Salome at Sunrise (9 page)

Failure once more descended with a firestorm. Batu would be the last Segur king. Bryton tried to soothe himself with the idea that at least his enemies would be fewer and his life filled with peace. It was more than Bryton had ever had. It was the only gift of his blood he could give to his godson, poor as it might be. The final nail in his future coffin was knowing he’d condemned a child to a life of loneliness. Self-effacing irony swamped his gut in waves of nausea. It took talent to destroy a hundred generations of royalty.

Bits of charcoal clung to the knife blade and he wiped them away on his pants. He flipped the dagger, end over end, catching the hilt without looking. Twice. Three times. A fourth.

He counted twenty-seven tosses before Salome spoke. “Where are your pipes?”

“In the pack, why? Do you play?”

“No, but you do. It might fill the time and give you something to do with your hands besides flip that blade.”

“Sorry, habit. And I don’t feel like playing right now.” He tucked the dagger back into his loose belt and folded it beside him. Tensions from the events of the day heaped on stresses of the past summer and his patience grew thin. His teeth ground and his jaw shifted. A labored sigh blew out. He grabbed his pack, tossing it at the end of his pallet. “Look, I’m going to grab some sleep. It’s early but…I didn’t sleep well.”

A wide smile erupted like the sun bursting from behind a cloud. “Let me sing you to sleep.”

“Salome, I’m not a child who needs a lullaby.”

“No, but you are in need of peace.”

“Whatever,” he grumped, flopping down on top of his blanket. “Make yourself happy but don’t bitch if I snore.”

Lying as still as a wooden plank, he crossed his arms and closed his eyelids. They cracked open at a soft rustle. Salome lifted the tent flap, gazing into the violet-smudged sky, letting the blown drops cool on her face.

In the rain-drenched moonglow, her cheeks shone like alabaster. The deep green of her skirt surrounded her like a meadow and she was the single bloom on the field, a pristine lily. The brisk wind stirred her hair, blowing it back, opening her face. One long lock fluttered then settled along her shoulder and curved provocatively under her left breast. The too-thin whore’s blouse hid little and his gaze longed to slip lower, to glimpse the shadows and swells displayed. He kept his sight trained on her face. Enchanted words caressed the air in her soothing soprano.

She had a lovely voice, made for singing. Bryton tried to focus on the song. It made no sense to him. The language was foreign and the melody achingly beautiful. The knot in his chest loosened, and he sighed. Heaviness blanketed him, the pull of slumber easing his muscles until they released their rigid hold. Damp air flavored with a hint of honey tempted his nose and he breathed deeply. His head fell to the side as dreams descended.

A lullaby crooned in a hushed voice. Crickets and spring peepers kept time with the humming song. The bright fire dispelled the night’s gloom and sent lively crackles and pops into the air. Contentment rumbled in his belly as he rubbed his hand down the team’s flanks. They could have pushed on, made it back to Thistlemount before nightfall, but with a nursing infant, Katina had wanted to make camp. He rounded the wagon and stopped, drinking in the sight of his family, his life, haloed by the fire’s glow.

“She eats like you do.” Katina laughed.

“Oh, and just what does that mean?” He settled beside her, nudging the yellow blanket away from her breast. Jana’s tiny fist was curled tight as she had her supper.

“It means you’d think she was starving.”

“She has a lot of growing to do.”

A golden flickering danced in Katina’s eyes. “If you grow any more, we’ll need a new bed. Your feet already reach the edge.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t about to insult your father and not take the bed as a wedding gift. So what if my toes end up poking out of the blankets?”

“He and Mama were so happy we came. They loved seeing Jana. I don’t think Mama put her down for more than a blink all week.”

Katina’s hair was pinned, leaving fair tendrils curling around her nape. Peach-tinted skin on her cheeks flushed to apricot as his fingers stroked from her neck to the curve of her breast where their newborn fed. Her gaze was filled with the same longing that gnawed at him.

