Bone Witch

T
hey were all starving and Alaysha knew it. Worse, she knew
the thirst would kill them before the starvation had a chance.

She wouldn’t mind dying so much; the hunger
or thirst could take her if they wanted. She didn’t even mind the hunger pains that
had taken residence in her belly. She deserved all of it, truth be told. The
lives she’d taken over the years as her father’s personal weapon of war laid
heavy on her conscience. The sister who’d died because of her at the fiery
hands of a witch who could control her element so perfectly that she could send
flame leaping from person to person, that sister deserved her vengeance.

The memory alone of her homeland's
collective screams of agony, of her sister’s eyes as she met Alaysha’s, the
knowledge that Saxa, her only friend, was still left in Sarum at the mercy of
Aislin’s temper; all those things made Alaysha welcome the ache of hunger and
thirst. She didn't even want to think about Yenic.

She deserved to die, yes; so too, did
Edulph, who trudged along with his hands bound in front of the queue. But these
companions who'd opted to follow her: Aedus, Gael, Theron did not.

She stole a glance at the shuffling feet of
those companions, dragging across the cracked earth of the burnt lands. She’d
marched behind them saying it was because as a soldier she could protect their
rear when in truth, she couldn’t stop thinking that their faces when they
looked at her, were filled with blame, their eyes begging for her to bring the
rain and quench their thirst.

She looked past them to the vast, dry
desert they’d been walking through for the last seven days. She looked
sideways. Behind. The cracked earth extended past all horizons, and it had been
five days since they’d found anything edible. The stores they’d rammed into
sacks upon their escape from Sarum had long since gone. The last of the water
skins had been on ration since early yesterday and had been guzzled by their
thirsty tissues so quickly that no one needed to relieve their bladders.

Barruch could barely lift his hooves over
the earth enough to move forward. It was with a sad sting of pain that she knew
he’d seen his last sunset. Alaysha kept her palm on his neck and shuffled along
with him, afraid to leave his side.

“Stop,” she said and realized nothing had left
her mouth in the way of sound. Even still, the pause of her own bare and
cracked feet sent some subliminal message to the others. They paused and turned
dumbly toward her, expressions a dead wash. No energy to even look curious, she
realized.

Alaysha licked her lips and felt her
tongue stick to the corner. It took three dry swallows before she was able to
gather enough suppleness in her throat to try again.

“I can’t.” She let the muscles of her legs
falter and felt her backside strike clay earth. A shadow passed in front of her
vision. She didn’t need to hear him speak to know it was Gael.

She peered up at him, taking in the
massively broad shoulders and by now ragged and filthy hair two shades darker
than his sister Saxa's, and she found enough strength to shrug. How could she
find the words to tell him she couldn’t force her beloved mount to take one
more step?

“He has been brave, this one,” Gael said,
and patted Barruch’s neck before he crouched next to Alaysha.

She could only nod.

“We’ll rest,” he said, and signalled to the
others, all three. Aedus, Theron, and Edulph fell to the ground as though he’d
cut their legs from beneath them.

“This is ridiculous, Gael. We should never
have come this way.” She wrapped her arms around Barruch’s leg.

Gael’s silver gaze ran over her face,
landing like a moth on her lips. Self-conscious, she tried to lick them. They
felt split and puffy. She gave up when she tasted blood.

His palm found the hollow beneath her ear
and his fingers kneaded her neck. “Theron says it’s passable.”

“If it was passable, Aislin’s men would
have followed us.” She eased her eyes closed, thinking how good it felt to let
them rest, then forced them open, afraid she'd fall asleep right there. She was
exhausted; the few hours' rest she'd managed at the height of the sun had long
been used up.

“If he says it's passable, we must believe
him. He’s been through this before.”

She squeezed Barruch’s leg and felt it
tremble. Her eyes stung but no tears came to relieve the burning. She felt
Gael’s palm move to her back and reach beneath her arm. “Come. You’re stronger
than this.”

She panicked; he would lift and carry her,
all because he wouldn’t leave her to die with her mount. A quick shot of energy
helped her push away from him. “No, Gael. Save your strength.”

“For what? A hectare? A leagua? Just to
leave you here alone?”

