Shadow of the Horsemen (Kalie's Journey) (2 page)

Kalie headed off for the spring.

She found Varena in the grass, not far from the faint whisper of coolness that was the tiny spring. She was curled into a tight ball, lying on her side, and only faint, pathetic whimpers reached Kalie’s ears, though she was by then only a few steps away. Even when alone, it seemed, a good slave knew how to keep silent.

“Varena, what happened?” Kalie turned her over carefully, searching for injuries. One eye was swollen shut, and she had scratches on her face, and on her arms, where her robe had been torn. Kalie began to breathe again when she realized that none of the marks were serious.

For a frustratingly long time, the girl was silent. Only after Kalie began to gather up chamomile and some tiny healing flowers that grew in the shadows of the grass, and then pound them into a paste did Varena throw herself into Kalie’s arms and wail, “They took my necklace! The one that you gave me!”

“Shh, I know,” said Kalie. “Here, hold still.” She removed her veil and dipped it into the spring, then washed Varena’s injuries and applied the soothing, antiseptic paste. Varena’s sobs slowly abated into hiccups. “Why did they beat you so?”

Varena’s good eye opened wide. “I wouldn’t let it go without a fight!”

“That was silly,” said Kalie, marveling at the brutality that even children were capable of in this place.

Varena looked away. “I never owned anything like it before. And…I was afraid you’d be angry at me for losing it.”

“You thought I’d blame you for being robbed?” Kalie hugged the girl, careful not to hurt her further. “Why do people here always blame the victim?”

Varena didn’t answer, nor did Kalie expect her to. Finally, after making sure they both drank their fill from the spring she stood. “Come,” she said. “We must hurry to catch up with the others.”

“Do we have to go back?” Varena’s voice was barely a whisper. “Can’t we just leave? And go live among your people? You said we would!”

Kalie’s breath caught in her throat. Why had she promised such a thing? She was lucky to still be alive after such careless speech! She looked at Varena, noticing yet again how she stood on the brink of womanhood. And if her life as a slave girl was bad, the life of a slave woman was infinitely worse.

Kalie had been only a few years older than Varena when she had first been captured by this tribe and made a slave. She still didn’t know how she escaped; much of her memory was still a darkness lit by occasional nightmares. A few years after her escape, the tribe of Aahk had begun to invade her home to the west, with an interest in staying. Kalie, who had never fully recovered from her ordeal as their captive, knew only that she had to find a way to stop them. So she and group of women, possibly as mad as she no doubt was, had volunteered to be part of the tribute the warriors had demanded in exchange for sparing their town.

Kalie had believed herself safe behind her wall of hatred, and capable of doing anything she had to if it meant destroying these monsters. But then she had met Varena. It hadn’t taken the girl long to break down Kalie’s defenses, and now Varena was her daughter. There were days when all Kalie wanted to do was to take the girl and run back home to the Land of the Goddess, where she would never know the pain of rape, and slavery could someday be a distant memory.

But Kalie had come here to find a way to destroy this tribe. And already, with the coming of spring, there were rumors that she had to trace to their source: rumors of the king’s illness, and of a clan that had gone west on its own, seeking treasure and glory—without much concern that such actions without the king’s consent was treason.

Kalie knelt beside Varena and stroked her pale blonde hair. “I would have taken you and left when the rains stopped,” she said sadly. “And maybe I should have. But I have important work to do first, Daughter. Secret work. Then, we will leave together.”

“Do you really mean that?” asked Varena. “Or is it just another story? It’s fine if it’s just a story. I just want to know.”

This is dangerous! Kalie reminded herself. “If you’ll come back with me, and promise to keep it a secret, and promise me that you won’t strangle those horrible little brats in their sleep, then I promise we will leave this land before winter comes again.”

Varena giggled. “Did you really just call Maalke’s trueborn daughters horrible little brats?”

