Unholy War (27 page)

‘Do it yourself, whore,’ Wornu sneered, still facing Zaqri nose to nose.

Cym’s temper flared. ‘I’m no one’s whore, you oversized bullock.’

Wornu’s face turned ugly. ‘Bullock? Zaqri’s the one who’s been gelded!’

Zaqri shoved, Wornu shoved back, and Cym was confronted by an advancing Hessaz, her panther head full of teeth. She backed up, ready to fight there and then, when an old man stepped between them. Tomacz, a pack elder. To her relief, Hessaz stopped and her head returned to something mostly human. That didn’t prevent violence breaking out between supporters of the two contenders behind them, and Cym noted with alarm that Wornu appeared to have at least as many behind him as Zaqri did.

‘Peace!’ shouted Huriya. She strode between the two men and with a double-handed gesture threw them apart. ‘Enough, I say! A leadership challenge is one thing, but a brawl is intolerable!’ She looked at Wornu, taking the stance of disinterested outsider. ‘You must make your challenge or withdraw your words, Wornu.’

‘
A challenge! A challenge!
’ the call went out again.

Hessaz pointed at Cym. ‘This creature has bent your horn,’ she rasped at Zaqri. ‘Give her to us and we will withdraw the challenge.’

A growl rose about her and Cym could feel the raw hostility all around her: she was a mage, she was an outsider, she was a threat to pack unity. There were no friendly eyes, no sympathy anywhere. Even Zaqri, beloved as he was by many, could not change centuries of hatred.

He’ll have to sacrifice me or face death …

Sensing the mood, Wornu spoke again, his booming voice filling the dell. ‘Feed her to a deserving recipient, to strengthen the pack!’

Zaqri snarled. ‘She’s my—’

‘Yes? She’s your
what
, exactly?’ Hessaz enquired. ‘You won’t kill her and you won’t fuck her. So what is she?’

‘She is my ward,’ Zaqri maintained, but his posture was defensive now. ‘She does not come between me and my duties as packleader.’

‘Does she not?’ rumbled Wornu. ‘Yet here you are, a packleader without a mate, and she is your constant companion. Your
chaste
companion. Tell me she has not emasculated you, Brother.’

Zaqri’s chest swelled and his chin rose. His eyes blazed. ‘Refusal to rape a prisoner is not a sign of weakness,
Brother
.’ His eyes flickered to Hessaz. ‘Perhaps a man who is being led by the balls is the one who is emasculated.’

Wornu bared his teeth. ‘I am my own man, and my woman gives me strength. She does not undermine me as your woman does.’

‘Cymbellea is not my woman. I have no woman.’

‘No, you do not.’ Wornu sighed as if filled with regret. ‘A packleader with no woman is half a man.’ He spat on the ground at Zaqri’s feet. ‘Emasculated.’

Zaqri stared at the blob of spittle as the rest of the pack sucked in their breath and backed away. ‘Do you challenge me, Brother?’

‘You are my brother no longer,’ Wornu said in his deepest bass. ‘I do challenge. My mate and I, Hessaz of Gorsh, give formal challenge.’

Zaqri’s face fell and he said sadly, ‘Wornu, you and I have fought shoulder to shoulder for decades. This is not worthy of you.’

Wornu wrinkled his nose as if from a bad smell. ‘Are you afraid? It is not fitting for a pack leader to seek to avoid a challenge.’

Zaqri growled. ‘I’m not afraid of you, Wornu.’

‘Then you’re a fool.’ Wornu tapped Zaqri in the middle of the chest. ‘Let us resolve this, Brother. Step into the Noose and we will make a swift end.’

The pack inhaled as one, eyes flickering from one man to the other. Then Hessaz stepped behind Wornu and gripped his shoulder. ‘I stand with my mate in the Noose and stake my life,’ she cried.

‘My mate and I against you and yours,’ Wornu said to Zaqri.

Hessaz sneered. ‘Except he has none. Or so he says.’

What’s a Noose?
Cym wondered as she looked from man to man. Wornu was bulkier, heavier, and more thickly muscled, but Zaqri was taller and faster. But there was also Hessaz, probably as dangerous as Wornu in her own way. Two against one.

