The Wraeththu Chronicles (113 page)

"Not yours, Jafit."

"Be quiet. You are surrounded. You have no chance. Just hand him over, Calanthe, and I might, just might, let you off with a thorough beating.

"What, and then let me go free?" I laughed in his face. "You can dropdead, pimp! Both Panthera and myself will die before you take him back to Piristil!"

"Oh, how touching," Jafit said, nastily.

I realized that, by this time, Panthera and Kruin must be awake, but were obviously lying low, waiting to see what would happen. I was not entirely sure how I felt about that. Support would have been most welcome at that point. Jafit, barely able to suppress his nauseating, triumphant leer, clicked his fingers and five hara emerged fully from the cover of the trees, to stand menacingly beside him and around me. Three of them were Mojags, one of these was Outher. Outher stared at me blankly, obviously still raw from my betrayal. I had hoped never to see him again, mainly because he was not a bad sort, and I knew I must have hurt him.

"Search the area!" Jafit ordered, with a tasty mouthful of satisfaction.

"That won't be necessary, Jafit." The voice was cool, and there was Panthera with his back to the fallen pine, looking as mean and deadly as a she-cat about to defend her young. He held a slim-barrelled gun in his hands, which was pointed directly at Jafit's head. Jafit looked thunderstruck with surprise. Was he really so stupid that he thought Panthera couldn't defend himself away from his chains? The Mojags scorned firearms, but the other two (who were deducably trackers) quivered to draw their own. "Tell them to be sensible," Panthera said, still clear, still calm. He must have felt wonderful in those moments. Jafit didn't respond, but the trackers lowered their hands anyway. "Kruin!" Panthera called. "Get the weapons." Like a shadow, forest-creature that he is, Kruin slipped past us. Jafit's hara made several disgruntled protests as he took their knives and guns. The Mojags also had axes and slim, whip-like swords, which must look rather incongruous in their large paws. Kruin looked up and smiled at me.

Too late, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the quick gesture that Jafit made, and that was when Outher, obeying some subtle command, decided to become a hero. With a roar, he jumped Kruin from behind, his large, lithe body covering several yards in one leap. Panthera should have shot him immediately. He didn't. I don't know why. He'd kept his head until that moment. Outher was much taller than Kruin; an easy target. Instead, incensed by whatever inner rages were motivating him, Panthera decided to empty the contents of the gun into Jafit's brain. Jafit fell to the ground, grunting in surprise. One shot would have been enough at that range.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed. "Stop it! There are five of them!"

Panthera remained staring at the twitching body of Jafit. The gun smoked in the chill air. Behind us, Outher and Kruin grappled noisily, though Kruin's cries were from pain and frustration. Outher's from glee. The others were advancing warily, perhaps unsure whether Panthera, in his new role of mad, indiscriminate killer, had any more weapons on him.

"Panthera!" I cried again. He seemed to shake himself, wake up. "The others!" I said, gesturing wildly.

"Oh, the others," he said and raised the gun, but of course, the barrel was empty and all the spare ammunition was beneath the tree. Outher threw Kruin, coughing, to the ground, where he lay groaning, knees to stomach. Outher appeared to have assumed leadership of his fellows.

"Bring Calanthe to me," he said and stood back grimly, with folded arms, to let the others take us. We fought as best we could but, in our defense, I can only say that three super-fit hara of any tribe are no match for a single Mojag. They really are a mutated strain of the Wraeththu type. Panthera kicked up and out viciously, and was nearly always on target, but free from the influence of Diamanda, they could shrug off his assault as if it was merely the brush of an insect's wing. I can remember clearly a pretty array of stars exploding inside my head as a Mojag fist (it felt three feet wide) smacked me heartily in the face. After that, things get a bit muzzy for a while.

