The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1) (38 page)

It was the day, little more than a year ago, that his brother
Toler had returned from Unterberg. He remembered the sound of Toler’s quick,
deliberate rapping on the front door; how the swelter of midday had enveloped
him as he opened it; the look of Toler’s tired outline in the doorway; the
joyful embrace his little brother had given him, and the cloud of clay-red dust
the embrace had produced. The two brothers had stepped into the foyer to talk. It
was as far into the house as Toler would come for a long time thereafter. Most
of all, Daxin remembered the way Toler’s news had struck him like a hard blow.

“I’m getting married, Dax,” Toler had said proudly.

Daxin had been excited at first. “Wow, you are? To who?”

“You’re never gonna believe this, but… Reylenn Vantanible.”

Daxin had laughed. He remembered how the laugh had sounded,
hollow and contrived. “Come on. Stop joking.”

“I’m not joking, Dax. I’m marrying Nichel Vantanible’s
daughter. He gave me permission and everything. This is happening.”

Daxin had seen the look of complete sincerity on his
brother’s face. “You’re not joking,” he’d repeated.

“Nope. Listen, there’s something really important I need to
talk to you about. I wanted to ask—”

“How could you do this? How could you let yourself fall in
love with a member of that family? Wasn’t it enough of a red flag that her last
name was Vantanible to make you stay away?”

“Dax… what are you saying? Listen to yourself. I want you to
be happy for me.”

“Why would you think I could ever be happy about this? As if
it wasn’t bad enough that you started working for them. Now you’re going to
spoil our family line by mixing with those despicable people?”

Toler was stunned, as if in pain. “I can’t believe you. This
is the woman I love.”

“And she’s the last woman on the planet you should marry.”

“Okay. Great. Well, I wanted to let you know that I’m taking
my half of the crates out of the shipping yard. I’m selling them to Nichel for
a little extra cash so Reylenn and I can start our life together.”

“You want to bring
our
crates to
him
? Not a
chance. Not while I’m in charge of this household.” Daxin had been shouting,
unaware before then that his voice could attain such a volume.

“Half those crates are mine, and I want my half,” Toler had
said. “Don’t tell me what to do with my own property. They’re just sitting
there, locked up in that vacant lot, rusting. It’s not like I’m asking for half
the livestock, trying to take away your livelihood and starve everybody in
Bradsleigh to death. Those crates mean nothing to you. You’ve always hated
them. You hate having to chase away all the vagrants and clean up after the
people who die in there. You’ve never once had a good use for them.”

“They’re yours, are they?” Daxin had said. “Take them. Good
luck making them fly over the fence, because the keys are
mine,
and I’m
not giving you those.”

Toler had breathed a frustrated sigh, like a steam engine
overheating. “Coff it, Dax.
Come on
. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Why, Toler? Why do you want to do this? I used to think
working for Vantanible was the worst kind of betrayal you could’ve pulled, but
this takes it by a horizon.”

Toler had groaned. “Not this
betrayal
bullshit again.
How many times, Dax… I’m not
betraying
you. This isn’t some plot to ruin
your life and disgrace our family. Nobody cares about our reputation except you,
in your head. The only actual problem you have with giving me those crates is
that you’re gonna see them on one of the trains that comes through here someday,
painted over with the Vantanible logo. I want to put them to use, and since
Vantanible is the only trading company around, that’s who I’m selling them to.”

“You’re selling them to Vantanible because he promised you
his daughter in exchange,” Daxin shot back. “This is about her. You’re so
smitten that you’re forgetting who you are and everything we’ve ever been
taught. Dad and Grandpa worked their entire lives to preserve this family…”
Daxin’s voice dragged and fell away, and in that moment he couldn’t help but
see his almost grown-up brother as the boy he’d once been.

“The things you think are important, Dax. I don’t care about
them,” Toler had said.