She'd been right; he had planned to carry
her. “I won’t be alone.”

Barruch nuzzled her hair. His hot breath
cascaded over her, making her wish she had enough energy to stand and hug his
neck. It was smothering hot but no perspiration eked through her skin. She knew
her body was breaking down. It was just a matter of time before
self-preservation kicked in and the power took over. She’d drink them all dry
for the small chance the power would give her enough fluid to see her to the
ends of the burnt lands.

She tried to swallow again and found the
wherewithal to speak. “You’ll have to kill me soon.”

He leaned closer and held her gaze with his
own. She saw resolve in the green of his eyes. Yes. She’d forgotten how his
eyes shifted colour like that from steely silver to mossy green.

“It won’t come to that,” he said. “We still
have some water. You can have mine.”

She shook her head; what they had left of
water wasn't near enough to keep dehydration away for very long, but her power
wouldn't care. It would thirst what it could.

“When Barruch goes, you'll likely take what
meat from him that you can manage; I'll help with that. After that...” She
didn’t want to say it couldn’t possibly buy them much time. That they’d likely
vomit up the muscle anyway and then expire from exhaustion and further
dehydration. But if any of them lived while she still did, they’d be gone long
before they had even that chance. She’d simply, without wanting to, drain them
of whatever fluid still flushed their tissues.

“If I mean anything to you, Gael, you’ll
kill me.” It was a terrible thing to do, manipulate him, but it was her only
hope. Neither of them had spoken of the night in the tunnels when he’d consoled
her over her sister’s death and Yenic’s capture and seemingly ultimate demise,
the night she’d repaid him with her body. It was a sweet memory but one best
left to die its own death.

“You said you’d do anything for me.” She
gripped his arm fiercely.

He pressed his lips together and the top
one cracked and bled when they met. His tongue dipped into the fissure
greedily.

“Gael,” she pressed.

He shook his head. “I’ll give you my own
moisture before I let you die.” He stood and looked down at her. She could tell
he was working hard not to sway off his feet.

“Please, Gael. This place has no water. Not
for leaguas, maybe hundreds of leaguas. I’d know it; I’d smell it if it were
here.”

It was true. Almost. She’d sent her thirst
out once, trying to scent fluid as their skins began to dry up, and she’d
smelled fluid, wanted, needed, desirable fluid so sweet she felt the power
begin to uncoil within her. It wanted to
gather
water, not find it. Not
search when there was a quick and ready source right within speedy reach: the
last of the skins, the water in the soft tissues of Aedus’ body, in the beating
heart of Theron. In their blood. She’d take it all if she let the power so much
as sniff it.

A fortnight ago, she’d have revelled in the
ability to discern the nuances of power, relished with giddiness the ability to
pull it back. Now she was just terrified to let it peek out at all.

She could feel the weak pulse of Barruch’s
heart in his leg. She wished she could weep. The tears hoarded themselves, and
rage came at the futility of it all, her inability to grieve for a beast that
had been more family to her than any blood had ever been.

Her mind was invaded by visions of her
past. Her nohma’s smile, her tender touch, the feel of her heartbeat, the soft
shushing sounds she made as she pressed a cloth sopping with goat’s milk into a
hungry mouth. Every tissue in Alaysha’s body cried out with the memory, so real
she could smell the honey in the milk, feel the wetness of tears against her
cheeks at the relief of finally eating. The feel of her belly gurgling as the
first drops of milk dropped in. The satiation. The drowsy sleepiness that took
her limbs at being full for the first time. Such deliriously divine sleepiness.

“Alaysha.”

She worked to open her eyes and was
surprised to see Gael’s face so close to hers that her cheek could touch his
with a mere movement.

“I’m fine,” she told him.

“Not fine.”

His breath was hot on her skin, too hot.

“Neither are you,” she said. In response,
he twisted away so she couldn’t see his eyes. She started to speak again, to
implore him to kill her before he lost his strength, but a blue-veined foot
stole her attention.

“Theron,” she murmured and looked up to see
a peaked face drawn with fatigue and hunger. “We won’t make it,” she told the
shaman.

He pursed his lips.