“Well,” said Kalie, helping Varena adjust her robe and straighten her veil. “Aren’t they?”

“I guess.” Varena looked around nervously, as if expecting lightening to strike. “But I never would have dared called them that. Even in my dreams.”

“Now you can,” Kalie said as they followed the dust trail raised by the large procession. “Just make sure you don’t say it out loud.”

 
They reached the caravan late that afternoon, during the last rest stop of the day. No one said anything, and Kalie wondered if two slaves might be unimportant enough to just slip away during such a time. Water and even food were plentiful in this season.

She wondered if that was how she had escaped the first time.

Kalie had learned so little of any use in her time with the beastmen. For three full seasons she had lived as a slave, seeking a way to prevent the nomads of the steppes from ravaging the peaceful Goddess-lands to the west. She had no idea if the other women who had volunteered to come with her on this mad mission were even alive. But Varena was. Kalie had promised her they would leave before winter. And with or without the secret to her people’s salvation, they would.

When the band set up camp for the night, Kalie decided to pursue the discussion that had been interrupted by Varena’s disappearance.

Tents were not raised during this journey. Rather, each family set up a hearth or a brazier for cooking, and the women and children slept beside it, rolled in their blankets. The men stood watch around the perimeter, sleeping in shifts on the grass beside their horses.

After helping with the meal and the clean up afterward, Kalie brewed a tea from the mint and chamomile that seemed to be growing everywhere. She added lemonbalm and willow bark to what she gave Varena and Cassia, for their calming effect, and the easing of aches and pains. This time, Cassia sang the praises of the tea, rather than complaining it tasted like horse piss, and claimed it made her morning sickness disappear. This brought several women over to sample it, including Brenia. Elka came as well, resentfully watching the two boys as they played in the grass with the other children.

She noticed Riyik nearby. He appeared to be the only warrior who was neither on guard duty nor engaged in what passed for socialization among the beastmen: dicing, drinking or weapon practice. He was, Kalie realized, trying to carve something from a piece of bone. He was watching his son as well, although trying not to be obvious.

“I wanted to ask you about what you said earlier,” she said to Brenia. “About why I don’t prefer this…new home over my old one?”

Brenia blushed slightly, but it was strongly evident in her winter pallor. “I meant no offense to your people, Kalie. You were obviously someone of high status among them, and would never insult their memories. But they sound like a weak people. Your men…” Brenia seemed to be searching for a polite way to say what she wanted.

None of the other women shared her compunction. “They were all a bunch of cowards!” said a burly woman with a huge pregnant belly and a son of four or five years playing nearby. “My husband told me about them!”

Kalie’s interest sharpened. “And what did he tell you…Kara?” she asked.

Pleased to be the center of attention, Kara spoke loud and fast. “That they know nothing of fighting! That they bow to women! That when our men fell upon them, they shit their pants and tried to flee!”

Many of the women were laughing or staring in shock, especially those from Boraak’s clan, who’d had no contact with any of the westerners over the winter. “That could never be, could it, slave?” shouted a young woman Kalie didn’t know. Her veil was thrown back to reveal golden hair, oiled with sheep’s fat. Jewelry hung heavily from her neck, arms and ears.

“Kara is correct,” Kalie said calmly. “And that is just one of the ways my people and yours are different.” The laughter and hooting grew loud and crude, but Kalie waited it out, pitching her voice to carry when she continued. “We value generosity and cooperation, not hatred and killing. We take pride in hard work and skill—not in stealing from others. If you were to visit my people, you would see women who walk without fear—“

“I walk without fear,” said Leja, the chief’s wife in a menacing tone.

Kalie met her gaze without flinching. “In my land, you could do so without needing to terrify those around you. And you could own more than you could possibly imagine—without having to fight and kill to get it.”

“Then how could it be worth having?”

Kalie smiled. “That, I suppose is another difference between our peoples.”

“This woman spins tales!” said another. “Everyone says she’s a gifted storyteller. But I think she’s just crazy!”

