Nameless (7 page)

“I’m all Joshua has,” said Gryphon.

Ajax gestured toward Zander who stood with arms crossed at the front of the pack. Serious as always. “Tell that to him.”

Drums pounded an echoing rhythm that vibrated deep within Gryphon’s bones. The crowd parted as a Nameless man was ushered to the platform. The shadows beneath his eyes made him look more tired than heated for battle. His black hair hung carelessly past his shoulders. His skin was like tanned leather, coarse enough to sharpen a dull blade.

As he stepped onto the platform a buzz of excitement ignited the crowd. Normally, a prizefight accomplished two objectives: first, it offered a young Ram trainee the chance to get his first real kill, second, it was a way to publically discipline the Nameless. But on rare occasions, a Nameless volunteered to enter the square. If he won he earned his freedom. If he didn’t, well …

“The Nameless isn’t bound!” said Ajax. “How long’s it been since a Nameless walked onto the platform without a spear to his back?”

Gryphon frowned. “Years.” He studied the man with new eyes. The Nameless was lean but not without muscle. He might have been tall without the hunched curve in his back. “I can’t decide if he’s suicidal or just a fool.”

“Flip a coin. I don’t know. Though I hope to hell he’s a fool. I’d love to see a good fight.” Ajax rushed over to another mess brother to hash out betting odds. Gryphon hadn’t seen him so excited since the day he discovered his wife was with child. He smiled at the memory: Ajax dancing around, pounding his chest like an animal for two solid days. The idiot was easy to love.

The young Ram challenger took the stairs of the platform two at a time. The seventeen-year-old called Sam, whose training was all but complete, accepted his training shield with a serious nod. He wore fur bands around his thick arms and forehead. His brown dreadlocks fell to the middle of his back; charms, beads, and animal teeth were woven into each knotted cord.

The crowd shoved closer to the raised square platform as the Nameless was armed with a sword and wooden shield. He would be young Sam’s first kill. The kill that would earn him his shield and entry into a mess.

Gryphon kept his attention trained on the hollow eyes of the Nameless challenger until a sobbing woman near the back of the crowd sobbed, “No! Don’t leave me, Jacob!” The older Nameless woman sank to her knees and wept for the man who must have been her son on the platform. Her screams echoed off the cobbles of the square as guards dragged her away.

Men all around Gryphon chuckled to each other and carried on with their bets.

Zo followed the Gate Master to the square in the center of town though she wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction. They cut through a thick crowd of Nameless who seemed to make up the back perimeter of the square. There was an obvious gap dividing the Nameless and the Ram who’d come to witness the fight. The closer they came to the platform, the more excited the crowd became.

The Gate Master stopped near a group of Ram boys and girls around Joshua’s age. Some play-wrestled while others stood on eager tiptoes to see the people on the platform. Zo’s stomach twisted as she followed their gazes. She’d always seen the platform as a place to avoid. Now she knew why.

The Gate Master grabbed Zo by the arm and yanked her in front of him. When he’d struck her at the Medica it was easy to play the victim, to stay down on the floor and even throw in a few whimpers. They liked it when you stayed down. But it wasn’t the hard touches that affected her.

The Gate Master’s hand moved up and down her waist, pulling her closer to him as he watched the two men prepare to fight. A bald Ram stood to address the anxious crowd. He was dressed like most men of his clan: fur-lined clothes and boots with a sword strapped to his side, as if carrying it proved his manhood. Fools.

“Today Samson Longshanks fights a Nameless to earn his shield. Let all who hear my voice bear witness.”

The Ram weren’t people of many words. They preferred to communicate with their weapons, or in the Gate Master’s case, their hands. The young Ram stood at one side of the roped-off platform while the Nameless challenger studied him from another. Judging from the subtle slant of his eyes and his straight, black hair, the Nameless looked more Raven than Kodiak.

Zo stood tall, but dropped her head as swords were drawn. The Gate Master placed a finger under her chin and gently lifted her gaze. His hot breath burned against her frozen cheek. “You will watch this.”

The men on the platform circled each other with arms extended. The Nameless did his best to maintain a careful distance from the young Ram. Zo’s heart beat faster, her stomach churned as she fought a rising panic. She’d rather be in the ring than watch it happen.

The Ram’s dreadlocks flew with life as he charged. Zo tried to look past the fight, beyond the high mountains in the distance. She tried not to hear the wail of pain as the Ram took his first slice at the Nameless man’s stomach. Or see the spray of blood as the Ram dragged his blade along his opponent’s throat. Most of all, she tried not to see the Nameless man’s final moments. The moments that separated him from life and death, when his eyes softened and his face relaxed into peaceful acceptance. When steam began to rise off his weeping entrails.

The crowd cheered. Zo vomited.

“You stupid girl!” said the Gate Master, wiping his hand on his shirt.

Zo hunched over and hugged her stomach. She couldn’t breathe.