Jafit's party must have made camp farther away from the road. When I came to my senses again, I found myself lying in a heap on the floor of a large, leather tent. It was quite warm and pungent in there. For a moment or two, I couldn't remember what had happened to me, then I became aware of the lumbering presence of Outher as he squatted beside me. The light inside the tent was dim and brownish, but I knew it was him. He was indistinct, but there was no mistaking the hostility of his manner. I pulled my aching bones into a sitting position. "Any chance of a drink?" It was difficult to speak. My face felt several sizes too large for my head. Outher did not answer me. It was clear that, as far as he was concerned, I was merely a wayward whore who had stepped above his station, fit only for the dubious practices of pelcia and chaitra. I could see he was regretting ever having offered me a way out. He'd misjudged me and that had made him angry with himself and me. He'd treated me with honor, which had been wasted. I was only a thing to be used. Never speaking, he lunged toward me,

throwing me backwards, ripping at my bruised body with steel, wounding paws. I struggled gamely, calling on every forgotten god I could think of and screaming out withering curses, but it was all to no avail. Tense against his brutality, I felt my flesh tear. I don't know whether he intended to kill me or not, but it was one of the vilest experiences I have ever lived through. In the back of my mind lurked the horrid, saintly thought that this was something I'd deserved for a long time. As a Uigenna warrior, I'd thought nothing of violating those weaker than myself. Self-loathing, pain, and fear of death do not make a palatable cocktail.

When Outher threw me away from him like a used rag, I was weeping uncontrollably, blood and snot and tears hanging from my face in strings. It was the absolute depths of the abyss. He threw a cupful of water over my head, which brought me to my senses a little. It was too painful to wipe my face. I sat up, knees to chest, dazed, yet aware that something terrible was over. Outher was fastidiously rearranging his clothing. "Where are the uvvers?" I croaked. He did not answer. "Outher?"

He turned and looked at me, perhaps surprised to see that I was not as beautiful as he'd once thought. He had no words for me though.

"C'n you really blame me for what I did?" I said. "If you'd 'ad any sense you'd 've done the same thing, years ago. Panthera's fam'ly'll pay 'ighly for'is return."

Outher stared at me stonily. "Panthera will be returned to Piristil now," he said.

I made an exasperated noise, which had me wincing in agony. It was becoming more and more difficult to speak as my face swelled with every second. "What for?" I asked, in a muffled voice. " 'Afit 's dead. Surely, 'n mos' people's eyes Piristil 's no more."

"In most people's eyes, Piristil is now Astarth's," Outher said, "and I have no doubt that he will continue to pay my wages just as Jafit did. Panthera earns a damn sight more for Piristil than his family will ever pay for his return, I can assure you."

" 'Ot abow moral obligation?" I managed to gobble out. It was surprising Outher understood me, but he did.

"Oh, and what can you tell me about that, Calanthe?" he asked meaningfully. The silence was tense.

" 'Ot're goin" t'do wi" me?" I mumbled at last. " 'Ot abow Kruin?"

Outher finished lacing his shirt. He paused to consider before answering. "You will be bled to death. Both of you."

"What!" Despite the pain, I couldn't help bubbling out an uncontrollable laugh. "Bled t'death? You serious?" I couldn't believe it.

"You want reasons, Calanthe? Shall I jog your memory? First," he held up one finger, "you have abducted a slave. Two," another finger, "you have murdered your employer ..."

"No, Thea 'id dat," I interrupted.

"Two, conspired to murder your employer."

"Bullshit Outher!" I exclaimed, with remarkable clarity, but still emitting a spray of red-mottled saliva. "You're goin' t'kill me 'n yer own c'lorful way 'cause I ... I ... you . . . hurt!" My garbled speech, (which was probably even less coherent than I have related) dissolved completely. Before I could utter further painful truths (in both senses), Outher knocked me backwards with his foot.

"Quiet, Calanthe. If you annoy me again, I'll just have you tied to a tree and leave you to starve to death, if the cold doesn't finish you off first, of course."

"Kruin ..." I said. "Why? 'Ot's 'e . . .?"

"I just don't like him," Outher said, as if that was a grand and flamboyant thing to say. He put his booted foot on my chest.

"The Aghama has given you a fine body, Calanthe," he said. "It is almost a pity to take its life, but then it will serve as a splendid sacrifice!" He snarled and walked out of the tent.

