In the Skin of a Nunqua (4 page)

The other infirmary women went one way, Shanti in another. “I’m getting rid of his clothes,” she said.

She trekked to the river. The water rushed past, swollen from the recent rains. She removed her boots and waded in to her knees, tossing the sack into the deep and hoping it would float far downstream.

Shanti put on her boots and returned to her room.

*

Shanti heard the commotion before she saw it. She finished putting her hair in the warrior’s knot, left her room, and went outside. A crowd of soldiers had gathered around Mossgail. Wearing short pants, an undershirt, and stockings, he looked wildly about and shouted, “Where is she!”

Commander Gray Streak and Flat Face came out of the supply quarters, scratching their heads.

Mossgail caught sight of Shanti. “
She
did it. Shanti’s the thief. The lock of my hair proves it. She . . . she threatened to poison me if I didn’t give her my supplies.”

Shanti crossed her arms and watched the antics of the thief who stole from the soldiers he was supposed to serve. He deserved what he got.

Two men in civilian clothes came out of the supply quarters. One clutched a long stick with a knife tied to the end; the other man held Mossgail’s money bag and sword. The tall one had a lean, muscular build and seemed familiar. Recognition hit, and Shanti’s stomach sank. He had been at the tavern, bought her and the other women drinks, put his arm around her.

“
Shit,
” she said under her breath. If he had heard their conversation about the crime, the plan would be ruined. He could testify against them.

Commander Mossgail continued to rant. He stomped over to Shanti and stuck a finger close to her face. She suppressed the urge to bend it backward until it broke.

“Search her room,” Mossgail said.

“A reasonable request,” Commander Gray Streak said. “Come with us, Shanti.”

She headed to her room with the others.

Chief Flat Face mumbled to her, “Inquiry.”

Once inside, the men in civilian clothes searched through her possessions. Shanti felt the lump in her pocket from the velvet bag containing the hair of the warrior. Good thing she had remembered to take it out of her belongings. Some things she didn’t want to explain. The men confiscated her money bag but did not open it. One of them took a cork out of her container of greenish-gold beetle innards.

“Careful,” she said. “It’s poison.” She showed them the wristlet of darts strapped to her arm. “Hollow points.”

“Take that as evidence.”

The man who had put his arm around her at the inn lifted his hand. She unbuckled the wristlet and gave it to him. He also kept hold of her money bag and the jar of poison.

Mossgail’s expression brightened, and he snapped his fingers. “She sold my supplies. I hear there’s a man doing business in town, a Nunqua. Shanti’s working for him, or with him. Everyone knows she’s been trained by the Nunqua.”

Flat Face, standing next to her, coughed, “Inquiry.”

“Nothing else is of interest here,” the civilian said. “I’d like to see the infirmary.”

Taking control came naturally to the two unknown men. Judging by their youth and the way they ordered two seasoned commanders around, they were not intimidated by the hierarchy of rank. Constables, perhaps. Investigators. The style of their clothes, the cut of their hair, the way they carried things in the left hand to keep the sword hand free, suggested they were soldiers. Shanti went with them to the infirmary, feeling as if chains would bind her wrists and ankles at any moment. Once inside, she saw Leanna stocking a cabinet while the other women inventoried a trunk full of goods.

Flat Face mouthed the word “inquiry” to Shanti as Leanna gave the men a tour.

“Exemplary work on keeping the infirmary in such fine condition, Leanna,” Commander Gray Streak said.

For the first time, Shanti wondered if the women had set her up for a fall. She had underestimated their scheming.

“Let’s straighten this out in my office,” Gray Streak said. “Shanti, Commander Mossgail, come with us.”

They entered the office. Shanti examined the three ceremonial swords displayed on the wall. Gray Streak was a champion sword fighter. Really?

The investigators placed two piles on the desk. One pile contained her wristlet, the container of poison for her darts, and her money bag. The other pile contained Mossgail’s sword, his lock of hair, and his money bag.

Between the two piles, the tall man set an antler of some sort, a bull’s scrotum, and a vial of snake venom. “These and other goods were bought from the apothecary in town,” the man said. “This apothecary also has military items for sale, and bottles of alcohol in the back, marked for military consumption.” He picked up the jar of snake venom. “Do you know how much this cost?”

No one answered.