It had surprised Daxin to hear Toler respond with such calm
in that sharp, eloquent voice of his. Toler would’ve been a stirring public
speaker, if he’d had the desire. Many times, Daxin had imagined him standing in
the square before the whole town, in years after his passing, when Toler had
become the father and grandfather of his own children. There was a hush over
them, a silent rapture as his voice rang clear and strident, speaking courage
into the people who depended on him. That boy had a rare type of charisma
without even trying to; a charisma that was about to be utterly wasted on the
life he’d chosen for himself.

 “If you won’t let me take the crates… fine,” Toler had said.
“But they’re not some kind of dowry, like you seem to think. I’m going to marry
Reylenn, and there’s no set of keys you can use to lock
her
away from me.”

“Oh, I know. If there were anything I could do to stop you,
believe me—I would,” Daxin had said. Toler’s words had stung him, and he had begun
to forge his own cruelty. “Those people are filth, and so is the girl. If you
end up with her, you can count Savannah and I out of it. Out of everything.”

“It’s that serious to you, huh?” Toler had tucked his tongue
into his bottom lip. “It’s a good thing I don’t live and die for your approval,
Dax.”

“Okay, get out. Get. Out. You’re not welcome in this house.
This place was built on the sweat of Glaives, and you’ve given up your right to
be here.” It was almost a whisper.
Did I just disown my own brother?
Daxin
had thought, as Toler closed the door behind him. The dust on the foyer floor
was the only evidence that his brother had been there at all.

Daxin raised his hood when he felt the first raindrops.
The winds blowing off the storm were pulling the rain sideways, and his mare
whinnied as she shook herself dry. It began to drizzle just as the
flat rock that formed the roof of Dryhollow Split came into sight. By the time
Daxin reached the overhang, tiny bombshells were battering the ground, leaving
miniature craters as if it were an insect-sized combat zone.

The cave was in pandemonium. Makeshift sandbags were piled at
the entrance, but the stack was less than a foot high.
That was probably a
waste of time
, Daxin thought, leading his mare over the meager pile.

Finding his cubby, he tossed the saddlebags onto the ledge
and grabbed his ragged blanket, using it to wipe down his horse. Blemishes
covered his hands and forearms where the raindrops had hit bare skin. He
removed his hood-scarf, boots, leathers, and tunic, leaving on his socks and
underclothes, which were the only things the rain hadn’t touched.

“Luther.”

Daxin turned to see Ellicia running to greet him. She had
smiled when she first saw him, but as she drew closer, the look on her face
turned fearful.

“Oh no, look at you. How much did you get rained on?”

“I’ll live. Is there a fire going?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Take my clothes and soak them in some clean water. Don’t
worry about the leathers, they’ll be fine. Just the tunic and the hood-scarf. Dry
them out over the fire.”

Ellicia whisked the pile of clothes away without another word.

Daxin needed to bathe, he knew. The itchy red marks on his
skin would either recede, or they would start to burn after a few minutes,
depending on how corrosive the rain was. He followed Ellicia to the village’s
water stores and rinsed himself and his mare with what little there was to
spare.

Ellicia hung his things above the fire. The tunic had
sustained only minor damage at the shoulders, but there were a dozen tiny,
irregular holes in his gray woolen hood-scarf. The villagers continued their
bustling, making up for lost time. No one wanted to believe this would turn
into a worst-case scenario, but Daxin knew the importance of being ready for
anything, especially out here in the wild. The soil above them was thirsty;
salt, sand and dry red dust. The rain would decimate it without the least bit
of trouble. There would be erosion. Daxin had seen it happen to the hillsides
in Bradsleigh. And when the water churned with ichor and sought to carry it off
like a slaver bearing fresh captives, it would search for rest in low places.
Places like the cave, their only shelter from the rain that had begun to beat
down on the world above.

CHAPTER 34

The Darkness Through the Doorway

“Your
scearib
is trouble,” Bilik said. “That
lequinzhe
bit me.”

“Was this before or after you let her hijack my boat?” It was
Curznack’s voice, sparing no trace of venom.

