In the Skin of a Nunqua (29 page)

*

Shanti lounged inside a tavern packed with Nunqua. Two swords were strapped to her back, and two women flanked her, combing and stroking her hair with perfumed oils on their hands. They made small braids in the long tresses. She could hear the Nunqua whisper, see them glance her way. Whether they said good things or bad about her, she didn’t know.

Caravey came to the table and sat across from her, grinning at the women braiding her hair. “Enjoying your winnings?” Tracker and other warriors were with him. “There’s the matter of your request,” Caravey said. “What do you want for bringing honor in the arena to me and to my warriors?”

Shanti signaled the women to go away. They finished the braids and left, though the men pleaded with the pretty women to stay.

“What do you want, Shanti?” Caravey said. “Do you want me to free the Willovian?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a white feather spotted with brown. “Heal her.”

Warriors standing nearby laughed at the request and called her crazy. Caravey ordered the men to leave. “Who is she?”

“A witch.”

“What’s her name?”

“Her name is unimportant.”

“How did she get hurt?” he asked.

“Saving me from Baylova.”

“Why does a witch take interest in you?”

“The same reason another witch hunts me.”

“You really are infuriating,” he said. “Can you just answer the questions?”

Shanti extended the feather toward Caravey. “Heal her.”

Caravey took the white feather and placed it between his palms. He closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed. He returned the feather to Shanti. The brown spots on the feather were gone. He moved around the table to sit beside her, their thighs touching.

“Caravey,” she whispered, not wanting anyone in the tavern to hear her call the general by his first name.

He ran his fingers down her forearm, tracing the parallel scars, then put his hand on her knee under the table. His hands were always so warm.

Two warriors came over to their table. General Seiko stood next to a Nunqua with red welts covering his spotted skin.

“Willovia has regained the Outer Boundaries,” Seiko growled to Caravey, “while you drink and have a good time.”

“How can that be? We outnumber their soldiers three to one.”

“Wasps.” Shanti looked at the warrior with the welts. “Baylova. She hexed me with wasps once.”

“Wasps and mice and wolves and Willovian royal guards,” Seiko said. “The men believe the battlefield is cursed. A quick death by the sword is one thing; a slow death by witchcraft is another.”

Caravey turned to Shanti. “Can the witch I just healed defeat Baylova? Will she help us?”

“She’s Willovian. She won’t help. I’ve already asked.”

“I cured her. She owes me.”

“General Delartay,” Seiko said. “We meet with Lord Argu now and discuss our options with the other generals.”

Caravey left Shanti’s side.

“Gather your belongings,” Seiko said to her, “and leave at sunrise. You may stay with my family. I’m sure you remember the way. This isn’t your fight, half-breed.”

She nodded, and Seiko left.

With the generals gone, Shanti put her hand in her pocket and touched the feather. In a vision, Madiza appeared inside the tavern, her arm no longer supported by the pink sling. The Nunqua parted, and Madiza moved aside. Shanti saw Jun in the vision, saw Caravey’s lie. Jun was not given extra food and rest as Caravey had promised in the arena. Instead, he had been tied to a pole at the boundary of the Nunqua camp, with a black eye and with a trickle of blood dripping down his chin. She released the feather, and the vision vanished. Shanti knew what she must do. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

29

A Roll in the Hay

A
iden wrote a
name and number on a fieldstone, with a piece of white chalk. He picked up a chisel and hammer, then began etching the inscription. Rubble from previously engraved fieldstones covered the table, and a rock held down pieces of parchment. Blisters bubbled under his skin. The hammer and awl rubbed the sores with each strike. The pain was therapy; the pain was good.

Baylova approached. He bowed, then continued his work.

The chink of metal on stone carried across the field. Soldiers dug graves nearby, and bodies wrapped in dark cloth lined the ground.

She examined the gravestones. “You’re too talented to live your life by the sword.”

Aiden wiped the pebbles from his work and blew dust from the unfinished inscription.

“I didn’t . . . I’m sorry,” she said. “Will you come back to the castle after this is over?”

He set down the tools, his voice hushed. “I’m not sure, Baylova.”

