Nameless (6 page)

Then everything happened fast. Joshua, forgetting his injury, reached his arms above his head to stretch. He yelped in pain and yanked his arm back down, sending Zo’s tray clattering to the floor. Gryphon jumped awake and in a split second, had Zo’s back pinned against him, a blade pressed against her throat. His jagged breath blew past her ear.

“Stop! Gryphon, it’s all right. I just knocked over the tray.” Joshua had rolled onto his knees in bed.

And just as fast as it happened, the soldier lowered his arms and stepped away, looking around the room while blinking away sleep. “Sorry,” he mumbled, sheathing his dagger. He looked out the window and swore. “I’m late for training.” He grabbed a piece of bread from the ground—a portion of Joshua’s breakfast—gathered his pack, and sprinted out of the room.

Zo stared after him with her hand clutching her throat.

That evening, birds squawked in the rafters of the Nameless’ barracks. Women and children pulled off worn boots and layers of dirty clothes. They ate rations of day-old bread and bone broth as bland as tepid water and stone. The ragged Nameless moved in a sort of trance in the dim candlelight as they prepared for bed.

As tired as they were, everyone in the Nameless’ barracks had a smile for Tess. How could they not? She carried a certain joy with her even while she worked. In a few short days she knew almost everyone’s name and was a special favorite with the children. In contrast, no one said a word to Zo. She was not worked to exhaustion in the fields like they were. Some called her an “in between.”

It took Zo a while to learn that Nameless concubines who lived in the main part of the city were called the same thing. They were “in betweens” because even though they didn’t endure the rough manual labor that came with the life of a Nameless, they were still not members of Ram society. More to the point, they worked mostly “in between” the sheets of their master’s beds.

Zo had stopped caring about other people’s opinions long before passing through the Gate. She ignored sour looks from the other Nameless slaves as she massaged ointment into Tess’ blistered hands. The familiar motion reminded her of their mother tending to the afflicted back home.

Her mother.

She had poured a piece of her soul into every person who came through her door. All of Zo’s lessons had ended with the same speech.

“Remember, Zo. You must love them to heal them. Medicine can only take you so far.”

Even though she’d saved the redheaded boy from death, his healing wasn’t complete—the wound was not closing as it should.

Zo didn’t have her mother’s heart. She could never love a Ram, and yet how could she heal one if she didn’t?

You can’t love someone you hate.

Sooner or later, a Ram soldier would lie on her table and her disinterest would kill him. Then they’d come for Tess—

“It’s not so bad, Zo,” said Tess through a yawn. She always seemed to sense Zo’s mood.

Zo bit the inside of her cheek as she massaged her sister’s foot.

“Really, it’s not. They give us water and meal breaks. Some of the girls even get to rest up at the house.”

Zo’s head whipped up. “Never go into a Ram’s house, Tess. No matter what they offer you.”

“Why?” she asked through a yawn.

Zo tasted blood from inside her cheek. “Just promise me you won’t.”

Tess swayed with exhaustion. “I promise,” she mumbled just before dropping her head to the straw-stuffed mattress of her bunk. Her eyes drooped into instant sleep. Exhaustion.

Zo blinked hard to clear away the unwelcome tears. She worked into the night to erase the signs of labor from her sister’s hands and feet.

By the time she finished, her candle was the only one glowing among the stacked beds of the barracks, though an old woman the others called Ann still mumbled a string of nonsense to herself in the corner.

Zo used the dirt floor for a desk as she scribbled three copies of a message using parchment and ink stolen from the Medica. The candle sent ripples of ominous light over her words.

Laden,

My sister followed me. I’ve secured my post, but she is not safe. I can’t wait. Send your sign.

Peace

Zo studied the hurried writing, examining all the Kodiak characters for accuracy. Commander Laden wanted only to know that she’d survived. To test communication. But with Tess inside the Gate there wasn’t time to wait weeks before gathering intelligence.

Her hands shook as she rolled the brittle parchment into tiny glass cylinders stolen from the Medica.

When Zo was young, and life wasn’t a nightmare, she and Gabe used to sit and listen to the stories chanted by an old storyteller. One night, the old chanter told a tale about the old wars. About people who sacrificed their lives by carrying explosives on their chests to kill the enemy. Zo remembered moving as close to the fire as possible so not to miss a word. The concept of a person purposely giving their life for a war seemed too high a price to pay.

That was when the candle of hope still burned inside her chest. Things were different now. After the raid, she found herself envying those souls who’d found freedom in death. This mission was supposed to be her perfect ending. Taking her own life had always seemed selfish. Dying for the Cause … that was noble.

She’d never allowed herself to think about surviving this mission, but with Tess inside the Gate, the explosive was not strapped to Zo’s chest alone. She had to find a way to execute her assignment while keeping Tess alive.

Zo packed up the bottles and snuffed out the low-burning candle. She passed Ann—still muttering gibberish—as she fumbled for the only door in the barracks.

The cold wind cut through Zo’s thin, layered clothing as she crossed the main road and hiked into the thick shadows of the forest. At night it was easy to forget she was still within the fabled wall that separated Ram’s Gate from the rest of the region. The sickle moon provided little light as she approached the river. She hesitated for only a moment before tossing in the bottles. They were instantly absorbed in the black river that ran south under the great wall of the Ram. If these little bottles didn’t make it to Laden’s men at the dam, then she’d put Tess in danger for nothing.

