The Downs (2 page)

Enitan gritted his teeth.

For a few minutes, all three men shoved and taunted him. He took the opportunity to look around, but there wasn’t much to see. Mainly the wagon that had brought them there, pulled by a pair of underfed yaley-beasts with broken horns. In addition to the driver’s seat, the wagon boasted a small enclosure that must have provided shelter and storage for the three men as they traveled. Behind the enclosure and affixed to a platform was the metal box that had served as Enitan’s prison. Aside from the wagon, the yaleys, and the men, there was… nothing. Pale blue sky. Dull grass the color of old straw, waving slightly in the breeze. A road almost too overgrown to see. And there, to Enitan’s left— He turned his head quickly away.

The men began to handle him more roughly. He fell several times, but each time they dragged him to his feet again, jeering. They called him names and spat on him; they pulled his hair and slapped his bare skin. He knew there was no point in being outraged. There were three of them, and he was weak from his ordeals. And here at the end of the world with nobody to see, they could do whatever they wanted with him. Maybe that was the appeal of the job— the opportunity to have someone at their mercy.

One of the men gave a hard shove that forced Enitan to fall onto all fours, and while all three of his tormenters yelled at him to stand up, they kept knocking him down again. They laughed as he crouched on hands and knees, panting, his head hanging low. His dry mouth tasted of blood and dirt, and the grass prickled his skin.
Doesn’t matter
, he reminded himself again.
No use in fighting anymore.
He was nothing now— condemned and judged and worse than dead— and he couldn’t do anything to change his fate.

Gods. That Minna would do this to him out of nothing but greed! Perhaps he hadn’t spent money wisely, and perhaps he’d paid more attention to his own desires than the family finances. But he’d never harmed anyone— not her, not his father, not a soul. She should have poisoned him as well, made it look like suicide. She could have pulled it off. The fact that she hadn’t tried, that she’d deliberately consigned him to this hell, made his vision grow dim and red.

He shot to his feet and took a solid swing into the gray-eyed man’s jaw, catching him by surprise. It felt
good
for Enitan’s fist to connect with flesh and bone, and when the man fell to the ground, Enitan imagined his sister collapsing instead.

But it was only one punch, and immediately the other two men were on him, wrestling him to the ground. One kept his boot planted solidly on the back of Enitan’s neck, while the other straddled Enitan, pinning his arms behind his back. Enitan’s momentary strength drained away; he didn’t struggle when Gray Eyes grabbed a length of rope and tied Enitan’s wrists so tightly that blood trickled down his skin.

They all kicked him viciously then, concentrating on his unprotected head and back. It was a good thing, actually, because he grew dizzy and muzzy-headed, his awareness shrouded in thick gray fog. By the time his legs were jerked far apart, he was far enough gone that he barely registered the invasion and the fresh pain. His body lay battered and defiled on the Reach, but his mind was far away.

They could have left him to die just as he was. He wouldn’t have lasted long. But whether from a sense of duty or the desire to torment him to the end, the men roused him to full consciousness with a sizable splash of cold water, then yanked him upright. They dragged him forward, his feet scraping along the raspy grass. And then they stopped.

“Look at
that
,” Gray Eyes said smugly, as if he’d created the spectacle himself.

Enitan didn’t want to look. He wanted to curl into a ball and just… not be. But he couldn’t stop his head from rising a bit, his eyes from opening, and then he couldn’t stop himself from seeing.

The Reach ended abruptly just a few steps in front of him, the grassy plain cut off as if by a god’s knife. Where the Reach stopped, a steep slope began. It plunged so deeply that gray clouds floated far below, obscuring the bottom. Obscuring the Downs.

Although Enitan slightly feared heights, that wasn’t what made him shudder now. In fact, he was almost grateful for the depth of the drop, because if he were very fortunate, the fall would kill him. But he had run out of luck lately, and if he survived to reach the bottom, the Downs awaited him.

“No,” he rasped, attempting to brace his feet on the ground. He had no more pride. “Don’t.”

The men laughed and propelled him slightly forward. “The demons won’t let you die right away,” said the one with ginger hair. “They can keep you alive a
long
time.”