“At least, can you come to the castle to see me?” A large fieldstone engraved with “NUNQUA 38” caught her attention. “How did you know the age of this warrior?”

“It’s not an age. Thirty-eight warriors are buried in a mass grave on the other side of this field. More mass graves are situated around the area.”

Bayla looked at his rough and blistered hands. “I hate being queen.”

“I know,” he said. Aiden watched her walk away—a peculiar sight in the tragic landscape. Bayla was conniving, stubborn, sometimes cruel, but she was also sad and sweet. He wanted to paint her portrait to see if he could capture the essence of her. Aiden finished the grave marker and set it on a pile with others. Enough daylight remained to complete one more. He lifted a heavy fieldstone onto the table and looked at the parchment for the next name on the list. With white chalk, he wrote the word “UNKNOWN,” then drew a Willovian falcon beneath it. Water seeped from his blisters as he chiseled, and the pain was good.

*

Her timing must be perfect. Tracker was busy trying to console the clothes off Yasmine, the generals and Lord Argu were off somewhere discussing the war, and most of the warriors were drunk. Shanti went to the edge of camp, where Jun was tied to a pole. She cut the rope. He collapsed onto knees and hands, his feet still shackled. Shanti fished from her pocket a master key she had taken from the guardhouse, then freed Jun from the chain binding his legs. She put his arm around her shoulders and tried to help him stand. His body was limp, the fighting spirit beaten out of him. “Horses are waiting,” she said. “We must reach the horses.” He remained on the ground, too weak to travel. “Now’s our only chance. Jun, please.”

A white fox passed them like a quiet phantom. Jun’s head lifted curiously.

“We follow the fox,” Shanti said.

Jun got up, one hand on his sore knee. He limped, chasing the bushy white tail of the animal. He groaned, and Shanti took his arm, trying to get him to move faster.

“Quiet,” she said.

The fox dashed past a Nunqua warrior hidden behind bushes. He stooped at the waist and held the reins of two swaybacked horses without saddles. Shanti removed Baylova’s sword from her back. Gitonk handed her the reins, and she handed him the sword—the trade agreed upon when Shanti had visited him, alone and shunned, in the infirmary.

Gitonk inspected the sword, stroked it, his eyes never leaving the treasure. “I’ll give this to General Delartay—bring him honor. No longer will I be the least of his warriors.”

Jun struggled onto the horse’s back and followed the fox. Shanti trailed on the other horse, her legs sticking out at odd angles from the animal’s fat barrel.

Baylova’s sword remained with Gitonk.

*

“The war is at an end,” Commander Gy informed Baylova and Kyros inside a tent. “We meet with Lord Argu and General Seiko to demand—”

“The war is
not
at an end,” Baylova said.

“Only minor skirmishes remain at the far borders. The Outer Boundaries belong to us. We meet with the leaders of the Nunqua and declare peace.”

“The war is not over until I say it is over! We march into Nunqua territory and find my sword.”

“Your sword?” Gy said.

“I had a vision,” Baylova said. “Shanti cavorts with the warriors. She wears a black uniform and carries the sword she stole from me in the Hedgelands.”

Gy clenched then unclenched his jaw. “You would spill more blood to save a stupid sword.”

“We sacrifice one life now to save two lives later. The Nunqua will continue to harass Willovia. They will continue their plans to take over our lands unless we show them our strength. We prove to the Nunqua we’re not weak.”

“
We
? Or
you
? I will not support this strategy of yours,” Gy said.

“Then you’ll be replaced. Commander Kyros, gather the troops to invade.”

Kyros nodded.

“Baylova,” Gy said, “not all your enemies have spots on their skin.”

“No longer will I be voiceless in your presence, Commander Gy. That sword is more than a piece of metal. It represents something a highly regarded man such as yourself could never understand. You may leave.”

Gy left, and Kyros followed. The blue Willovian flag with a gray falcon rose above the queen’s tent.

“You’ll send me messengers?” Gy asked Kyros.

“Of course.”

Gy took the pipe out of his pocket. “Where’s Shanti?”