And if Zaqri dies, I’m next.

Cym swallowed then, as if in slow motion, she reached out and gripped Zaqri’s thick bicep in her right hand, mirroring Hessaz’s posture. ‘I stand with Zaqri in the Noose,’ she said as loudly and firmly as she could. ‘I stake my life.’

11

Social Organisation Among the Dokken

Whatever reaction Cym might have expected from her sudden pronouncement, derisive laughter wasn’t it. Even as Zaqri threw a startled look over his shoulder at her, Huriya’s harsh cackle filled the circle of close-pressed Souldrinkers.

‘No, girl.’ Huriya swayed into the space between the combatants, her sheer presence enough to make even Wornu and Zaqri take a step back. ‘The word is
mate
: to us this means married in the eyes of the pack. There has been no such ceremony. Even mated at all would be a start, but you’ve not even done that.’ A malicious titter ran through the gathered pack.

Zaqri looked at her, fully aware of what she was doing.

She read in his face that he knew this too.

she pleaded silently.

Zaqri looked at her in silence, then away. Finally he looked around until he spotted the nearest elder. ‘Tomacz,’ he said, ‘a couple have the right to wed at any time, is that not so, Eldest?’

Tomacz frowned, his eyes flickering from Zaqri to Wornu to Huriya. ‘It is so,’ he admitted.

‘Pah!’ Wornu exclaimed. ‘This weakling desperately seeks a woman to die with him. Craven bastard, seeking skirts to hide behind! To think we ever supported you!’

The pack hissed in agreement, and Cym felt the antipathy of the pack towards them rise to new levels. She could feel it: Zaqri’s reign was over, whether he defeated Wornu’s challenge or not. He’d lost their respect, because of her.

Zaqri raised his head. ‘Nevertheless, if she wishes it, I would wed her.’

More hissing, more anger. ‘You pollute us!’ someone shouted. ‘She’s a damned mage-blood!’

‘Forbid this, Eldest!’ another called. ‘It is a mockery! Let the coward die alone.’

Tomacz roared for silence. ‘They have the right to wed! Nothing forbids it!’ He looked like he wished there was. ‘Though it brings us all shame, they do so!’

This brought howls of derision. ‘Zaqri is soul-kin to you, Tomacz!’ Wornu bellowed. ‘You favour his cause!’

Hessaz stepped in front of her man. ‘No, no! Let the girl pretend to be his. Let her fight!’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘She’s nothing! I’ll tear her apart.’ Her eyes burned into Cym’s. ‘I can smell her fear.’

Tomacz looked at Zaqri, then at Huriya. ‘Seeress?’ he said hesitantly.

Silence fell. Huriya preened, looking from Wornu to Zaqri to Cym. ‘Well, why not … ? One night of love before they die together. It sounds perfectly poetic to me.’ She looked at Cym with malicious eyes. ‘Do you claim the craven who slew your mother as your
beloved
husband?’

With her gnostic sight, Cym could see the aura-tendrils of the pack withdraw from Zaqri. He looked about him, his eyes bereft.

She nodded slowly.

‘Then, packmaster, you may claim her,’ Huriya pronounced mockingly.

Zaqri swallowed, still struggling at the withdrawal of the pack from his mind. It must have felt like an amputation. He swayed slightly, then turned and in a faint voice said, ‘I claim this woman, Cymbellea di Regia-Meiros of Rimoni, as my mate before the pack.’ His voice was disbelieving, as if his ears did not credit what his mouth was saying. Then, before she could react, he stepped forward and scooped her into his arms. She tried to wriggle free, but his arms were like vices, clamping him to her as the men and women of the pack gathered about, lust and hunger filling the air. No one asked her whether she was willing or not. ‘Tonight we will spend alone, as is traditional,’ he said, a jibe at Wornu and Hessaz for their ostentatious exhibitionism. ‘Tomorrow,’ he added, staring at Wornu, ‘we fight to the death.’

The pack yowled as he swung about and shouldered his way through them and out into the night. Cym felt like a child in his grip as he strode through the gathering. Hands reached out and touched her, some with pity, most with malice. Someone left four bloody lines down her thigh, then darted out of reach. A flicker of healing gnosis cleansed the wound, but there would be a scar. She winced, and glared into the shadows.