“I bought this for one silver coin,” the man continued. He put the vial down, then picked up the antler. “All these and other items were bought with marked coins.” He took a silver coin out of his pocket. “Coins with a unique symbol engraved across the back. If either of these money bags contains the marked coins, it would indicate the owner sold the military stock to the apothecary for their own personal gain.”

“Who do you think you are!” Mossgail sputtered. “You’re barely old enough to shave. I forbid you to go through my bag without permission from a high commander. I know my rights!”

“Shanti?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

“Commander Edwyn, Chief Emmins, you are witnesses.”

The investigators dumped out her money, checked each coin meticulously, and found no markings.

“Commander Mossgail?” the investigator said.

“Having one of those coins doesn’t mean anything. It could have changed hands a dozen times. I could have picked it up in a tavern, perhaps, or from the seamstress in town.”

“Which taverns do you frequent?” the investigator asked.

“I don’t have to defend myself to you,” he sneered. “I’ve served in the Willovian military ever since you were a baby on your mother’s teat. Give me my things and let me be on my way.”

Gray Streak seized Mossgail’s money bag. “I’m aware that only a high commander can order a search of your property. But as commander of this camp, it is in my power to confiscate your money for the purpose of replenishing the goods that are missing. The supplies were in your care. Therefore, you are responsible. If the stolen items are recovered in usable condition, you’ll be reimbursed.”

Mossgail snatched up his sword and stormed out of the room with all the dignity he would muster while in his underclothes.

Gray Streak turned over Mossgail’s money bag, the contents spilling onto the desk. They found three coins etched with inconspicuous squares that had loops at the corners.

“Why didn’t you demand an inquiry?” Flat Face yelled at Shanti.

“What’s an inquiry?”

He groaned and dropped his head. “A trial resulting in a formal judgment regarding wrongdoing. A high commander officiates over the proceedings.”

“Will he be prosecuted?” she asked.

“That remains to be seen,” said Gray Streak. “Shanti, you’re free to go. Just remember, a humiliated man will always seek revenge.” He regarded the wristlet of darts for a moment before returning it to her. “But I have a feeling you already know that.”

She took her things, glancing quickly at the tall investigator on her way out. He had brown eyes, a ruddy complexion, and a confident bearing. She decided to make it her mission to find out his name and buy him a drink. Marked coins—it was brilliant. Mossgail’s money really
was
tainted. The only thing left to do was have a long and unpleasant chat with Leanna.

*

Shanti swung open the infirmary door, slamming it against the wall. A bottle fell to the floor and broke. Her sword was sheathed on her back, and she wore her wristlet. “You—all of you—tricked me into hanging the lock of Mossgail’s hair in the doorway, knowing I’d be accused!”

Leanna ran over and hugged her. “We
did
it!”

“You would watch me go to jail so you could reap the reward!”

“Don’t be silly.” Leanna fell onto a bed and giggled like a child. “Did you see Mossgail in his bedclothes, running around camp in high dudgeon? It was rich!”

Shanti loomed over Leanna. “Did you happen to notice that the men who bought us drinks at the tavern are the same men who are investigating the theft—the same men you gave a tour of the infirmary?”

“Don’t be so mistrustful. It couldn’t be.”

“It is, and if they overheard us—”

Leanna got up from the bed and put her hands on Shanti’s shoulders. “What are you worried about? You’re here—exonerated, I presume. They’d never banish you or put you in jail.”

“Banish?”

“They treat you like one of their own.”

“Who are ‘they’?” Shanti asked.

“The men. You’re allowed to train with them. You’re taken seriously, whereas we are not. By the way, why are you wearing your weapons in the infirmary?”

“Mossgail’s ready to kill me.”

“This is a place of healing. Put your things in the hole.” Leanna plucked a key from a hook on the wall, then pushed aside a bed. Beneath it was a hatch. She unlocked and lifted the hatch.

Shanti peered inside. A portion of the stolen supplies and several weapons were in the hole—a roughly dug out pit with enough room left over for one person to crouch down and hide. “How long has this been here?”

“Years,” Leanna said.

The hole below was bare dirt with very little wood shoring. Dangerous—could cave in without warning. Light from above shone off the warped blades of swords left exposed—passable as practice weapons but next to useless in a real fight. Shanti remembered her last conversation with Caravey before she left the Nunqua: how they had talked about the generals planning war with Willovia. It seemed unimaginable—the king of Willovia’s impending death and the resulting conflict. Even though she didn’t believe the prophecy of King Magen dying in his sickbed, better to be prepared. “Do any of you know how to use these weapons?”

