Donor 23 (31 page)

As that happened, the third man dismounted his horse and came at him, gun drawn. Without wasting any time, Duncan kicked the gun out of the man’s hand and picked up the knife the first man dropped. The third man rushed Duncan. Instinctively, Duncan stabbed him in his abdomen and twisted the knife up and in, toward his heart.

Duncan felt the man go limp in his arms. He dropped the man, and out of the corner of his eyes saw a hand picking up the baton. Swiveling around to face the other two, he was met with a stinging blow to the head. He fell to the ground, and more blows followed.

Duncan came to tied up and thrown over the back of a horse, bouncing along the dirt. His face hung down, staring at the horse’s underside. The taste of blood stung his mouth. Pain shot through his chest with each step of the animal—most likely his ribs were broken. He coughed, and he felt a dribble of blood slide out of his mouth. It rolled in a trickle over his cheek, to his eye, to his forehead, and onto his hair. He watched the drop dangle from a lock of his hair, swinging back and forth with the sway of the horse, until it dropped to the ground.
Joan,
he thought,
he wouldn’t be able to warn Joan
.

Joan gathered up the blankets to take them away from the tent and shake them out. They performed this daily chore to help keep the tent clean. She had piled about four blankets and crawled out of the tent with another, when Crackling Fire ran up.

“Some ruffs caught an army deserter. He killed one of them. They’re selling hits on him before they hang him. Can I go,
Shima
?” he asked his mother.

“Alliance army? I want to see this,” Reck exclaimed.

The two ran off before One Who Sees even had a chance to answer.

Joan looked at her, “What’s this?”

“They do that sometimes. The Alliance deserters--it’s their bad or good luck, depending on who catches them. Some of the Children or traders may help them get to the western cities. But it sounds like these ruffs…well, this Alliance soldier had bad luck.”

“Not my problem,” Joan averred without emotion.

Joan stacked the blankets, picked them up, and turned to leave when she stopped—almost as if a force pushed her. A breeze whispered in her ear. She dropped the blankets.

One Who Sees looked up, “You OK?”

Joan’s hand flew to her throat. Her mouth dropped. She couldn’t breathe. She took a step forward, staring toward the direction the boys had run. Her eyes searched, as if she could see something.

“Lionheart? What is it?” One Who Sees asked, staring directly at Joan, concerned.

Joan took off running after the boys. A tight crowd had formed around the deserter. As Joan pressed her way through, she heard loud yells of triumph.
Bloodthirsty yells,
Joan thought. One Who Sees followed her. When Joan got to the front, she stifled a scream.

Duncan was tied up and hanging by his arms from a tree, a gag in his mouth. His legs barely reached the ground, but they kept falling out from under him, causing him to grimace from the pain this caused his arms. Blood covered his face. The ruffs were allowing—goading—people to hit him. For a nominal price. Some used their hands and fists. Some threw rocks. One Nomad prepared to throw a small knife.

“You can throw that,” one of the ruffs instructed the man, as he took a coin from him, “but don’t kill him. Hit him in the leg or something.”

The man aimed and threw the knife. It sliced into Duncan’s thigh, just as Joan screamed, “No!”

She ran out and stood in front of Duncan. Hearing her voice, Duncan raised his head. It was an effort. He tried to speak, but the gag prevented him. All that came out was a muffled, “Joan.”

“Get outta here,” the ruff said, as he pulled her out of the way. Joan twisted away from the man’s grasp and yanked the knife out of Duncan’s leg. He groaned.

Holding it menacingly, she ordered, “Don’t touch him.”

The ruffs laughed, as did the crowd. One Who Sees went and stood by her.

The ruffs stopped laughing and one insisted, “Come on, what’s going on? You ladies move out o’ the way. He’s ours, after all.”

“No, you can’t kill him,” Joan maintained.

Her eye caught Reck’s, in the crowd.

“You can’t do this,” Joan continued.

She faced Duncan. He held up his face to hers.

“I told you. He’s ours,” the ruff asserted.

One Who Sees understood the process. “What do you want for him?”

The man looked at Joan, “Well, what do ya got?”

Joan had nothing to offer the man. She owned nothing. Looking at One Who Sees, Joan shook her head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” the man uttered. “Come on, outta here. Go.”

Arrow Comes Back and Bash rode up. Seeing his wife and friend in the center of the commotion, Arrow Comes Back made his way through the crowd to the front.

“We have a horse,” One Who Sees offered the men, motioning to Arrow Comes Back’s horse.

The men looked at the animal. Arrow Comes Back understood immediately.

He shook his head disapprovingly. “Wife—” but the look in his wife’s eyes stopped him. He knew his wife. She never acted
rashly; in fact, he always sought her advice and opinions on matters. She saw things he missed.

“That true? The horse for the deserter?” the man asked Arrow Comes Back.

It was a fine horse, young and sleek. Arrow Comes Back looked again at his wife and at Joan, then nodded to the man. The two ruffs regarded each other.

“Well, I don’t know. He stabbed Harry. Killed him. Brought him here to have some fun with him before we kill him,” one said.

“How about if we sweeten the deal a little, my good fellows?” Bash walked up.

He reached into his coat sleeve—into what must have been a hidden pocket—and pulled out a small derringer.

“This is quite unique. Not many around,” Bash continued.

The ruff stroked his dirty bead-filled beard, contemplating the offer.

Bash continued, “I have a box of ammunition for it back at my tent. I’ll throw that in as well.”

The two ruffs regarded each other again. Then in unison, they said, “Deal.”

