And Rane did not mind at all. When she opened her eyes over her mother’s shoulder, she saw her sister for the first time, standing awkwardly next to Titled Larad. Both wore the same expression of slight disapproval at this less than stoic spectacle.
The reunion lasted less than a minute as there was much work to do, but for once Rane was not expected to be a part of the work detail and a good thing, too; she did not feel like it. First, she was physically unable, second, she knew she had no stomach for the present goings on in the camp. There were so many dead she wondered if Titled Larad, the ranking administratrix here, were going to spare anyone. She guessed not, as indicated by the many children she had seen lying among the tents and hearths on her difficult trudge here.
Mother gave her one last embrace, disengaged, and said, “Well, now I have to attend to the burning. Rest here and I will send the healer to tend to your injuries.” She caressed Rane’s cheek and muttered, “By the waters, they who have not already paid for what they did to you, soon will!” She turned as if to leave, then faced her daughter and hugged her again, overcome by her emotions. “Oh, my love, I have missed you! It will be good to have you again at the lodge.”
With a final pat to Rane’s cheek, Tollichet hurried away and Rane was left, sitting on a rock in the shade, feeling tired, useless and a little crazy. Her people in the old dark days were said to have worshipped mud statues. Rane always thought that sounded foolish. Who would worship mud? Yes, she knew that the discovery of mud for mortar led to its more substantial substitute of rockcrete, but mud as a medium for sculpture? But in her present mind torrent, she felt like such a statue, worshipped for no good reason and just as foolish. She rose. It didn’t matter what other horrors awaited, she had to see for herself the fate of the other camp members. Landman.
As she stumbled from her low perch on the edge of the forest, she stopped for a moment to let the dizziness pass, then set off. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she walked slowly through what should have been familiar surroundings, but all was devastation. Huts were in various states of heaped charcoal, some with only a hint of their skeletal frames left standing, forlorn domes of charred sticks teetering, one or two actually collapsing as she passed. Hardly any corpses littered the ground here, and Rane guessed that the bodies had been dragged into the huts before being burned, the animal skins acting as ignition. Battle-clad Leads passed her, most greeting her warmly, some even patting her affectionately on her back, glad to have her back among them. She saw no one from the community at all and the farther she went, even as she tried to inventory the hearths, her mind attempting to identify them by the families that used to inhabit them, the pit in her stomach metastasized into a large, ulcerous crater. Surely, they were not all dead.
No, not all. She finally found them after venturing into the less winsome fringes of the community where the garbage fills were. There, huddled together in shackled misery, fewer than a dozen crouched in a mixture of garbage ash and actual trash. Two Leads stood guard over them, although this group was not in need of a custodian as most of them had injuries that would have precluded any attempt at escape. Landman, having taken up a sad sentry position at the group’s head, sat, chains draped over and around his neck, one arm cradling the other, a bone protruding in a ghastly break.
Rane forced herself to breathe deeply before approaching the guards. Having noticed her, the captives shifted warily, pulling themselves into a tighter, albeit a pathetic phalanx, to prepare a defense.
“Has the healer been called to attend to their wounds?” Rane asked one of the guards, instantly recognizing Golamed, one of her sister’s security associates.
“No, Lead Rane,” she answered, a slight smirk on her face. “Lead Shukad did not want to bother the healer over these lot. There were a couple of Leads injured and the healer is attending to them.”
Rane did not bother with a retort, Golamed being even more dim than her stupid sister, but surveyed the group with a quick glance, not only being relieved at seeing Landman, but also Chun, Bruse and even Scout. There were no females left alive, apparently. Shad. And, those alive would not be for long if forced to march with such injuries as Landman had.
It took a long time, her fatigue reducing her to shuffling about like a scuprat, but she finally found her mother talking quietly with her sister and Titled Larad. Usually, she would have avoided any contact with Shukad, but she was itching for a fight and welcomed what she knew would be a fraught exchange.
“Titled Larad,” Rane said, bowing. “Mother,” she said, pointedly ignoring her sister. “The captives need a healer. Some of them have severe injuries and won’t be able to travel unless attended to?”
“Who said anything about their traveling?” Shukad said nastily. “They are staying here to be burned with the rest of the corpses.”
Rane ignored her sister again, focusing her gaze upon the two ranking women. She didn’t like the affirmation of Shukad’s declaration she saw in their faces, and she particularly wanted to pound her sister’s smirk into the deepest recess of her head.
“Then, why are they still alive?” She asked, pouring as much derision and scorn into the question as possible. “You could have saved yourself the trouble of shackling them!” Rane said, trying to sound tough, the pit in her stomach becoming even more ulcerous.
“We are going to make an example of them,” Titled Larad said. “We must discourage this kind of activity. A deterrent is what we need, so we will perform the ritual on them, then have a burning. Here. Today.”