They shook their heads. “If we’re attacked, the soldiers will guard us and the wounded,” said Leanna.

“What if
they’re
dead?”

“Then you’ll protect us.”

“You sure about that?” Shanti’s mind raced. She could teach them sword fighting; there was plenty of time during the day. After all, the women wore the uniform, too, and they needed to defend themselves.

If no one was going to give these women respect, she would teach them how to take it.

5

Turning the Screw

S
hanti played cards
with a soldier named Deney, who had taken an unlucky fall off his horse and broken his leg. She knew most of the soldiers’ names now, and life had settled into a daily rhythm: mornings in the infirmary, afternoons training with the men or teaching the women the more rugged skills of being a soldier. Commander Gray Streak had even taken an interest in her sword-fighting skills, teaching her different techniques to improve her advantage on various terrains.

The hole beneath the infirmary, where the supplies were kept, had been enlarged and shoring installed, and the extra dirt went behind the building for a medicinal herb garden. Yarrow, chamomile, horehound, bloodroot, poppy, and lavender soon flourished there. Everything was going smoothly, though Shanti never found the tall, bright-eyed investigator. No other men in the camp or town interested her for anything beyond friendship. Truth be told, it was getting lonely.

Commander Gray Streak and Chief Flat Face entered the infirmary, and the women, infused with a new sense of military bearing, stood at attention in the presence of their superiors.

“Shanti,” Gray Streak said in an official tone, “I have something for you.” He handed her a rolled-up letter.

She unfurled the parchment. She was being transferred to a different camp for . . . Did she read it correctly? She moved the parchment closer to her face for a better look. Yes, transferred to a different camp to undergo training for promotion to the rank of commander. It must be a hoax. Flat Face was a hellish prankster, but then, Gray Streak never joked.

“A commander?” she said. “Me?”

“What in the world?” Leanna lost all sense of bearing and snatched the parchment away to read for herself. “Commander Shanti.”

“Not yet,” Gray Streak said. She has to get through the training first. Not everyone who’s nominated succeeds.”

“Who nominated Shanti?” Leanna looked at Flat Face.

“Wasn’t me. Only a commander can nominate a soldier for the training.”

Everyone turned their attention to Gray Streak. He pulled on his collar. “It wasn’t me, either.”

“The only other commander I know is Mossgail,” Shanti said.

Laughter erupted in the room, and she had to admit, it was funny.

A smile brightened Gray Streak’s usually severe countenance. “I guarantee, Commander Mossgail didn’t nominate you.”

“Then who?” Leanna said.

“That’s confidential.”

“Someone must have figured you’re gettin’ soft,” Flat Face said. “The letter lists the things you’ll need for training: your horse, weapons, uniforms, boots, haircut.”

“I won’t cut my hair.”

“It’ll grow back,” Flat Face said.

“To a Nunqua, it’s a grave humiliation.”

“Let me get this straight: getting scarred from losing sword fights is a mark of pride, but cutting your hair is a humiliation?” Flat Face shook his head.

“Better get used to humiliation, Shanti,” Gray Streak said.

Flat Face punched her in the shoulder, hard. “I got money riding on ya, girlie. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

“Gray Streak put out his hand. “I have every confidence in you.”

She shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

The men left, and the women hugged her, except for Leanna, who moved away and wrinkled the parchment in her tight grip.

Shanti went over and carefully took the letter out of Leanna’s hands. She was beginning to realize why commanders had few friends. “I didn’t ask for this,” she said.

“I’ve been in the military longer than you.”

“The Willovian military.”

“I made the plan to drug Mossgail,” Leanna said. “I got the supplies we needed. I planted the garden.”

“We all did that,” Shanti said.

Leanna stared out the window, her jaw set in stone. “Why you?”

“Let me ask you a question,” Shanti said. “Remember when I first came here and rode as a guard with the supply cart to the Outer Boundaries? Toulley couldn’t go, because his shoulder needed time to heal. If Chief Emmins had asked you to take Toulley’s place as a guard, would you have gone, knowing you’d have to sleep outside in the rain, use a rock for a pillow, and eat cold food for days? And if the cart was attacked by bandits, you’d have to fight, possibly kill someone, to save the supplies, or even get killed?”