They were almost at the edge, only a few tufts of grass separating Enitan from his fate. He was suddenly glad that he’d had little to eat or drink, because otherwise he might have voided his bladder and bowels. His heart raced so quickly that he couldn’t discern the individual beats at all, and he couldn’t draw oxygen into his lungs.

But deep within himself he found one final bit of defiance. “May the gods curse you all,” he said.
Especially Minna.

The men stopped laughing. Then somebody shoved him hard, forcing him forward. His feet slipped over the edge. For one very brief moment he felt like a wingless bird— and then he fell.

****

Chapter Two

Even at seventeen years old, Minna Javed had been plain and solemn; life had not yet made her twisted and bitter. She had unusually heavy obligations for a person her age, because she’d been given primary charge of her brother Enitan, who was almost ten years younger. Their mother had died shortly after Enitan was born, their father was busy with his duties in the Council, and once Enitan began school, he had been deemed too old for a nanny. Servants kept everyone fed and did most of the household chores, but it was Minna’s responsibility to get Enitan ready in the mornings, to supervise his play in the afternoon and his studies in the evening, and to get him tucked into bed at night. When he was disobedient— which was often— she used a combination of threats and bribery to persuade him to behave.

One particular day, he’d been especially difficult about practicing his spelling and numbers, and then he’d made a fuss when Minna said it was time for him to go to sleep. “I’m not tired!” he’d insisted.

But Minna somehow managed to get him washed and combed and changed into his nightshirt, and then she’d practically dragged him to his mattress. She covered him to his neck and sat on the blankets, pinning him in place. “I’m not tired,” he whined again.

“You are. But even if you weren’t, it doesn’t matter. It’s your bedtime.”

“You don’t have to go to sleep now.”

“I’m older.”

He scowled at her. “You always say that. But I’m not a baby anymore. I’m big.”

“Not big enough.”

“But when will I be big enough?” Because he felt nearly grown-up. He could read and everything.

“You’ll be big enough when you have big responsibilities. When you contribute to this family. Help run the household, Enitan, and instead of spending money, earn it. Like Father and I do. Then you’ll be big enough.”

“I don’t
want
to. You and Father never have any fun.”

Up to that point, she’d merely looked tired and perhaps slightly indulgent, but now her face hardened. “Fun is for children. Father and I must act like adults.”

“I won’t. Not even when I’m old. Not if it means I have to go around looking like this all the time.” He made a comically exaggerated version of Minna’s usual frown.

“You
will
. Because it’s your job. Do you know what happens to people who don’t do their job?”

“What?”

“If they’re just a little naughty, they get punished. But if they’re
very
naughty— if the Judge says they’re bad— they get sent across the Reach and banished to the Downs. And do you know what happens to them then?”

He’d heard about the Downs, of course. Everyone had. But at seven, his knowledge was sketchy at best, mostly the result of vague schoolyard curses. “What?” he whispered, both fascinated and scared.

“The demons take them. That’s all that lives there— no people, nothing nice. And the demons torture them slowly. They eat them, nibble by nibble. They kick them around like a child kicks a ball. They make them blind and deaf and they tear out their tongues and chop off their arms and legs and drink their blood. And they steal the bad people’s memories until they can’t remember anything but pain.” She stood up and looked regally down at him. “That’s what happens.”

“But… but… I’m not bad,” he’d whimpered.

“Not quite. But you’d better listen, Enitan, and you’d better do your job. And when you grow up, you’d better do what you’re supposed to. Otherwise the Judge is going to send you to the Downs.”

“Father wouldn’t let them take me!”

She shrugged. “Not now. But he’s old. He won’t always be around to protect you.”

And she’d marched out of his bedroom, leaving Enitan shivering in his bed. He’d had nightmares for weeks.

****

Chapter Three

When Enitan floated slowly to consciousness and felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, his first muddled thought was that he’d had a terrible dream like those from his childhood. There had been no murder, no Judge, no trip across the Reach. Now he would awake with a lover beside him, and perhaps they’d enjoy each other’s bodies before finding some breakfast.