“Just as Baylova said, with the Nunqua. She’s helping Commander Jun escape the prisoner-of-war camp.” He scratched his chin. At least, I think that’s what she’s doing.”

“She’s doing more than helping Jun.” Gy rolled the pipe back and forth in his hands. “She’s testing the queen, playing the part of a traitor to provoke Baylova to fight. Shanti’s finishing what she started at the camp in the Hedgelands.”

*

“I am a Guardian of Willovia. I swear it.” Shanti held her palms toward a bald man with brown skin. The old man pointed a dagger at her chest. They were back inside Willovia, in the kitchen of an elderly couple’s home. The old man’s plump wife stood in the door frame, wearing a robe. Her black hair stuck out at odd angles, and she held a candle in one hand, a butcher knife in the other. Dried flowers and herbs, along with rabbit and skunk pelts, hung from nails on gray wooden walls. Stuffed owls and crows perched on the windowsill. The kitchen smelled like sawdust.

“You wear the uniform of the Nunqua. You’re a traitor,” the old man said.

“No,” Shanti said. “I put the uniform on to help Commander Jun. Tell them, Jun.”

“The Nunqua kept me and other Willovians as prisoners of war with almost nothing to eat. They tied me to a pole and beat me. Do you have any food? I have no money.”

“You poor dear,” the woman said.

“Jun,” Shanti said.

The old man waved his dagger at her.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” she said. “Jun!”

“Just a few bites to eat,” Jun pleaded with the woman. “I’d pay you if I could.”

The woman sidestepped Shanti, butcher knife at the ready.

Shanti held her hands at chest level. “Commander Kyros, the high commander in charge of castle security and the royal guards, asked me to help Jun escape the Nunqua. Commander Gy, the high commander who leads the Willovians at the Outer Boundaries, made me a Guardian of Willovia. I saw the symbol of the Guardians, the letter “g,” carved into the entryway of your home.”

“The wife and I just moved here. Never knew what that letter meant.”

“I could really use your help, Jun.”

The plump woman loaded Jun’s arms with dried meats and flatbread. She took a brown jug off a high shelf and uncorked it. “Now, you be careful with that. That’s Mama’s special brew. Burn a hole right through your stomach if you don’t eat something with it.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” he said.

“Glad to help a fellow Willovian—and a commander, too.” She held the candle to his bearded face and saw the blackened eye clearly. “Nunqua bastards.”

“Jun!” Shanti yelled. The old man held the dagger point to her belly.

“Never saw her before tonight.” Jun winked at the plump woman with his good eye. “I don’t know who she is.”

Shanti glared at him.

“What’s a Guardian’s purpose?” the old man asked.

“To do what’s best for Willovia,” Shanti said.

“It’s all right, Mama. Why are you wearing that uniform?” He lowered the dagger, and Shanti lowered her arms.

“Because I had to.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Guardian?”

“Yes, Guardian.”

“Actually, the wife and I have lived in this house for thirty years. You two can stay in the barn tonight. You need to get out of that outfit, missy, before it gets you killed. Mama, you got any extra dresses?”

“Thanks a lot,” Shanti said to Jun.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied through a mouthful of food.

*

“I tried to stop them, General,” Gitonk said, “but I ain’t fully healed yet. I grabbed Shanti, pulled the sword off her back. They stole two horses and got away.”

Caravey turned the queen’s sword over in his hands. “Technique over strength, brain over body. Do you understand what she’s done?”

“She betrayed us.”

“She let you have this sword for a reason,” Caravey said. They stood near a dilapidated building, two warriors flanking the general. “I’m sorry, Gitonk.” Caravey put his hand on Gitonk’s shoulder and reversed his healing touch. The sword wound in Gitonk’s gut opened, as did the belly slice from Jun at the Hedgelands. A wet, gurgling moan escaped his throat, and blood soaked through his shirt as the burly Nunqua warrior slid down the wall of the building.

“He shall be buried with honor,” Caravey said to the two warriors with him. “Gitonk gave his life more than once for the Nunqua. The spirits tormented me to release his soul.” Caravey cut off a lock of Gitonk’s hair with Baylova’s sword. He separated the strands, letting them fall to the ground and blow in the breeze, impossible to retrieve. “You’re free, although your struggle continues.”