The woman beside Leja shifted her feet to better show off her beaded slippers and shot Brenia a malicious glare. “So much for your thought that this slave once held high status. People such as hers don’t even know what status is! If I came from such as they, I would certainly never speak of it.”

Kalie turned her smile upon the new speaker. “Yet another difference. You expect me to be ashamed of honor and decency. Just as I keep expecting you to feel shame for beating a twelve year old girl whose only crime was being raped by your monster of a husband—while she weeps for the family he has murdered!”

There was the hiss of indrawn breath. Kalie kept her gaze steadily on her opponent, and didn’t dare look at Cassia.

But the woman appeared more puzzled than offended. “What would you have us do?” she asked. “Roll over and let her have her way with our husbands? Hand her our tent and everything in them?”

“Oh? Is she having her way with your husband? I’d have thought it was the other way around. Or is it your custom to interpret shrieks of pain and terror as cries of victory?”

“Not all women are as unwilling as you were,” said Cassia.

“True,” said Kalie. “Yet many are. And many are children when they are taken, still reeling from the loss of everyone they loved. So tell me, women of Aahk: where is the honor in brutalizing a terrified child, whom your husband has just finished brutalizing? If she were your daughter, would you not at least hope she would find kindness and compassion from someone in her new life?”

“She really is crazy!” laughed Kara.

“Insults are easy, Kara!” said Kalie. “Especially when you lack the wit to answer my question! Or is it the ability to care for your children that you lack?”

There was hissing, but giggling as well, as Kara’s face turned an angry red.

“What would you have us do?” demanded Leja. “Beat our husbands instead?”

“That would be an excellent place to start—“ Kalie began

Brutal laughter and a child’s scream put a stop to the discussion and caused the women to look to see what was happening.

Kara’s son stood over a fallen Yarik. “Cripple!” he shouted. “You’ll never be a warrior!”

“You’ll never even be a man!” shouted an older boy joining into the fun. “We’ll have to geld you, like one of the—“

Brenia was on him in an instant, slapping the boy hard enough to knock him over. The other boy jumped out of her range, just as she turned to pick up Yarik.

Elka reached to help her, but Brenia slapped her as well. “It was your job to watch him!” she hissed at the negligent girl.

“Brenia shouldn’t have done that,” Cassia whispered to Kalie.

“Done what? Slapped the concubine or slapped the boy?”

“Both! Her husband is wild for Elka, who will try to supplant her as first wife as soon as she bears a son. She should not make such an enemy of her in public. And no mother will tolerate seeing her son slapped by another woman.”

“Even an older boy who harms a baby?” Kalie asked in disbelief.

“Boys of Aahk must fight their own battles.”

Kalie noticed Riyik watching the scene. He had made no move to intervene, nor did he follow Brenia and Elka as they hurried his son and his nephew back to their campsite. But blood dripped down from where his hand clenched the knife that moments before had been carving sheep’s bone. Riyik didn’t seem to notice.

Kalie lay in her furs in the darkness, wondering why she was suddenly awake. The stars told her that it was nearly dawn, but it would be some time before Altia declared the day begun with her usual round of curses and blows. All was quiet, but for the lowing of the sheep and goats, and the soft cawing of a crow.

Kalie sat up. It was too close to dawn for a crow…

A shriek split the night, and horsemen spilled into the camp. They carried torches. Suddenly, everything was burning.

Kalie sat in the middle of it all, as warriors shook off sleep and grabbed their weapons, while women and children ran screaming into the night. Some of the men who had been on sentry duty were already mounting an effective defense, but there were clearly more attackers than defenders. The battle seemed to be as chaotic as the women’s attempt to flee, and Kalie could see no safe place to hide.

Then she saw Varena running straight into the path of a charging horse, and her own safety didn’t matter. She wasn’t aware of moving; wasn’t aware of anything until the moment she landed on the hard earth with Varena under her and a horse leaping over her back.