Lizneth could hear them talking above, just outside the cargo
hold, as the crew stocked the ship with provisions for the next leg of their voyage.
She could hear barrels rumbling across the deck, crates being lowered and slid
into place. It had been hours since Bilik had thrown her down here; since he’d
returned the
Halcyon
to port and alerted Curznack of her attempt to sail
away. She’d spent the time as constructively as she could, knowing that when
the Captain boarded, she was the first
ikzhe
he’d want to see. She
stopped what she was doing and stood beside a support beam, the thumb and
forefinger on each of her hands bloody and stripped of their skin.

Bilik was silent.

“Open it,” Curznack said.

The padlock clicked. Someone threw the hatch wide, and
Curznack stomped down the stairs. His eyes were set in their usual cast, as
black and cold as the waters of the Omnekh. He bounded toward her without a
word and knocked her to the floor as the hatch slammed shut above them. His
strikes were hard and impassioned, fists opening new avenues of pain in her
face and sides. He was breathing hard, grunts escaping him of their own accord,
and Lizneth knew it was the wound from Morish’s thug that was straining him.

She clenched her entire body and prepared to undergo the
worst beating yet, knowing it was unlikely to end soon. In that fearful moment,
while Curznack made Lizneth the sole focus of his unrelenting fury, she went
back to Tanley. She felt the damp earth in her hands, saw the drops of dew
hanging from the mulligraws, heard the laughter of her siblings as they played
games between the stalks while her parents strolled by, arm in arm. Memories
came back like flashes of light, and she thought about what it would feel like
to die. Maybe the bruises Curznack left would fill her with blood and drown her
from the inside.

If that were about to happen, she realized, there was no
reason not to fight back.

Driven by that desperate thought, Lizneth shot both arms
straight up, one on either side of Curznack’s head. She whipped one hand around
his neck and snapped the chain of her manacles tight around his throat, pulling
his head into her chest. He tried to lift himself, but she forced his hands out
from under him with her elbows, kicked his legs away, and locked her arms like
steel vices. His swings kept coming as the gurgling sounds began to escape him,
though his arms didn’t yield the same force from up close.

“Stop it,” Lizneth screamed. “Stop it, or I’ll kill you, I
swear it.”

She pulled harder, the manacles digging through her fur,
gnawing at the skin on her wrists. Curznack’s arms were more flailing now than
swinging, his breaths staggered and rasping. Even under threat of death,
Curznack seemed reluctant to admit she could get ever the best of him, and he
continued to struggle against her. The fight grew more and more in her favor as
the life went out of him. Lizneth never let up for a second.

The hatch opened again, and in the lantern glow from above
she could see Bilik skittering down the stairs and crossing the hold toward
them. She thought of Curznack’s dagger, and although she could feel his
scabbard with her leg, there was no way to reach for it without releasing her
hold.

Bilik was almost to them, and she decided it was worth the
risk. She swung her hand back around to let the chain loose and fumbled at
Curznack’s waist for the hilt of his dagger. He sucked in an abraded breath,
then made several wheezing coughs.

Bilik pulled the Captain away and bent down to grab her. He
must not have heard the blade sliding from Curznack’s scabbard, or seen its wet
green veneer glistening in the dark. He didn’t notice it in her hand either,
pressed to the floor beside her leg.

But he felt it.

She saw that first moment of terrible realization come over
his face as he leaned over her. The first twitch of his lip, and the surprise
that flashed in his eyes. His balance faltered. He stepped forward, then
leaned back and straightened, putting a hand to his belly. Lizneth was still
holding the dagger, and she scrambled backward on heels and elbows as Bilik
began to tip. His groan preceded his fall, and he crashed to the deck like a
great tree felled by a woodsman’s axe.