“Look around,” she said. “We’re dying.
There’s not a drop of water.”

His mouth worked even as his glance darted
to Barruch who snuffed haughtily under his study. Leave it to that arrogant
horse to show disdain at such a time. She was so taken by the humour that she
missed the shaman’s words.

“What did you say?” she asked him.

He had the grace to look ashamed. "We
said not every drop is dried up; no, not at all.” He put a tender hand on
Barruch’s neck.

“No,” she said, realizing with shock what
he meant.

“The beast is dying too, young temptress.”

Strange, that she could entertain thoughts
of Barruch dying, but not of taking his life. Somehow that was too barbaric.
“He’s family. My family. And I won't take him that way.”

“He’s a beast who can give us fluid.”

The insult of it lent her the strength to
stand and face the shaman.

“No, Theron. No.”

She felt Gael’s hand on her shoulder. “Tell
him, Gael,” she pleaded. "Tell him I won’t bleed this beast so he can, we
can, drink the blood.” She thought her voice rose; she’d meant to let it shout
at the indignity and couldn't understand why it came out so low, so gravelly.

Theron’s voice swept over her so softly she
had to work to hear it. “Not us, young temptress, oh deities no no no. Blood is
food more than it is fluid to such as a lowly man. We'd gain nothing from
it." He gave the beast a pat. "It is for you.”

She took an involuntary step away from him,
and he took one toward her.

“It’s the only way,” he said. "This
witch must pull from it as much fluid as she can and then release.”

She felt her head shaking in refusal but
couldn’t for the life of her find the words to accompany it. Fortunately, Gael
spoke for her.

“She doesn’t have that kind of power.”

“Power,” she heard herself saying at the
ridiculousness of his statement. “Power? It has nothing to do with my power.”

“I didn’t mean –“Gael began.

“I know what you meant, Gael,” she said,
looking at Theron. “I can’t do that to him.” Her voice was nothing but a dusty
groan, and when the shaman placed his palm on her heart, she thought she’d find
the liquid for tears after all. “No,” she said again, and put all she had into
the word.

The shaman’s narrowed gaze spoke of
suspicious comprehension. “Yet the witch would sacrifice herself? To what end?
So we can carry on another handful of steps?”

“If you hadn’t made us come this way we’d
not be making these decisions.”

“And Aislin’s men would have us and you’d
be dead at her hands like your sister.” Gael's voice, the traitor, that he
would bring up her sister. It was cruel. Too cruel. She slapped his hand away.

“The truth is always painful when it
strikes at the heart,” he said. “But they won’t follow us; they'd be fools to
do so.” Gael shuffled his feet. “As we are, I suppose,” he mumbled.

Theron turned to face him. He looked small
and frail against the massive height of the warrior. “Does the warrior think
Bodicca a fool?”

“If Bodicca brought Yenic through these
burnt lands, then yes, she is a fool. I expect we can tell her carcass so very
soon."

Theron shook his head stubbornly. “The
large woman would have made it. She knows the secrets of traveling the burnt
lands.”

“How, Theron?” Alaysha asked. It didn’t
matter the secrets that existed if the woman didn’t have water enough to make
it across. And no amount of water was enough. Their own situation proved it.

“Bodicca’s homeland lies on the other end,”
the shaman said. "I’ve been this way before.” He paused as he met and held
her gaze with his own. “Twice.”

“You’ve seen the other side?” She could
barely believe her ears. This frail man, travel the burnt lands.

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “We know it’s
possible to cross. We need the horse’s blood.”

All she had was the best argument. “I don’t
have the power.”

“Leech the water from the blood. Let it go.
We’ll collect it.”

“I can’t. I’ll drain you all.”

A shout came. Edulph. Impatient still, even
in his weakened state. He was one added burden, had been all along. They'd
found Aedus's prodigal brother in a pit inside the mountains of Sarum, burned
and afraid, tortured by Aislin in an attempt to wrest him of any information he
had about the wind witch. All along they'd thought Edulph had abducted Gael's
nephew and all along her bondman Yenic's knew he hadn't, that it was his own
mother who had been the culprit. Thoughts of Edulph now brought tortured
thoughts of Yenic and his betrayal.