“Are you all right?” she shouted over the noise, while the girl screamed hysterically. Varena seemed unharmed, but before Kalie could even begin to examine her, something tightened around her neck, stopping her breath.

She landed on the back of a horse, just as she realized it was her own felt robe that was strangling her. The pressure eased as her captor released her, the better to heave a spear with the hand he had used to snatch up Kalie, blocking an attack with his other.

“Not again!” Kalie moaned while the battle raged around them. She was aware that the stench emanating from this new
beastman’s
body was different from Maalke and the others, whom she had apparently gotten used to. She tried to sit up and figure out how she was going to get off this horse, but her captor only laughed and struck her hard enough to keep her slumped over the horse’s withers.

Kalie watched as the ground moved beneath her, back and forth for a while, and murky with smoke, then more quickly as the beastman urged his horse away from the ruined camp. This new group apparently had what they came for and now were leaving—taking Kalie and who knew how many others with them.

The smoke was gone, allowing Kalie to take a gulp of clean air. She had just decided to attempt a rolling leap from the horse, when the clatter of another horse chasing, then gaining on hers reached her ears. The horse beneath her slowed, turned, then reared up with an angry squeal. Kalie hung on, trying to choose the best moment to leap free, while the sounds of weapons clashing and men shouting filled the air around her.

Then there was the meaty thud of a spear striking flesh, and Kalie’s captor fell to the ground. The horse slowed to a stop, and Kalie slid indecorously down the other side of it—only to catch her foot in the stirrup, and find herself hanging upside down, her head just inches from the earth.

“Let me help you the rest of the way off,” said a man’s voice, rich with laughter. “You’re safe now. He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Back on her feet, Kalie looked down at the dead man. He was smaller and darker than the men of Aahk—and dirtier, if that were possible. He wore a combination of badly made felt and uncured animal skins.

She turned to the other man, and found herself staring into Riyik’s laughing gray eyes. He stood beside his horse looking proud and smug; he seemed to be waiting for something. For the woman he rescued to fall at his feet in gratitude, perhaps? Kalie felt a bubble of laughter at that. Then she realized how far they were from the camp.

“If you’re going to rape me, just get it over with!” she snapped hoarsely.

Riyik’s expression changed abruptly, and Kalie could have sworn he actually got smaller.

“I thought I just rescued you from that fate,” he said quietly.

“Yes, and from what I’ve seen of you beastmen,” she spat the word, “that makes me your prize.”

“You belong to Maalke. He may choose to reward me for saving you—although why he would want to is beyond me at the moment. But I don’t assume any liberties beforehand.”

“Well, aren’t you just the noblest beastman!” Somewhere inside, Kalie knew she had lost her last connection to sanity—but she couldn’t have stopped herself if the Goddess Herself commanded it.

Riyik seemed more puzzled than angry. “Actually, I think I am. Most women would show some gratitude after such a rescue—and few men would have this much patience for your reaction.”

“Gratitude!” Kalie was more than spitting—she was nearly foaming at the mouth. Maybe she could pass off her behavior as rabies. “You think being beaten, raped and enslaved by your people is somehow better than being beaten, raped and enslaved by his?” She gave the corpse a vicious kick. It felt wonderful.

Riyik took a step back. “You were putting up an impressive fight. I thought you didn’t want to go with him.”

“And since when does what any woman wants matter to one of you sick, Motherless bastards?” she demanded.

The renewed sounds of battle drew their attention. Riyik mounted his horse in a graceful leap. “Others may be more needful of my help. It seems clear you can get back to camp safely by yourself—although I pity any enemy warriors you meet on the way.” He wheeled his horse and raced back to the battle.

Kalie returned to camp just as the battle was winding down.