“Soon,” she whispered.

“I know. Just take care of her. I’ll wait.” He leaned close and pressed his mouth to Jana’s fuzzy hair then caught his wife’s lips. “Impatiently but gladly.”

Fussing and squirming parted their kiss. Jana kicked at the swaddling. Katina propped the infant on her shoulder and rubbed her back. A burp far too loud for her tiny body widened their eyes. “She belches like you, too.”

His laughter died in his mouth as his vision went white and enchantment burned his blood.
She dies…she dies…she dies…
“Oh, shit. No, please…”

“Bryton, what is it?”

“Come on, in the wagon, now.”

Katina scrambled to a stand and his body jerked. He reached for her. Sight returned with a shock, like icy water hitting him full in the face. Wide blue eyes with flecks of green and gold searched his face. “Tell me.”

She dies…

“Skullmen.”

“This close to Thistlemount?” The fear in her voice magnified his horror. Clutching the baby tight, silver pooled in her eyes. “Jana.”

She dies…
But which she?

Powerless to change what he knew was coming, wishing there was something, anything, he could tell her to lessen her fear, he gripped her arms and swallowed. “Kat, listen to me. They’re almost here. Take Jana and hide.”

“Where? The trees are too far apa—”

“Magic, sweetling. Use your spells and hide, please. There are too many for me alone.”

“She’s only a few weeks old. I’m not strong enough yet.” Her mouth opened and shut. Her trembling shook one of the pins loose from her hair. Her slim hand covered the baby’s head and she slowed her breathing by force, raising her chin. “But I can hide Jana.”

She dies…

Fuck!
He nodded and pushed her toward the wheel. “All right, do it. Then get under the wagon.”

Mystic words in a soft alto whispered behind him as he grabbed the labrys from the wagon bed. The name
Justice
carved into the handle nearly purred beneath his touch. His sword hissed leaving the scabbard, the sound loud and deadly. The baby was gone, hidden from sight, invisible to all but Katina’s magic gaze. He spared a moment to kneel, touching Katina’s cheek. “Don’t come out, no matter what happens, do you hear me? I need to know you’re safe before I swing.”

“The border patrol? Maybe they ca—”

“They’re coming…just not soon enough.”

A crunch deep in the woods yanked him to his feet. He put his body between the wagon and the fire, shielding Katina as best he could, and waited. Pain radiated from his sternum where his heart tried to pummel through his chest wall. The taste of envisioned death lingered in a foul paste, coating his teeth and tongue. He wished he’d worn his mail. He wished they’d pushed for home. He wished…

A solitary man walked into the firelight. Five jade rings ran up one ear. Dark beard growth highlighted the painted skull outline emblazoned across his golden face. The heavily shadowed jaw played wickedly off missing teeth when he smiled. The dirty homespun shirt did not hide the etched bones on his arms. They glistened in the orange and yellow glow. Bryton memorized the numbers on the back of his hand—4332.

“Eve’n, friend. Share your fire with a traveler?”

“No.” Bryton wasn’t playing games. “I’m not in a sharing mood. Move along.”

An evil glimmer burned in yellowy eyes. “Now, that’s impolite. Rude, even. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners, boy?”

“No.” The doubleheaded axe spun loosely in his hand from long practice. “Leave.”

The topaz gaze narrowed and dropped to Bryton’s knees, to beyond him where Katina crouched behind the wooden wheel. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

Cold training buried all fear, all emotion. He could not risk missing one step, not and save his family. His mind spun with every lesson he’d ever learned.
Light feet, balanced weight, peripheral check, ears alert, slow breath, note the hips to anticipate a move, dagger in left boot, curved foreign blade right hip, spiked rings on both hands.

A twig snapped to his right and Bryton twirled, sword swung high, catching a second Skullman across the face. The agonized screech split the night and Skullmen descended like locusts. Right hand swinging his sword, left cutting a path with his axe, Bryton held them back for a minute. Only a minute. Then a dagger raked across his scalp and gushing blood blinded him.