Tollichet was watching her daughter carefully, so Rane did her best to assume a nonchalance that she did not feel. “Why do you care, daughter?” Her mother asked. “You suffered the most at their hands. We will apply the correct justice. You do not have anything to worry about. They will pay for what they did to you, and indeed,” she nodded toward her sister, “to Shukad, who still bears the mark of the virul’s attack. And,” she put her arm around Rane to steer her back to a shady spot, “I believe I told you to rest!”
Rane was trying to think. If the decision had already been made, there was little she could do. But an idea was forming very slowly in her clouded mind, and though she didn’t know if it would work, or even if it was a very good idea, she decided to voice the thought.
“I would think,” said Rane, “that a better deterrent would be for more of our sector to see the punishment. I want to see them pay, and I like the prospect of their suffering both the ritual and burning, but I am willing to wait for justice. Why not bring them back to the sector and make the
ir punishment more of a display for our viruls. Here, none of them will see what happened to these fools. Don’t we want the viruls to see what happens to fleers? Especially fleers who kidnap a Lead?”
Titled Larad and her mother exchanged glances and Rane’s stomach relaxed somewhat. Her reputation for hard work and a level head had always endeared her to both her mother and the leadership of the sector, and she hoped that might carry some weight in this proposition. Her only problem was going to be Shukad, who was eyeing her with suspicion. If any of them thought that she had any pity for these viruls, their lives would end here, and badly. The fact that they were talking openly about administering the ritual was interesting, since the Titleds had never mentioned it outright, the Leads reduced to learning about it in innuendo, gossip and whispers. She wondered what had changed back in the sector. Had rituals surfaced as a disciplinary measure? An involuntary shiver assaulted her spine at the very idea.
“Perhaps Rane is right,” Mother said. “The effect of a public administration of the ritual then execution could be an apt deterrent to those viruls who may be contemplating escape.”
“Oh, very well,” Titled Larad said. “It is a good idea, Rane.”
The look on Shukad's face was almost as satisfying as her idea being accepted. “Mother,” Rane said before Shukad could voice any opposition, “since they are going to have to travel, they need a healer. We want as many of them alive as possible. They probably will need a cart, too, as some of them have leg injuries.”
Titled Larad said, “A healer, maybe, but a cart? Lead Rane, perhaps you would like to have them bathed and perfumed as well!”
“And,” Rane went on , in an attempt to seal the posit and seem more punitive, “Why not add something else to the punishment? Their treatment of me was so gross, that I think a sport wilding is in order.”
If the situation were not so serious, she would have laughed at the dramatic gasp from Larad and Tollichet. Her sister was more intrigued than horrified at the drastic suggestion, and her face relaxed into a kind of admiration for her sister.
Her sister even turned to Tollichet and said eagerly, “Mother! That is such a good idea! There has not been a wilding in such a long time! Rane is right! They should suffer so that all can see!”
Rane wanted to weep in relief that her sister had such a soft head, so easily manipulated. She even felt like dancing a jig and clapping her hands; instead, she kept her face grave and assumed the stoic demeanor of what she used to be—a Lead with no concern for the subhuman viruls who were only good for manual labor and the begetting of children.
Now it was her mother’s face that had suspicion etched in its features. Rane knew that Tollichet was quite aware of her daughters’ disparate intelligences, and that Rane took full advantage of Shukad’s deficit whenever possible. Rane became a little worried when her mother narrowed her eyes and firmed her mouth in disapproval. But, when she bobbed her head and shrugged, Rane knew that she had won.
“Well, I don’t know about a Wilding; we shall have to see about that,” her mother said. “Now, Rane! You are going to walk over there to my command tent and rest! I do not want to see you until you have slept a good nine hours and have been attended to by the healers. You have been through a lot. Go!” The gruff order was softened by a maternal kiss on Rane’s cheek.
Rane desperately wanted to go back to where the captives were being held and share her plan with them. It was a plan of escape that was still an amorphous outline, but she still felt that she needed to talk to them, if for nothing else to reassure them that she was still with them. Or was it to reassure herself? It would not do, however. Her last words to them had been those of an enemy, an enemy who scorned them, an enemy who did not think of them as men, but as mere viruls. Although she no longer meant those words, no one but she must know that, not even the prisoners. Their belief in her hatred might save their lives. She had to make sure that no one questioned her allegiance.