“If Chief Emmins ordered me to ride as a guard, I would go.”

“I didn’t say
ordered.
If he
asked
you to go, would you have done it? Honestly?”

“No,” Leanna said.

Shanti repeated Caravey’s words: “
Pain is our teacher, sacrifice our duty.
” She’d been with the Willovians for almost a year, yet she sometimes found herself favoring Caravey’s teachings. Was his influence really that strong? She moved aside the bed and retrieved her weapons from the hole.

“If you don’t make it through the training,” Leanna said, “if you quit, we’ll never get the respect we deserve. And I’ll kill you myself.”

The attitude indicated a jest. Shanti pushed the bed back, relieved at the break in tension. Leanna wouldn’t stay jealous for long. It was a momentary reaction, quickly overcome by reason. Their friendship would withstand the strain. “You can try.”

“Shanti,” Leanna said.

Considering how long Leanna had taken to say her name in the first place, it was a fitting send-off. Shanti bowed grandly and left the infirmary.

*

More than one person told her she had come to the wrong place. The soldiers weren’t being rude; they simply had never encountered a female commander before. Of course, she wasn’t a commander yet, merely a candidate.

Seventeen soldiers milled about the stone building in the main camp, waiting for instructions. Shanti spotted a tall one from behind, lean but not too thin, his hair cut short. Something about him jolted her memory. She studied his mannerisms, the way he walked, and caught a glimpse of brown eyes. It had been a long time since the Mossgail incident, but the investigator had made an impression. Was it him? She moved through the crowd to get closer. “Excuse me,” she said, “but you look familiar.”

“Hello, Shanti.”

He remembered
. So he was a soldier and not a civilian. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t know your name.”

“Taran. Are you ready for this?”

“How do you know I’m here for the training? Everyone else thinks I’m lost. They keep pointing me back toward the infirmary.”

He gave her the same sheepish grin from the night he had put his arm around her. Maybe Taran knew who had nominated her. He was an investigator, after all, with access to information.

“You know they’ll probably make you share the same sleeping quarters with us,” he said.

“It’s not the sleeping arrangements that worry me,” she said. “It’s the humiliation.” It was an attempt at small talk. After being stuck with knives by Caravey, humiliation wasn’t so daunting. “By the way, what happened to Commander Mossgail?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

A bear of a man came out of the building, catching everyone’s attention. “All right, you worthless pond scum, grab your gear.”

More men came out of the building, whooping and yelling. One headed straight for her. “If it isn’t the freak!” he said. “Give me those darts.”

“Sir?” she said, not ready to hand her weapon over to a stranger. His uniform bore no rank. Indeed, none of the men wore identifying insignia.

“Are you disobeying an order?” he said.

“Not that I’m aware of, sir.”

“Give me the damn darts! I won’t have you using them as a crutch. If you make it through this training—and you won’t—it will be because of your integrity and not your ability to intimidate.”

“And you are . . . ?” she said.

“Ignorant bitch. Don’t even know who I am. I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure you don’t become a commander. One last time: give me the darts. Disobey, and you can return to your pitiful life cleaning bedpans and wiping up puke in the infirmary. Don’t belong here anyway.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Taran tilt his head, signaling her to give the man her weapon. She did as instructed.

He rolled up the wristlet and whacked the side of her head.

“Poison,” she said. “Those darts have poisonous tips.”

“Afraid of dying? I’d be doing the military a favor. You really are a maggot-infested pile of sheep shit—too foolish to know, you
never
give up your weapon. And you—are you the freak’s woman?”

“No,” Taran said. “No sir, Commander Gy, sir.”

Commander Gy!
The
high commander, who took his orders directly from the king! Oh, hell, this wasn’t starting well.

He hit Taran in the side of the head with the wristlet.

So it begins,
she mused.

*

Taran punched her in the jaw, and she toppled on the dirt path. Shanti hooked his ankle with her leg, and he went down. She scrambled over the top of him, planting a foot in his back to push off. Sliding through his grasp, she raced toward the next obstacle. Spectators—soldiers who had come to watch the show—stood alongside the obstacle course, hissing and shouting obscenities while pelting the contestants with acorns and pebbles.

