Nameless (2 page)

The moment was as sweet as it was brief. But it was hers.

Deep-voiced drums boomed and the enormous gate rose inch by inch. Men shouted orders and whips cracked. Through the gap of the slow-rising gate she saw at least forty men in tattered animal hides with harnesses on their backs. They slipped through mud while struggling to turn a giant wheel connected to a thick chain to raise the gate.

The Nameless. The Ram had kept slaves for hundreds of years, some were captured, others came willingly, while most were born into the lowly title.

Instinct told her to run, but fear and determination kept her frozen in place. She locked the people she loved back into the cage that was her heart and prepared to face her enemy.

Zo pressed her nose into the icy mud in a show of submission. The drums ceased and the silence echoed in her chest like a painful heartbeat.

The metal of short swords clinked against armor as men approached. She peeked up to sight of a bald leader walking ahead of a wall of six soldiers. His cold eyes seemed too big for his head, protuberant like those of a frog.

“Get up,” the leader commanded.

Zo climbed to her feet but kept her gaze focused on the man’s fur-lined boots.

“State your name and clan,” he ordered.

“I am from the family Shaw of the Kodiak Clan,” Zo said, hoping her accent would pass. The Ram had raided one of the Kodiak settlements a few weeks earlier. Many of the women and children whose husbands had died in the raid would come to the Gate, choosing to offer themselves as slaves over watching their children starve to death.

The leader circled her. “Age?”

“Seventeen.”

A few of the guards in the line exchanged words. One laughed under his breath.

“You’re too thin to claim the Kodiak as your clan. Your jaw is more square than round.”

The sound of a young girl’s scream saved Zo from having to answer.

“Let me go! You’re hurting me!” the girl cried.

Zo froze.
It couldn’t be
…

A guard dressed in full armor carried the kicking child up the muddy hill and dropped her at the bald leader’s feet.

Zo’s whole body went rigid as her eight-year-old sister, Tess, scrambled up to hug her. “I’m so sorry,” Tess cried. She must have secretly followed them from the Allies, though how she survived the dangerous journey unnoticed was beyond Zo.

“Tess, I thought I’d lost you,” Zo stammered. She hoped her shock registered as relief instead of panic. “Don’t say a word,” Zo whispered in her ear as they embraced.

“Who is this child?” the frog-eyed leader asked.

“She is my sister, sir. We were separated. She found me.”

“Clearly.” He circled the girls once more then reached out and grabbed Zo by the throat, forcing her to the ground on her back. His lips brushed her cheek as he spoke. “How do I know you’re not a stinking Wolf? That you’re not feeding me some story?” His breath reeked of stale cabbage and rotten sausage.

Zo’s heels dug small trenches in the mud as she struggled against the hand tightening around her throat. Black dots invaded her vision.

The leader smiled and licked his lips as if she were his next meal. “We don’t allow Wolves through the Gate.” A string of spittle escaped his lips and landed on her cheek. “Ever.” He released his grip and Zo gasped for air.

Tess rushed to Zo’s side, her eyes wet with tears.

“With all of the clans mixing, it’s getting harder and harder to sort the wheat from the tares. I can’t take any chances … ” He shrugged and nodded to his guard. The men moved in, pulling the sisters apart. Tess let out a shrill cry. A guard struck her tiny cheek.

“Please!” Zo fought against firm hands digging into her arms. “I come from three generations of healers. My sister is learning too. We beg the mercy of the Ram, and pledge our lives to your service!”

The Gate Master held up a hand, and his men threw Zo to the ground. His round, glassy eyes stayed fixed on her as he grunted a soft command to one of his men. The soldier nodded, bowed, and ran back through the Gate.

“A healer, you say?” The corner of his lip pulled up to reveal rotting teeth as he smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

The cold air traveling over Zo’s skin smelled strangely mineral. She walked blindfolded with Tess in her arms, and the tip of a spear at her back. She memorized the turns as they prodded her forward, knowing it would do little to help if she couldn’t pass whatever trial the Ram leader had in store. The path sloped down and the moist air grew colder. Her foot caught on a rock and Zo fell to her knees, sending Tess flying into the darkness. Hands grabbed Zo’s collar and hoisted her back to her feet.

“Carry the small one,” the leader ordered.

“Zo?” Tess’ voice cracked, weak and distant.

“I’m here,” said Zo, straining to see through the blindfold. She didn’t want her sister to say more. Her accent might betray them both.

The ground leveled beneath them, and a guard yanked off the blindfold, taking a chunk of Zo’s dark hair with it. She didn’t cry out.

They couldn’t hurt her.

She looked at the limp form of her sister in the arms of a bare-chested Ram guard and crumbled at the contradiction. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. If only Tess hadn’t followed. If only …

Guards lined the opposite wall. Shadows from the torchlight made the scowls on their faces all the more sinister. Each carried a round shield at his back, a spear in hand, and a short sword at his hip.