The enemy—of her enemies, anyway—was apparently one of the outlaw bands who had decided to take a chance on a pair of small, diminished clans. As she wandered through the ruined camp, past bodies strewn on the ground with little ceremony, and the booty of very poor horses, weapons and women gathered and guarded in a more organized manner, Kalie could see what a prize the Aahken clans must have seemed to the outlaws.

It was only later, as she noticed that there were more Aahken warriors rather than less, that Kalie discovered the cause of such a decisive victory: the arrival of a third clan. Zavan and his warriors had arrived in the midst of the battle, turning the tide, if not exactly saving the day. Kalie could almost hear the stories that would be told around the fires tonight: the savage attack; the heroic stand of the badly outnumbered Aahken clans against the ruthless enemy; the divinely timed arrival Zavan’s clan….Perhaps she should throw together a story herself, now that she knew what the men liked to hear.

If she survived whatever retaliation Riyik was planning.

She took in the devastated camp-site, the wailing women, the grinning and shouting men, the piles of bodies, the stench of smoke and blood and death, and for a moment, felt invisible. As if she could just disappear into the smoke and find her way to someplace else.

The feeling was shattered as Varena came running through the trampled grass. Kalie barely had time to brace herself before the girl came barreling into her arms, laughing and sobbing. “Irisa said she saw you taken! I was afraid I’d never see you again! I…”

“Shh, it’s all right.” Kalie murmured reassurances to the one person she realized did care what happened to her. It struck her then just what it would have meant for Varena to have lost Kalie today. Strange, how a simple act of kindness, hardly noticeable in her own world, could become so complicated in a place like this. She could pretend to Riyik that it made no difference to her which tribe made her a slave, but as she stood comforting Varena, and belatedly wondering at the fates of Cassia and Brenia—two women who had been kind to her against all need and custom—she knew it wasn’t true.

And then Cassia was there, shouting her gratitude to the gods that Kalie had been rescued, but there was work to be done, and she’d better start rounding up their scattered flocks. Then Altia joined them, ordering Kalie to check their gear for damage, with no shouts of gratitude but quite a lot of cursing. Just when it seemed things couldn’t get any more chaotic, the women, children and flocks of Zavon’s clan—who had been left to make their own way here after their warriors had ridden a break-neck pace to reach their beleaguered brothers—arrived, ready to fight with the women who were already established for a good place to camp and access to fresh water.

Suddenly Kalie began to laugh. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t care. It was just that everything—even her great mission to save her people—seemed…silly. Unreal. As invisible as she herself had felt earlier.

The men, busy dividing up the spoils of battle, left the women to the job of rebuilding the camp. As evening fell, the three clan-leaders called for a feast to celebrate their great victory. A few skinny goats were killed, and what kumis remained was opened and shared.

This night, the men and women ate separately. Kalie was about to ask Cassia if this was because of the battle, or some other reason, when she heard her name called from the men’s side of the fires.

“A woman? Telling the tale of a battle?” she heard some warrior demanding as she reached their gathering

“You haven’t heard her,” Kahlar was saying. “Ah, Kalie! Come show these fools that in Kahlar’s clan, even the women are better storytellers than they!”

Grateful that she had given some thought to that very subject, Kalie moved to the center of the gathering and surveyed her audience. Most were drunk, or working on getting that way, but were still in the early stages. Not ugly yet, at least. Then she noticed a low, animal-like moaning coming from just beyond the firelight punctuated by even more animal-like laughter, and revised her opinion. The only survivors of the outlaw band—four or five
half starved
women—were providing entertainment for the victorious warriors.

Then Kalie turned away, willing herself not to think about it. These men were waiting for entertainment from her as well, and she ought to be grateful it was of another kind. If she was lucky, they might settle for stories.

Wetting dry lips with a dry tongue, for no one offered her a drink, Kalie began, pitching her voice to carry over the festivities. “It was on a day in early spring, when the two mightiest of the clans of Aahk were on their way to the great summer gathering that they were set upon by savage men who knew no honor…”