I longed to throw some smart remark out behind him like, "You're lousy in bed, Outher!" but it was too much effort. I heard him laughing as he ducked beneath the door-flap. Obviously, his friends were waiting outside. I lay on the floor for a long time, until I started to feel really cold. All the adrenaline had gone. I tried to sit up and my head protested with a furious swipe of pain. Squinting, I looked for my clothes. They were nowhere to be seen. The tent was virtually empty. I wrapped myself in the rough blanket of Outher's bed and staggered, nearly bent double, to the door-flap. All I did was lift the leather curtain a little before some over-conscientious guard outside slammed a gun butt down on my wrist. Cursing unintelligibly, I retreated like a beaten animal to the bed and eased myself down. Where were the others? Had they suffered similar abuses to my own? I desperately needed a drink and there was no more water. Outher had made sure of that. I needed to rest but my mind was too hectic. When was our execution scheduled to take place? How much time had we got? What, in God's name, could I do about it?

I fretted alone for what seemed hours, but which was probably just minutes, before the door-flap was lifted again and Outher's statuesque frame was silhouetted against the light.

"Right you; outside!" he ordered.

"Don't you mean 'outside please'?" I managed to inquire with quite a steady voice, whilst lurching to a swaying stand. "Where are your manners, Outher?"

In reply, he grabbed hold of my arm and hauled me out of the tent behind him, blanket trailing. He took me a short way to a small clearing in the trees, where the snow beneath our feet was muddied. My legs could not work; I let him drag me. In the clearing, looking embarrassed, and blue with cold, a defiant Kruin stood naked facing the Mojags and the trackers. One of the Mojags was restraining a bound Panthera by holding onto his luxuriant hair. Outher threw me into the clearing and Kruin broke my fall, he bent to help me up. "My God, Cal, you're . . ." He waved a fist at Outher. "Bastard!" he screamed, following that with a colorful string of profanity. The Mojags laughed. Outher sauntered over to Panthera and grabbed his gagged chin in his huge hand.

"Now, little cat," he said, "we're going to have an entertainment. Hope you're not squeamish; it's especially for you. In your honor. Now make sure you watch it."

Panthera moaned and writhed, helpless. A tracker and a Mojag hauled Kruin and myself over to a large tree. Our hands were tied and the rope nailed to the trunk, so our arms were above our heads. As they secured the nails, Kruin said, "I've heard of this; it's a popular method of execution in Mojag."

"Does knowin' that help us?" I burbled weakly.

"No." Kruin's voice was tight. I think he was afraid, although, strange as it sounds, I was not. Perhaps I was numbed by pain and wanted only to bo released from it, or perhaps it was because I have never been afraid of Death. There are far worse things in this world to fear. I was prepared for unpleasantness, the sensation of slipping away, even more pain, and wishedwe were being dispatched by a quicker method, but my mind was uncommonly calm. My life did not flash before my mind's eye, but I did think of Pell. I wondered if he was still watching me, whether he was writhing in anxiety because we were so far apart. Could he have done anything to help us? Perhaps these thoughts were what saved us; I don't know. A shining thought of Pell. But of course,

I'd had intimations of Gelaming proximity in the forest the day before, which I'd ignored.

Outher came toward us, showing us the razor-sharp knife with which he hoped to take our lives. It was all very solemn. No more laughter. I could see Panthera, dimly, struggling against his bonds. From far away, I could hear his muffled cries.

"Well, here we go then," Kruin said in a shaking voice. "See you on the other side, Cal. Better luck next time."

"Not till I've haunted these fuckers to death," I murmured. The blade touched my throat, forcing my head up. I closed my eyes. "Now," I thought. "This is it. Now. Everything for nothing. I've been such a fool. ... Oh God ..."

But the incisive kiss never got deeper. It was as if everything around me seemed suddenly to stop; no, not suddenly, it was more like a winding down, a film slowing down. I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't even breathe. I couldn't move anything, but it did not matter. There was no discomfort. It was not like being frozen, but like being utterly incorporeal and numb. My soul should be roaming free but it was trapped within my flesh. Astral traveling within my own body? An odd sensation. Is this death, I wondered. Was it that quick? And then I became aware of people around me; movement and voices. I became aware of the cold blade still pressed against my skin and then it was taken away. Breath shuddered painfully through my lungs, sucked in powerfully as if into a vacuum. A few seconds later and I could move again. I opened my eyes and then shut them again quickly. There was a raw shout that cried, "No!" Mine.