As the ruffs walked away, one holding the derringer and the other leading the horse, Joan began fumbling with the gag. Bash pulled out a knife and worked on the rope around his hands.

Once the gag was out, Duncan managed to utter, “Joan. Oh, Joan.”

“Sh, don’t talk,” Joan told him.

Her heart skipped a beat, as she heard him say her name for only the second time ever. His voice was raspy.

“No, it’s a trap. Nox. A trap. Can’t go,” was all Duncan could manage before he slipped into unconsciousness.

They carried him to Bash’s tent, and One Who Sees and Isabel wiped the blood from his face. Joan knelt beside him, as he came to.

“I think he has broken ribs. Lotta bruising. His head’s banged up, too,” Isabel guessed.

Also in the tent stood Bash and Reck.

Duncan said, “Joan.”

Joan replied, “Sh.”

“No, ask him what he meant about a trap,” Bash countered. “What about a trap? You said something about a trap?”

Duncan swallowed. There was blood in his mouth. One Who Sees wiped his cheek and mouth again and dribbled some water into his mouth.

He took a breath, “Not gonna release your friend, 42—”

“His name’s Kaleb, snatcher,” Reck interrupted, hatred in his voice.

Bash held up his arm, meaning for Reck to hold his tongue.

“Nox’s not going to let him go. Gonna keep him. And he’s bringing the army to the canyon, a whole bunch. To catch you. To take you back. You can’t go. Joan.”

When he said the name “Joan,” it was not to convey information, not to inform her of the trap. Rather he said it as if he was saying something exceptional, significant to him and him alone.

“We can’t believe him. He’s a snatcher,” Reck said.

Joan gazed at Duncan. A bloody lock of his hair stuck to his wet forehead. She reached up to push it away but stopped her hand before it touched him.

Duncan took a hold of her hand. He grimaced in pain, “Joan, I have to say, have to tell you—”

Reck stepped up behind Joan, drawing Duncan’s gaze from Joan.

“What?” Joan eagerly asked with anticipation—hope. “What is it?”

He looked away, let go of her hand and said, “Nothing. Nothing.”

Joan sighed to herself and pulled her hand out of his, “You should rest.”

33

A
rrow Comes Back crossed his arms as he spoke, “I’ve planned attacks, and I’ve defended against attacks. We can still try to get your friend. They think they will surprise us. We have to surprise them.”

Isabel voiced, “I know the Alliance. I’ve had dealings with them many times. They don’t want to mess up the peace. They don’t want a fight. I don’t think they’ll attack us outright. If Nox does bring a lot of soldiers, they’ll be used for defensive purposes, not offensive. They won’t attack unless we attack them.”

Bash pursed his lips, “Arrow Comes Back’s right. Surprise is the key. We should wait a few days. Let them stew in the heat of that canyon. Let them wonder if she’s going to come there. They’ll get tired and lazy. Relax their guard.”

“That’s good, He Smiles,” Arrow Comes Back said, nodding his head.

“Maybe create a diversion. Then one of us can sneak in and get the boy?” Isabel offered.

Bash smiled, “That’s good, Isabel.”

“I’ll do it,” Reck stated.

They looked at him.

“I’ll do it,” Arrow Comes Back said.

Bash nodded.

“I’m the one who has to do it,” Joan said. She had been quiet until then.

Over the next few days, when Joan saw Duncan, she made sure Reck was with her. Being that close to him in the tent had stirred something in her, and she wanted to crush it, whatever it was.
She loved Reck,
she told herself. Duncan had always been a dream—never real, never a possibility.

One afternoon with Reck at her side, she approached Duncan, who was sitting outside of Bash’s tent.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked in an obligatory manner.

“Better each day.”

Reck put his arm around her shoulder. An awkward silence ensued.

“I just want to say—have to say—I figured out later you missed me,” Joan told Duncan.

He looked at her. Something flashed in his eyes, and Joan realized she misspoke.

“Missed shooting me with the dart, I mean. Missed on purpose.”

Duncan nodded his head, “Oh, yeah.”

“Thanks. And, well, I’m…sorry I threw the rock.” There she said it. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, so she rambled on, “That’s why I stopped those ruffs at the tree. We’re even now, right?”

Duncan looked at the ground. Anger edged into his voice, “Right. We’re even.”

The soldiers shoved Kaleb hard as he climbed out of the durable. His hands were cuffed, and he fell forward, landing in the dirt. The sun burned on his head, and with his hands cuffed he had trouble shading his face. He coughed, and his glasses slipped forward on his nose. They kept slipping off, due to the sweat on his face. He took them off and put them in his breast pocket.

After his arrest, he had been kept at the TEO building in an underground cell. They interrogated him daily for two weeks. They kept him in the dark, literally. He was a special prisoner, and special orders covered him. No beatings. No machine. No torture of any kind. But they had interrogated him. Kaleb had given nothing up—had told them nothing. It took them a few weeks to drive across the continent to the fort and now here—a canyon in the desert.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, spitting dust out of his mouth. Two black boots marched up and stopped beside him. Black pants were neatly tucked inside the shiny boots. Kaleb glanced up at the man, but the sun shone brightly in his eye. Even in the glaring sunlight, he recognized Nox.

“Welcome, 42.”

Kaleb said nothing. He eyed the canyon around him. It was narrow, with tall sides. His glance shifted to his immediate surroundings. Thirty or so soldiers, those who brought him here from the fort, climbed out of the durables and milled about.

“Come on. Get up.”

He struggled to stand.

“I know,” Nox said and wiped his brow, “it’s hot here. Much hotter than back home. Not as sticky, though, right? Here, thirsty?”