“You disgust me.” The Gate Master shoved her from behind. She didn’t catch herself before crashing to the ground. “Get back to work!”

Zo rolled away before his boot met her side. She scrambled to her shaking feet and ran. The cobblestone road swayed. Her headscarf hung crooked. Half of her dark hair escaped and whipped her face. She stumbled down a narrow gap between two stone buildings and vomited again. With her arms wrapped around her shoulders, she melted down the side of the building and fought back sobs. She pressed her cheek to the cold stone.

Light flakes of spring snow fell through the ever-present haze.

Zo hadn’t cared enough to cry about anything for a long, long time, but seeing that man killed before her eyes brought back too many hard memories. Memories too close to a life she had known. A life she used to care about.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind her. “Are you okay?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Zo wiped the bile from her chin and carefully turned around to see Joshua’s mentor, Gryphon.

He looked the same as he had that morning. Tired from too many nights sleeping in a chair in the Medica. His long nose was slightly too wide, but his fierce jaw seemed to have been chiseled by a master stonecutter. Under the dark hood of his brows, the depth of his golden brown eyes drew her in. He stood with his arms hanging loosely.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. He took two steps closer.

Zo inched backward.

He stopped with hands extended, showing his palms as if she were an injured lamb he didn’t want to scare. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His head tilted like a curious child, but the sword on his belt was nothing close to a child’s play toy. She kept her distance.

“I’m sorry for—” His mouth hung open like there was more he wanted to say. He ruffled the dark hair on the back of his head. “Thank you for helping Joshua. You saved his life.”

Zo didn’t trust her voice. A “you’re welcome” should have come easily, but for some reason she could not tell this man, this killer, “you’re welcome.” The idea of being “welcome” was the last thing she wanted any Ram man to feel around her.

When she didn’t speak, he slowly turned and jogged away, likely off to lull some other Nameless into a false sense of security.

Zo and Tess sat together twenty yards off the road on the bank of a stream. Tess used her small hands to help Zo apply mud to her face. She took her time, making swirls and shapes that she said reminded her of cloud formations.

Even with her nose scrunched up in concentration, and her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, Tess looked like a little angel. Innocent and untainted by the evils of life. Unless Zo could help her escape the Gate, Tess would one day have to wear this mud costume. If she lived that long.

She bore the “pretty” curse too.

Unlike Zo, some of the Nameless women didn’t mind the hungry eyes of the guards. Some even welcomed them. Life for slaves inside the Gate could be easy if you were pretty. Better food. Better clothes. Better beds, once they left you there. That’s exactly why mud had become Zo’s best friend.

As a Wolf, Zo had to be especially careful to go unnoticed. The resentment between her clan and the Ram went deeper than blood or even food. It was an age-old feud between two powerful brothers that had fermented over hundreds of years. Though Zo couldn’t remember the details of the dispute—something to do with inheritance and land—she did understand the raids. The nights when Ram soldiers burned fields and killed Wolves who were outside the protection of the Valley of Wolves.

Every Wolf grew up on stories of Ram violence and evil raiding. Even before they could talk, they understood that the chilling sound of a Ram horn meant death and devastation. Boys became men at a young age, forced to join their fathers in defending the pack, then to take on the impossible role of protecting the family when their own fathers fell to the spear. Girls learned to hold their heads high with dry eyes, knowing that one day the mighty Ram would fall, just like a great moose falls to a pack of dogs.

When Tess finished her muddy masterpiece, Zo pulled her to her feet so they could head out for another day of work.

Tess kicked the same rock all the way from the Nameless’ barracks. Her light-blond ponytail bounced extra high with every stab. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Who’s staring?” said Zo.

The mud on Zo’s face stiffened with the dry heat of the morning sun. Baking ugly. They enjoyed a peaceful walk until Tess had to take the fork in the road that led to the farmlands. Her assignment.

Zo pulled her sister to her chest and squeezed. “Remember—”

“I know,” said Tess, counting off the details on her thin fingers. “Don’t talk to anyone about home. Drink lots of water. Don’t go into houses. Anything else?” she said, tapping her foot on the sticky road.

“I think that covers it. I’ll see you tonight.” Zo kissed her round cheek.

Tess’ ponytail bounced as she ran to catch up with the rest of the children. Zo picked at the raw nail bed surrounding her thumb and forced herself to walk in the other direction. Tess’ survival depended on Zo’s healing ability in the Medica and so far, things weren’t going so well.

The blunted sword grazed Gryphon’s calf, but he didn’t feel it. He swung his shield to deflect Ajax’s next blow. One by one, the men of his mess abandoned their training to watch the sparring.

Gryphon pushed through the attack. His sword vibrated with the power of swift lightning every time it connected with Ajax’s blade. Ajax took a step backward. Then another. His ever-present smile faltered. Sweat rolled into Gryphon’s eyes, stinging and burning until he blinked it away.