At the fringes, some pack-members shifted into animal form and began to howl.

*

‘Put me down!’ Cym said, kicking and twisting to get him to release her once they were alone. He did so: he opened his arms and simply dropped her to the sand. She hit the ground with a grunt, then bounced to her feet. ‘Who do you think you are, carrying me off like a bloody prize?’

He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Your mate, apparently.’ He looked more leonine than ever, his golden hair cast in silver by the giant moon above. The cooling air made her shiver, as did his luminescent aura, tendrils reaching out to her then coiling away.

She jabbed a finger at him. ‘You’re nothing to me but a shield from that poisonous bitch Huriya. I’ll help keep you alive for my own good, but after that, you’re going to help me find Alaron before Huriya does. She’s
evil
.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Evil? Really? Viciously ambitious, cold-hearted and childishly promiscuous, yes, but evil? What does “evil” even mean? Under most definitions all my brethren are evil.’

‘But she embraces it. You …’

‘Yes?’

She shut her mouth and faced him, wondering what to do.

All the nights lying near him pounded through her brain. Animal attraction, that’s what the other Rimoni girls of her father’s caravan would have called it, and they’d have been laughing at the little joke. She felt it, certainly; she knew it went both ways. But she finally had to admit the truth: it was more than that. She admired his demeanour, his strength, his fortitude, his bearing. He was a leader, for all his political naïvety. He reminded her of her father, the epitome of men in her eyes.
But he killed my mother
. ‘At least you fight your worst impulses,’ she conceded.

‘A fine epitaph. Would that all folk did the same.’ He sat, pointedly waiting until she joined him, defusing some of the anger crackling between them. When he spoke again his voice was softer, sadder. ‘I had the choice, when I found out what I was: to live with it, at the cost of the lives of others, or to kill myself. I chose to live. Do not underestimate the gravity of that decision. Some of our kind find it easy, others do not. Some of us like to think we’re part of Kore’s plan, others, that we’re Kore’s biggest mistake. I choose to regard myself as a predator, like a lion. I do not question the right or wrong of it. I was born as I am. Philosophers can chew that over until their teeth fall out, but I can’t be bothered. I am a lion and I choose to eat. If human life is so precious, why do I exist?’

It might have sounded arrogant, except that his voice was so humble and full of regrets. She had no doubt that he meant it – or that he suffered, despite it. She’d observed that he appeared to be judicious in his hunting and sparing in his use of the gnosis. He was both pitiable and fearsome, and almost impossible to hate, though she was still trying.

‘If we find the Scytale, maybe it can cure you all?’ she suggested, trying to placate him.

‘That can happen with or without me.’

‘I don’t want Huriya and Wornu to find Alaron – they’ll just kill him. He’s my friend, and I led him into this. It was my stupidity that led Huriya to the island. I have to stay alive to help him, and for now that means helping you.’

‘Very well.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Girl, tomorrow they will check you again, and if we are not mated, then you will not be eligible to fight.’

She flinched, nervous again. ‘I don’t understand you. You were married to Ghila for so long, and now, after just a few months, you’re ready to move on – and don’t tell me you’re only doing this because you must: you’ve been giving me hot eyes from the day we met. Are you really so fickle?’

‘I am not fickle,’ he said forcibly. ‘Ghila meant much to me, but we were not truly a love match. I resolved to defeat the previous packleader, a vicious brute, and I needed a strong woman to fight alongside me. Ghila was that woman. We learned to be mates, as best as two people thrown together by circumstance can.’ He looked at her intently. ‘I will not speak ill of her, but she and Hessaz were twins, in body and in soul: loyal if placated, cruel if thwarted. But Ghila is dead now and life continues.’

‘So I’m just the next convenient woman?’

‘No! You are the most inconvenient woman there has ever been! Beautiful, fiery, stubborn, clever, determined – all that I might have wanted, yet I meet you on the wrong side of a war and find you are magi. And then there is the blood-matter between us. If there was ever a woman I should not lose my heart to, it is you. But hearts do not listen to reason.’ He reached out, touched her arm. ‘There is something about you I need, and even if Ghila still lived, I would crave it. I don’t even fully known what it is, but I’ve risked everything for it.’