But even as Enitan grasped desperately at those thoughts, pain washed through him, making him cry out. It felt as if every bone was broken and his skin scoured away. He registered the hard ground beneath him and the odors of smoke and something bitter.

The Downs. Oh gods, the Downs.

He shouted and tried to move away, but rough hands kept him pinned. “Stay still! You’ll hurt yourself.” The accent was strange to his ears, the vowels recognizable but a twist or two off true. A demon?

Enitan lurched again, creating a sharp agony despite his captor’s strong grip, and oh gods, he couldn’t
see
. “My eyes! Don’t eat my eyes!” Panicked, he tried to thrash free but was held fast.

“Ssh, ssh. You’re safe. Stay
still
.”

The voice was calm and deep and somehow reassuring, but Enitan knew it had to be part of the demon’s game: fool the captive into a false sense of security before inflicting more damage. Just as Minna had been unusually kind and attentive shortly before she killed their father. Even knowing it was hopeless, Enitan tried again to get away. But he was too badly hurt and the demon was far too strong, and Enitan eventually stopped struggling. “Go ahead, you bastard,” he whispered.

But the demon didn’t hurt him. Instead it settled a cool, damp cloth on Enitan’s forehead and traced its fingers gently over his cheekbones. Enitan wanted to flinch away, but the touch felt oddly good, as if each little stroke erased a bit more of his pain. The demon was chanting something very quietly. Enitan couldn’t recognize the words, but the tune was as soft and soothing as a lullaby. A spell of some kind, perhaps, but in his pain and confusion he couldn’t work out the advantage of that. He was already at the demon’s mercy.

His terrible agony softened at the edges and became slightly less jagged as the creature petted him, and the blessing of unconsciousness settled gradually over him like a blanket. Before he fell asleep completely, though, several droplets of liquid were squeezed between his slack lips.
Poison!
he thought, mindful of his father’s fate. But the liquid felt good on his parched tissues and tasted sweet, and anyway he hadn’t the strength to fight it.

The demon crooned an approving sound. “Good. Very good. Sleep now and mend well. I’ll have more for you when you wake.”

Enitan fell asleep wondering whether that was a promise or a threat.

****

He still couldn’t see when he woke up, and pain continued to wrack his body, but his head was slightly clearer. While he was definitely not on his own comfortable mattress, at least he wasn’t lying on the ground. He was on some kind of thinly padded mat, and he was naked except for the many bandages swathing his body. Including, he realized, a thick strip of cloth across his eyes. Perhaps he was blindfolded instead of blinded. That thought brought a small bit of relief.

Warm air felt good on his bare skin, and judging by the draft and the slight echoes of his breaths, he guessed that he was indoors. Although sharp medicinal scents pricked his nose, he no longer smelled the mingled reek of blood, shit, vomit, piss, and come. Someone had made the effort to clean him as well as bind his wounds. But why? So he would survive longer in order to amuse the demons?

He could barely move his arms and legs, and at first he thought he was restrained. But after a few moments he realized that his limbs had been splinted. Again, he didn’t understand.

He tensed as he heard soft footfalls approaching. Someone settled beside him with a sigh. “Did you rest well?” asked the demon. Enitan thought it was the same one as before.

Enitan tried to clear his throat. “What are you doing to me?”

“Healing you. Slowly, I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

The demon paused before replying. “It was that or leave you to die. I’m hoping you prefer this option.”

“But—”

“I have some tea for you. It tastes awful, but you need to drink it. If you can hold it down for a few minutes, I’ll give you some water after.”

Water sounded like heaven. And when the demon lifted Enitan’s head so he could drink the tea— which was vile— the creature handled him gently. Paintings of demons showed them with gnarled fingers tipped by vicious claws, but that wasn’t what Enitan felt. He hadn’t felt it earlier either, when the demon stroked his cheeks. Its hands had felt human.

The demon hummed its lullaby while Enitan drank, and after the tea was gone, the demon settled Enitan’s head back on the mat. Then it got up and moved around a bit, producing quiet homey sounds— the small clatter of dishes and the little thuds of objects being moved from one place to another. Water gurgled as it was poured. The demon sat beside him and again lifted his head. Nothing had ever tasted as wonderful as the next few sips of cool water.