Sharp, stinging fire pierced his side. His knuckles throbbed from a swiping blade but he blindly swung the axe. A liquid gurgle and jarring force told him he struck true. The rage of war pumped hot adrenaline through him, and sweat mingled with blood. He swiped a forearm across his face and skewered another man. Wide gold eyes locked on his, the light fading. He shoved the body from his blade and leaped over the fire. He kicked the blaze’s edge, sparks and flaming bits spraying an approaching enemy. The scent of scorched flesh churned his gut. The man pawed at his face and stumbled back toward the forest, screeching in sightless pain.

Five. There were five dead men littering the ground; how many more were there?

The ground vibrated with the rolling thunder of the border patrol. Hope washed strength through Bryton. They might make it if the guards got here in time. The cry of the horses and a rumble of wheels jerked his head to the left. Two Skullmen had hitched the team and stole the wagon, but he couldn’t care less. Where was Katina?

“Jana!” Her shriek shot through his soul with an iced blade.

Sunshine hair streamed from one side of Katina’s head, the other still pinned tight above her ear. Her skirts bunched as a Skullman pawed at her legs. Her hard-soled travel boot nailed him in the balls. She drew back her palm and hit him full in the face, ramming his nose back into his brain and sending him to hell in a shitload of pain. Frenzy glittered in her eyes when she whirled and pointed after the wagon.

“Jana’s in the wagon!”

She dies…

The night swallowed the cart, his daughter invisibly hidden inside, and terror coiled tight around his bones. “Oh, fuck, not the baby!”

Two Skullmen appeared at the woods’ edge, running toward the fire. Screaming for their infant, Katina grabbed one burning log and brandished it like a sword. She held her other hand straight out. A spat chant flowed from her lips. The two men collapsed, holding their bellies and bellowing in agony. Bryton dropped the axe and took off after his daughter while they retched.

Insects stung his face and his side burned with a fiery bite but he ran harder than he had ever run. He knew the woods and paths like a fox and climbed a steep knoll, barreling down the other side. Hot blood cooled on his skin but fear fed a furious burst of power to his legs. The echo of hooves and the clang of steel rang through the night as the border patrol flooded into the area.

The Skullmen frantically unhitched the team, more interested in fast horseflesh than a slow wagon weighted with provisions. Bryton gained precious seconds swinging off a stout elm branch. One fled into the darkness with the horses, the harness dragging leaves and bramble along the ground. Bryton severed the other’s head with a single blow, letting the body flop into the dirt. He leaped into the bed.

Nothing. He couldn’t see anything in the pale moonlight. Jana was hidden well and silent. Did Katina’s spell carry this far? Had the baby been found and tossed out somewhere? Visions of slain infants at Istimar forced bitter bile into his throat. Dropping to his knees, he felt the entire bed, pleading to touch a warm body. Horror cramped his gut and fright twisted it. Nothing.

She dies…

“Jana!”

His terrified shout brought a startled, mewling cry from the front of the wagon. She was there, under the seat, in a box that had held her clean diaper cloths. A shaky laugh flew from his lips as he felt his daughter’s firm grip on his finger. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her, could hear her. She was alive.

Jerking off his bloody tunic, he wrapped the invisible squirming child so he could see what to pick up. Her tiny head fit into his palm and her behind into another. Tucking her close to his chest, he wiped more blood from his eyes. He had no horses, a useless wagon and a baby he couldn’t see. Weakening, he ran back toward the camp.

The pace and his familiar hold soothed the infant and she quieted in his arms. The border patrol’s shouts and cries filled the muggy air. Bryton sped through the black, aimed toward an orange flame.