It felt as if the night had suddenly drawn breath. She tore her eyes away, heart pounding, and sought the face of the moon for guidance.
Mater Luna, patron of lovers … What do you want of me?

The moonlight revealed nothing except the land around her: a desert, but teeming with secretive life: birds and insects and snakes and lizards and all manner of creatures, fighting and mating, a quiet and desperate dance of survival.
Live
, it said.
Create life. Fight to go on
.

Thank you, Great Goddess.
She clasped his hand. It was big and warm. ‘Do we have to do it in front of everyone?’

‘No. Hessaz and Wornu were showing off, making a point.’ He stood and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come.’

He led her to the tent where she normally slept alone, but this time he entered as well, immense in the tiny space. He knotted the flap closed and all at once they were lying alongside each other, inhaling each other’s breath, thighs and shoulders touching through their thin cotton clothing.

‘I know what happens,’ she whispered. ‘I lived in a travelling caravan. No one has secrets. Not like your pack, obviously, but …’

He put a hand on her cheek, stroked it, went to kiss her.

‘No kissing,’ she said firmly in a low voice. ‘This is not about love.’

He stopped, pulled away, gave her room to tug off her tunic. He did the same, and immediately he thickened and became erect. She rolled onto her back on the rough blanket and he followed her and gripped her shoulders as he propped on his elbows above her. Her mouth forbidden, he kissed her left breast, above her fluttering heart, his hot mouth enfolding her nipple. A flush of heat swelled through her, as if her soul were being drawn into his mouth. It felt too good to ignore, but the sensation frightened her too. ‘Is this how Nasette was changed?’ she whispered, scared now and unable to conceal it.

He raised his head from the engorged nipple. ‘No. That is a matter of the gnosis, not of mating.’ He bent to her other nipple, brought it to the same bursting wonder as the first. His right hand slid over her thigh, stroked her mound.

‘No – don’t touch me.’

He frowned. ‘It will be easier for you if I stimulate your passage.’

‘I don’t want it to be easy. I don’t want to enjoy this.’

Zaqri looked stung, but he lowered his hips to her, engulfing her as she opened her thighs to receive him. He was twice her bulk and his weight pushed the air from her lungs, and as the tip of his member found her folds and pushed inside, her body stiffened. He worked himself slowly inwards, grunting softly, trying to ease his passage, and she gritted her teeth at the painful intrusion.

‘You are wet inside,’ he whispered in her ear, then went all the way in. Something tore painfully and she jerked beneath him and shook until the ripping sensation passed. He began to thrust, his member immense inside her, like a spear stabbing her slowly towards a kind of death. For a few moments they moved as one groaning, sighing thing, getting louder as his movements became more vigorous. She had to fight to breathe, but an animal heat was rising inside her that she fought to conceal. His face went wild and he gripped her harder, as he started thrusting faster and faster until he gave a soft, almost gentle moan and she felt him expend in her. His body quivered, the uncontrolled convulsion almost teasing a response in her, then he sagged, crushing her as she gasped for breath.

The thought came unbidden:
This should have been more than it was.

He lifted himself on his arms, though he stayed inside her, and stared down at her face. He looked like a demi-god. His heat and thickness inside her was filling her with a spreading warmth. Her hands involuntarily stroked his sides.

‘You are not hurt?’ he asked in a formal voice. She shook her head mutely and he pulled out of her and rolled to her side. Their bodies filled the small tent and the air was warm and close. He looked concerned for her, hesitant; oddly, that annoyed her. She liked him more when he was certain – she needed him to be so on the eve of a death-match.

‘Well, is that enough to satisfy the pack?’ she asked, her voice more bitter than she’d intended, and he flinched.
He wanted this to be perfect and I’ve ruined it for him.
There was no pride in the realisation.
And tomorrow we’ll most likely die together …

‘Yes.’ He looked down at her, his face hardening. ‘Do you know how the ritual challenge works?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

He nodded towards the flap. ‘Follow me.’ He crawled outside, unconcerned at his nudity.