As Rane shuffled in the direction of her mother’s gesture, she realized that she might not make it to the tent. She actually stumbled a bit and sat down on the remnants of one of the burnt-out hearths. As she collected her strength, she kept her eyes in the dirt, willing herself to stand and be on her way, but something felt very strange. Looking up, she saw that it was her hearth, beaten down and broken, but recognizable because of Shad’s domestic implements lying about. The mush pot had fallen into the hearth’s embers, their glow had not quite been snuffed. Without thinking, she took the iron poker that always lay alongside of the curvature of the stones, and stirred the fading coals. She then thrust the poker through the pot’s handle and pulled it upright. She had not come across Shad’s body in her macabre walk through the camp and wondered if there was a possibility that the female had escaped. She traced a few runes in the dirt in front of the hearth, making mud with her tears. Quickly, she dashed the sorrow from her cheeks and stood, still a little wobbly, and made her way to her mother’s tent.
Chapter Seventeen
Rane stumbled into her mother's command structure, fully intent on staying awake for a few pours in order to work out her plan. Although her body felt like it may betray her, her mind was shakily active, running from one escape scenario for the viruls--men to the next. She sank upon a cot that she knew to be her sister's, the unruly mass of her sister's travel accouterments her clue, and, knocking them to the floor, she stretched out and began to think. A gentle invader, the late afternoon breeze entered the tent, stroked its airy fingers against Rane's face, and retreated, taking her thoughts away in its diaphanous arms.
She breathed awake, sensing a disruption in her body rhythm. The sleep was not right, and neither was this place. Leaning up on her elbow, she expected to feel the dawn and instead found herself peering into blackness. She lay back on the cot, allowing sound and thought to school her in the reality of her surroundings.
Her stomach fell when she realized that she had not thought out a plan. Sleep had assaulted her too quickly and she wondered what watch it was. She sat up again and saw two sleeping forms, one on the ground and the other in the cot. The lump on the floor murmured and rolled over. Rane smiled that she had forced her sister to sleep on the floor, her mother undoubtedly insisting that she leave her cot for her younger sister. A little disappointed that her dead slumber had forced her to miss the spectacular whining that must have accompanied this tableau, Rane satisfied herself by reaching over and stealing her sister's wooden brush and hiding it under the wall of the tent. She had no intention of using her sister's filthy brush, although Shukad prized the article, it having been carved by one of the best virul artisans in their sector, but Rane would delight in the drama surrounding its loss. It was too bad she would likely find it when they broke camp.
She lay back and now that she had had a little sleep, her mind entertained a number of scenarios for escape.
She could sneak out and set the viruls free, fleeing with them herself. They could run far away and establish a new community on the other side of the wailing mists well beyond the Termonos chain. She thought about that for a moment, then saw Landman's face full of disappointment and hurt after their last angry exchange about the earthquake. She had been proud of the restraint she had cultivated in dealing with the viruls, and didn't know why that trait abandoned her at that particular moment. Perhaps it was the horror of seeing all of them in danger, or the terror of the cliff shaking under their very feet that caused her to break. But her last words to him, their relationship notwithstanding, probably created a huge schism that would not be easily healed. He would probably rather sit and rot in captivity than allow her back, even if it meant relinquishing his freedom.
Perhaps she should just allow things to take their own course and bide her time while the party ferried the prisoners back to the sector. That way, she could piece together a plan that had more viability. It was unlikely that this rush of thought she was experiencing now would produce anything of value, but on the march she may have the oppo
rtunity to plan better and get back in Landman's good graces, not to mention his arms if they did escape.
Her mind softened at the thought of his embrace, and she sank into a reverie of feeling that brought up vivid memories, their pictures carrying her off for a few moments. She came back with a flood of tears running down the sides of her face wetting the cot.
Then her mind turned again to an aspect of her plan that she had placed in motion before she was able to plan things adequately. That she had mentioned a wilding to her mother, Titled Larad and her sister seemed stupid now in the supreme, whereas at the time, it had seemed an utterance of brilliance. Rane almost groaned aloud but stifled herself so as not to disturb her sleeping family. In the viruls’ depleted physical condition, there was no way they would survive a wilding. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. Wildings were rare in the extreme, and only undertaken to punish gross infractions committed by a group. They were a little like the ritual in that she herself had never seen or participated in one, but unlike the ritual—at least before her abduction—they existed as a legitimate punishment, rare though they were. But when she thought about it, as bad as the ritual seemed, a wilding must be worse, much worse.
She had asked her mother about them once and if she had ever seen one. Tollichet had hesitated, then nodded wordlessly as if she were loath to discuss the procedure. And procedure it was, at least the way her mother finally described it. It seemed that the group of offending viruls were placed in a round enclosure of some type and chained to the ground, stomach-down. An offense could include anything from attempted group escape or collective disobedience to simple incompetence of a team or committee. Then the Leads would be unleashed on them, stomping, kicking, beating, all the while encouraged to avoid the heads and torsos, but licensed to break the bones of their extremities. That way, with a few exceptions, the viruls would not be killed, damaged of course, but still serviceable as the healers on Maraquan were very adept at setting broken bones.