His heart shuddered and his throat clamped shut at the unspeakable evil that held his wife. The Skullman’s shirtless skin gleamed as golden as his eyes. The skull on his face was a mask of death on a living devil. Strange white symbols covered his body, and bones painted on his skin in the color of chalk heightened his menace. Sweat shone on his head, bald except for the long braid of black hair from his crown reaching his waist like a rope. The hand fastened over Katina’s mouth bled bright red where she clawed at it. Katina struggled, kicking and hitting, but the Skullman didn’t notice.

He shook her like a toy, screaming into her face. “Curse me, will you, magic bitch? Can you chant without a tongue?”

Bryton stooped as he ran, dropping Jana in a protected nook between two trees and flew toward Katina. Two Skullman grabbed at the man who held her, tugging him toward the tree line. He shook them off and they ran. A horn sounded and the rapid beat of hooves quaked the leaves.

The man looked up as Bryton burst through the foliage with a battle cry. His sword raised then froze as the Skullman spun Katina and held her against his marked chest. He shielded himself behind a woman, like a coward. Above the press of his dark numbered hand, her eyes were wet and wild, the flecked blue-green begging Bryton silently.

Bryton locked two things in his shuddering mind. Her eyes and 2173.

The Skullman grinned, wide white teeth like a wolf’s, and kept his golden eyes on Bryton’s face. “Slow there, friend. Wouldn’t want this little bit of meat to get caught between us.”

“Let her go then, asshole.”

A sinister chuckle widened his smile. His tongue darted out, tracing a line along Katina’s temple. Her whimper made him chuckle. “Sweet. She yours?” The Skullman took his hand from around her waist and brought it to her breast, flicking his thumb over the tip.

A snarl peeled Bryton’s lips from his teeth. “Get your fucking hands off her!”

“As you wish.” Bryton didn’t have time to blink. A vicious twist made a loud pop as the Skullman snapped her neck.

“No!”

The Skullman threw her limp body toward him and melted into the night. Bryton’s knees buckled, clutching at Katina as she fell. Her lifeless eyes were open, her head loose on her broken neck. Tears and blood dripped from his face to her chest. Her name whispered from disbelieving lips. There was no response and never would be. His heart cracked, and a torturous cry ripped from his throat.

“Kat!”

Bryton bolted upright from the pallet, cold sweat lining his face, his heart racing, his mind grabbing at a fading image. Her name echoed in the hushed tent.

So vivid. The nightmare came so vividly after all this time. Night creatures stirred beyond the canvas walls and a gentle breeze blew under the flap. He needed to escape, to rid his body of the pulsating adrenaline coursing through his veins, but his watery knees required another minute to gain strength. He couldn’t breathe. Struggling to suck in air, he wiped shaking hands down his cheeks.

Salome’s slender palm smoothed along his back. He jerked away. He didn’t deserve pity or compassion. Her touch burned like fire. He was so cold inside. Confusion swirled in his brain, horror mixed with loss. Why couldn’t he banish the nightmare? There was never a rest from it. He carried the bitter image every minute of every day, whether his eyes were opened or closed.

The border patrol had brought Jana to him, her invisibility vanished as Katina’s life slipped away. He watched them cover his bride with a cloth, listened to his daughter wail and could do nothing. Six dead Skullmen lay crumpled around the camp, one somewhere near his wagon and one lifeless woman who’d taken his heart. Panic jabbed into his numb chest when he noticed blood on Jana’s blond head until he realized it came from him, dripping from his scalp to hers. Only then did he let a guard bind his wounds.

The black had appeared in his hair the next day. It seemed fitting. Why wouldn’t the brightest part of him be tarnished? His soul carried a wound that would never heal.

“Shh, the dream has gone.” Salome’s lilting voice was an anchor in his stormy emotional sea. Such hideous, evil images swam in his memory and her touch was sweet, purely giving and tender. The cramped tent trapped her scent and the fragrance of wild honey blended with earthier, damper smells. He blinked, finding her outline in the dark as her hand rubbed up his shoulder.