Watermelons were perched on logs at eye level. Shanti yanked her sword from its scabbard and ran to the right, cutting the first melon in two. She spun to the left and cut another, drooling at the sight of the juicy red meat.
So hungry
.

Taran cut his two watermelons and ran. They swung over piles of pungent manure, and Taran took the lead. Reaching the maze of ropes that stretched as long as a barn, he crawled through, entangling his sword in the web.

Shanti reached the ropes and, instead of trying to maneuver through them, stepped on them, gaining ground on her opponent. On her way off the maze, she hooked a loop of rope around his sword to slow him down.

Something hit her in the side and splattered. An egg. Another egg hit the top of her shoulder and sprayed her hair with viscous liquid. A quick glance to the right caught a grinning High Commander Gy. He flung another egg at her, and she ducked. A hand pushed her from behind, and she was once again off her feet.
Taran.

She picked up a small stone and hurled it, hitting Taran in the back of the head. He staggered and put a knee to the ground—her cue to speed to the end. She caught up to him, but his long legs made him faster in the straightaway, and he reached the finish line first.
Second place.
Damn, she was close this time. Shanti leaned against a tree, hunger gnawing at her insides. She tried to wipe the egg out of her hair.

Taran came over, touched the back of his head, then showed her the blood on his fingers. “You bitch.”

“You hit me in the face.”

“It’s an improvement.” He took a step away. “What’s wrong with your neck? It’s . . . splotchy.”

Her spots. Damn, she was losing control. Shanti swallowed, concentrated, softened her muscles. Willovian. She was Willovian.

“Freak,” he said.

“Bastard.”

Commander Gy marched over to her. “You don’t deserve to be a commander. You’re weak, you’re worthless, and you’ll never win. I expect a written report tomorrow morning analyzing your disgraceful conduct during the obstacle course, and I believe you owe Candidate Taran an apology.”

Shanti faced Taran, pulled her shoulders back, and took a deep breath. “My actions during the obstacle course were regrettable. Jealousy and arrogance influenced my deplorable behavior. As a candidate, I must strive to control my base tendencies and conduct myself with integrity and honor. Please accept my apologies, and congratulations on your victory.”

“A full written report,” Gy said to her. “By tomorrow morning, and write small. And you”—he poked Taran in the chest—“go to the infirmary and get your head looked at. Lord knows what they’ll find. Nothing but air.” He walked away, grumbling. “
Stagnant
air, at best.”

Shanti went to the sleeping quarters—an open room with twenty beds aligned in two rows, and only four of them occupied. Her bed was on the opposite side of the room from the men’s.

She was poison to them. If they showed any interest in her, befriended her, said one supportive thing to her, the instructors would make their lives hell. No fraternization allowed. None. Nobody being nice to her, nobody helping her, no camaraderie or working together to achieve a common goal—just an uncomfortable, silent coexistence with the other candidates. Commander Gy kept turning the screw, expecting her to splinter and break.

Not likely
.

Her bed had been overturned, as usual, and her belongings dumped out. Probably Commander Gy’s doing. She cleaned up and got ready for guard duty, hoping for enough moonlight to write one ridiculous report on assaulting a fellow candidate.

It was going to be another long night.

*

Shanti stood motionless inside a meeting room for one last interrogation, her breathing calm and her back straight. Today was the last day of training—the day she would find out if all the abuse heaped on her was for nothing. The instructors sneered at her uniform, boots, long hair in a warrior’s knot, and the sword on her back. How she hated their collective disdain!

Commander Gy’s presence dominated the room. “You ignorant bitch,” he said. “Why should I promote you?”

Was it a trick question? She didn’t want to seem overconfident, nor did she want to seem weak. What was the answer he was looking for?

“You’re pathetic,” he said.

“I have passed every test,” she said, “both physical and mental, succeeded at—”

He smacked the side of her head. “Wrong!”

She swallowed the urge to open her mouth and rebuke the highest-ranking commander in the room—in the Willovian military, for that matter. Now was not the time for cheek. She straightened her posture.

“I would like to speak with Shanti in private,” Commander Gy said. “Everyone else, out.” The other instructors trickled out until only she and Gy remained. He closed the door—an unthinkable act. A man and woman alone behind closed doors started rumors. “Before we go further,” he said, “I need to know about your past.”