“Get Tracker now,” he ordered one of the warriors. “I need five men. We find Shanti and bring her back. Inform the rest of my warriors that they fight under the command of General Seiko until I return.” He said to the other warrior, “Ensure that Gitonk is prepared for burial.” Caravey picked up Baylova’s sword, sheathed it, then strapped it across his back exactly as Shanti had intended.

The sword made him a target.
Though not for long
, he vowed.

*

Jun stayed with Shanti in the barn for three days. He washed, ate, rested, washed, and then washed again. Women from the town had come and cut his hair shorter than it had ever been. They burned his clothing, providing him with all new things to wear. Gifts, they said, in appreciation of his service to Willovia. They also gave him soap, food, a pair of boots, and hand-knitted socks and generally fussed over him the way a mother fusses over a sick child. These same women ignored Shanti as she tried to glean information about the war. Still, she did manage to procure a few items of used clothing for herself.

Jun gazed at his reflection in a cracked mirror hanging from a peg inside the barn. He shaved by lanternlight. He splashed his face with cold water from a bucket, rubbing skin that had been covered by a scratchy beard. The cut on his lip was small, and the bruise around his eye large. He picked up a piece of jerky to chew. Hot red pepper flavored the meat.

Shanti sat in a pile of straw, sewing a skirt. “Probably squirrel.” She pulled up on the needle and broke the thread with her teeth.

“Tastes more like raccoon.” He put down the half-eaten strip, then joined Shanti on the hay with the jug of alcohol. He took a swig, then offered it to her.

Shanti swallowed a few mouthfuls. “Not bad,” she said, her voice raspy from the scorch of the alcohol.

“You’re quite popular in the arena.”

“I’ve lost as many fights as I’ve won.” She handed him the jug. “Commander Kyros is at the battlefront with Baylova. From what I hear, Willovia has regained the Outer Boundaries.”

“Then we go there,” he said.

“
You
can go there. I intend to stay as far away from Baylova and Caravey as possible.”

Jun got up and placed the jug of spirits on a roughhewn timber. He lowered the flame in the lantern to a flicker. Blankets were folded over a stall door. He picked them up, then spread them on the hay, reclining next to Shanti. She continued to sew, avoiding body contact even though they were so close. Jun nudged her with his knee. “Put it away.”

She moved the skirt aside. “How did you get captured?”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask. I was stupid—let myself get trapped in a woman’s bedroom. She worked for the Nunqua for money or . . . I don’t know. She drugged my drink. Nothing happened.”

“What about Zindar?”

“He’s dead. I believe it was Zindar who told the Nunqua the location of our camp in the Hedgelands.”

“A scratching noise came from the barn roof, and Shanti flinched.

“What’s wrong?” Jun said. “Afraid of the dark? It’s just a bat or a barn swallow. Could be an owl.”

Shanti looked up into darkness. “Twenty bats, maybe more. We need to leave.”

Jun unbuttoned her jacket. It was too dark to read her expression. A glimmer of silver reflected in her eyes, reminding him of what she was.

“I thought you were weak from your ordeal,” she said.

“Not
that
weak. Besides, I hate seeing you in this uniform.”

“This isn’t the best place . . .”

He removed her jacket and tossed it by the skirt, then buried his fingers in her hair. “I thought I was going to die and never see you again,” he said, “never have the chance to show you how I feel.”

She lifted the back of his shirt and raked the flesh with her fingernails. He pulled her hair, though not enough to hurt. “Take the uniform off, Shanti.”

“Make me.”

Jun wrestled her out of the uniform—a power struggle she obviously wanted him to win. She yielded to the explorations of his hands, his mouth. Her response was fervent, sweet—the hidden side of Shanti, which he wanted for himself. He wished there were more light, so that he might see the pattern of her skin, kiss every faded spot. On a bed of hay and discarded clothes, Shanti enveloped him in softness, whispering words in a language he didn’t understand. Fingernails raked his flesh once more.