A redheaded boy lay on a narrow bed in the center of the room silently weeping. His body was long, but judging from his young face, he couldn’t have been much older than twelve or thirteen. The deep wound just above his hip swam in dark red blood. He whimpered while biting down on a stick.

Zo didn’t ask questions. “I need blankets!” she yelled, as she washed her hands in a basin of scalding water. With pulsing, red hands, she took a stack of linens from a supply table and pressed it to the wound. The boy kicked and jostled.

“Hold him down or he’ll bleed out!” shouted Zo.

No one moved.

Two women in white robes came in through a different tunnel entrance carrying woolen blankets. When they saw Zo, they froze.

“Help me!” Zo snatched the blankets from their hands and rolled the boy onto his side. Lifting his legs, she wedged blanket rolls under his good hip. The redheaded boy cried out in pain but Zo needed to keep the wound above his heart. She wrapped a bandage around his trunk, keeping as much pressure on the open wound as possible.

The boy’s skin turned alabaster from blood loss. Zo yanked more blankets from the hands of the women, covered him up, and rubbed warmth into his arms and legs while muttering the words of one of her mother’s blessings. “Hold as still as you can,” she whispered into his ear. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

Zo approached the intimidating line of Ram soldiers. Each wore animal hide trimmed with fur. Thick leather straps crisscrossed their chests housing a variety of evil-looking weapons. “Where is my pack? It has the medicines I need.” The men barely moved, barely blinked, with hands clasped behind their backs like dangerous statues of unfeeling.

The bald leader shook his head. A taunting, wicked, grin stretched across his face. Tess whimpered from one of the dark corners of the cave. Water dripped from the jagged, rock ceiling. The quiet symphony of sounds and silence contrasted with Zo’s rapidly beating heart.

She swore and darted to the opposite wall where the healers stood just as still and lifeless. “Do you have any pseudo ginseng root?”

The aging healer looked over to the Gate Master, shook his head, and looked down at his hands.

So they would put this boy’s life in danger just to see if she would fail?

I shouldn’t be surprised.

Zo ran back to the steaming water and plunged four inches of her long braid into the basin. Sweat dripped from her forehead. She scrubbed the crusted mud from her hair and went to the closest soldier, holding out the dark braid. “Cut it,” she said.

His gaze swept over her body before fixing on her face. His lips curled into a crooked grin.

She hated when men looked at her that way.

“Cut it!” she yelled, eyeing the knife at his hip, wondering if she had any chance of taking it from him without meeting a quick death.

A young soldier to his left stepped out of rank. His long dark hair was tucked behind his ears, his brows knit together and a muscle in his neck leapt as he frowned. The unexpected flash of his dagger made Zo scream. A small segment of her braid dropped to the ground and the young soldier took his place back in line, ignoring the disapproving scorn of the Ram leader.

Zo gasped as she snatched up the braid. She stumbled over to the sink again to rinse the hair one final time to prevent infection. Convinced the hair was clean, she darted back to the boy and removed the crimson-soaked dressing from the wound. The blood had slowed, but not enough. He’d die if this didn’t work.

She shoved the hair into the wound and piled the excess on top.

The boy screamed then passed out.

Zo placed her hands over the mound of hair and uttered words of healing. The flame of her energy flickered as she willed the blessing to take effect. Her head swayed without permission as she reapplied a bandage.

When Zo finished, she slumped to the floor before they carried her and Tess away.

Joshua’s dried blood tugged on Gryphon’s arm. A deathly plaster, equal parts unforgiving and taunting. He scratched away at the memory of the ambush, the way young Joshua’s eyes doubled in size when the arrow entered his side. It was Gryphon’s fault. He’d let the kid come with his mess unit against his better judgment.

It was his fault.

Gryphon took the mountain trail home from the caves. He attacked the climb like he would any enemy. After the first mile his legs warmed. After the second they burned. He welcomed the dull pain creeping through his fatigued muscles. Pain equaled progress. With enough pain he might outpace his grief.

Joshua.

Gryphon sprinted the last hundred yards of the climb. The wind picked up as he reached the summit overlooking the ocean below. High waves crashed into the cliff wall. An arctic spray carried on the breeze, stinging Gryphon’s eyes.

He turned and showed the ocean his back, casting his gaze over the valley of the Ram. Wind whipped his dark brown hair and made the metal of his weapons
clink
together. From this view he could see far beyond the training grounds and housing complexes, past the fields where hundreds of Nameless bent over acres of dying soil. Even beyond the fabled wall of Ram’s Gate that corralled the vast lands of his people.

He felt powerful. In control.

Not like this morning when he couldn’t slow Joshua’s bleeding.

The twenty members of Gryphon’s mess unit were encouraged to sleep in the barracks, even though many of them were married men. Unity meant everything to a Ram mess unit. Gryphon abided this and every other command issued by his leaders with exactness. But tonight, the thought of facing his brothers of war with all their questions and condolences seemed too much.