“Please let no one see them.” She spoke aloud, but only to herself. God died five years ago, the night her parents were murdered.

The sun streaming through the small window of the Medica was too bright. Gryphon pulled the pillow over his head and showed the window his back.

“Wake up. Can’t you hear the bells?” said Joshua.

For a sweet moment, Gryphon imagined sleeping until his body woke him, not some bell or horn. But the sound coming from the square wasn’t the usual wake-up call.

Gryphon got to his feet and rubbed the sleep from his dark eyes. These nights with the kid were starting to wear on him. “It’s a little early for a prizefight, isn’t it?”

Joshua stretched to look out the window from his bed. “It’s never too early for a prizefight!”

Gryphon laughed without mirth. He’d never understood his clan’s fascination with sport killings. Where was the victory in defeating an untrained slave?

“Aren’t you going to watch?” Joshua said.

The bells beckoned everyone to witness the fight. It was Gryphon’s duty to watch the young Ram challenger take on the offending Nameless. It was said that the greatness of the crowd reflected the potential of the soldier. Still, Gryphon hesitated.

Joshua got to his feet and with uneven steps walked to the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said Gryphon.

Before Joshua could take a step past the doorway, the young healer had him by the arm and was hauling him back to the bed. Gryphon found himself smiling in approval. She was tougher than her thin frame suggested.

“You don’t understand, Zo.”

Gryphon cringed at Joshua’s use of the girl’s name.

“It’s a prizefight. It could be weeks before the next one.” Joshua struggled to escape her determined grasp.

“I don’t care if you don’t see another fight in your life. You’re not leaving your bed until that wound is closed and the infection is purged.”

Joshua’s lips jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “Talk to her, Gryph. Tell her I have to go.”

A scratchy baritone voice filled the room. “What is the problem here?” Gate Master Leon stepped through the door.

Gryphon moved in front of his open pack to hide the wooden eagle he’d spent the night carving. Ram didn’t typically waste time with such impractical things. Luckily, the Gate Master’s eyes were only for the healer. Gryphon cleared his throat to address his ranking superior. “The boy wants to see the prizefight, sir. His healer recommends he stay in bed.”

The Gate Master stepped up to the girl and used the back of his hand to caress her mud-caked face. Then, like the snap of a whip, he struck her. The impact sent her across the room. The girl fell to the floor and huddled in a ball. She clutched her cheek as blood wept from the corner of her mouth.

An impulse to snap Leon’s neck surged through Gryphon’s fingers. He squeezed Joshua’s bed frame until his knuckles turned white. Then he took a deep breath to calm his rage. Master Leon and every other Ram were entitled by law to treat this woman as they pleased. She was payment for the lives lost expanding and defending the clan. Livestock gained.

Gryphon knew what it felt like to take a hit from the iron-built Gate Master. Leon had been assigned to give Gryphon his annual beating the year he turned twelve. He hadn’t been able to walk without help for a week. The Ram had long believed the only way to produce brave warriors was to teach them about manhood from a young age.

Gryphon hated the system but couldn’t argue with the results.

Master Leon turned to Gryphon and smiled like nothing happened. “It’s unfortunate your boy got the Nameless healer.”

The Gate Master crossed the room and rested a heavy hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “He looks healthy enough to me. Let him watch the game. His own prizefight is only a few years away. He needs the exposure.”

Red splotches sprouted on Joshua’s face as he watched the healer cower in the corner of the room. “I’m suddenly not feeling well,
sir
. I think I’ll stay.” Gryphon hoped Master Leon didn’t hear the edge to Joshua’s voice. The boy didn’t want to find himself on the wrong end of Master Leon’s temper.

The Gate Master followed Joshua’s stare.

“Come, Nameless.” His boots
boomed
against the floorboards. “You don’t get the option.” He yanked her off the floor and launched her out of the room.

“I’ll be back.” Gryphon patted Joshua’s leg and left to follow the healer. Master Leon might be entitled to treat the girl as he wished, but Gryphon couldn’t ignore the need to make sure he didn’t take things too far. She had, after all, saved Joshua’s life.

The bells summoned Nameless and Ram alike. Nameless, because these fights were mandatory, Ram, because of the entertainment value. Gryphon arrived at the raised, square platform in the city center just behind Master Leon and the girl. Through the heavy layer of grit on her face, the healer’s features betrayed unique beauty. She had a small nose and a set of full lips that, at the moment, turned down as she leaned away from the Gate Master. Her ebony lashes matched the wisps of hair that often escaped her head wrap.

A new wave of lyrics came to mind as Gryphon studied her soft features. He yearned to hum the dark song as he walked through the thick crowd. Of course, he fought the urge. It wasn’t long before the rush of spectators carried the girl and Gate Master from Gryphon’s view. He had pushed up on his toes to spot the healer over the crowd when Ajax, his favorite brother of the mess, smiled and slapped him on the back. “Gryph! You look like hell.”

Gryphon laughed and half-heartedly slugged Ajax in the stomach. “Thanks.”

“The rest of the guys are near the front. Come on.”

Gryphon looked back to find the healer through the throng but gave up.

“Still baby-sitting the boy?” Ajax said as they walked.

Gryphon nodded. “It’s a place to sleep.”

Ajax shook his head, then his smile melted into a tight line. “I have a reason not to sleep with the mess unit. Sara’s going to deliver her baby any day now. You,” he stabbed Gryphon in the chest with a finger, “have no excuse.”