Bilik didn’t so much as put his hands out to break his fall
as he hit the deck face first. Curznack was stirring. The dagger felt heavy and
awkward in Lizneth’s hands, the kind of foreign thing she’d never had the
occasion or desire to use. She rolled to her feet and lunged at Curznack,
making a clumsy slash that caught him on the shoulder. It would’ve been a minor
wound from any normal blade, but with this dagger, it was enough.

Curznack’s face screwed up tight, half from the cut itself and
half because he knew what it meant. His body shuddered as the wound began to
weep. Bilik was still alive, his abdomen rising off the floor with each slow breath.
This green sludge is doing its work
, Lizneth thought. It frightened her
to think of how dangerous it was. She’d seen as much behind the levee in Bolck-Azock,
when Curznack had dropped Morish’s thugs like two sacks of grain. She felt a
sudden sense of unease, knowing that the two bucks laying on the floor in front
of her were dying; she’d never even thought about killing anyone before. There
would be the need for more killing if anyone gave her trouble on her way to the
rowing hold. Using the dagger again might be the only way to make sure she got
there.

Curznack was slumped against the wall, breathing in shallow
gasps, swallowing air as if the hold were running out of it. Kneeling beside
him, Lizneth unbuckled his belt and put it on. Curznack reached out with a weak
hand, but she batted it away. She looked down and saw what he was after: four
vials, shaped like teardrops, tucked into a band of specially-fashioned pockets
along the belt. The liquid inside them was clear purple, enough for only a sip
each. Lizneth held up the dagger when he reached for her again, slashing weakly
at his hand to make him pull it back. He tried again, his fingers catching on
the top of the belt.

“Is this what you want?” Lizneth asked, brushing his hand away
to let it fall into his lap. “It’s the antidote. That’s what it is, isn’t it?
Well, I’ll give you one of these vials. All you have to do is fulfill one of
your promises to me. See me home safely. Or let me meet the brood-brothers you
came here to find. Or…” she laughed, “come over here and
beh dyagth zhuk
.”
She surprised herself, talking like that.

Curznack mumbled something, but she couldn’t make it out.

“What’s that?” she said, mocking him. For a moment she
hesitated as she watched him lying there, saw the fear in his eyes as the
poison took hold. How could she let herself do this? Even to Curznack, after
all his unforgivable offenses. She was no murderer. This was about survival,
and about getting home to her family. For what little consolation it gave her,
she tried to satisfy herself in knowing it was the poison doing the work of
killing him, not her.

“You promised me so much, and yet you gave me nothing,”
Lizneth said. She was throbbing all over, her head pounding. Sore, tired,
starved, and now beaten to a pulp, she felt as though she could’ve fallen down
and died along with them. Her words came out slurred and ungainly, parts of
her face feeling fat and numb. “First you promised me safety. Then… you told me
you’d sire your litter on me. You said it in front of the whole galley. And you
said you’d introduce me to your brood-brothers.”

As the words formed on Curznack’s lips, the guilt inside her
changed to something else. “
Kehn se viirn. Kehn… se viirn
,” he was
saying.
They’ll find you
.

Lizneth remembered Bilik’s words, too. ‘
Don’t be dumb
,’
he’d said. ‘
Do you know what Curznack and his family will do when they
realize the ship is gone?
’ She hadn’t gotten an answer to that question,
but if Curznack’s own taskmaster was unwilling to turn against him, then maybe his
allies were worth being scared of. Both their wounds were white now, leaking a
milky fluid. If Lizneth was going to give Curznack the antidote, this might be her
final chance.

She fingered one of the vials, pulling it halfway out. The
glass was ribbed with gentle waves, the tiny cork set tight. Liquid sloshed
within—the only thing that could save him now. She spent a moment in
consideration, searching for a reason to save Curznack’s life besides being
afraid of what would happen if they—whoever
they
were—found her. She let
herself feel every cut, scrape and bruise Curznack had given her, letting the
evidence of his cruelty speak on her behalf. That convinced her she was
justified.

Lizneth’s bloody fingers left a smear on the glass as she
pushed the vial back into place.

“Die knowing this,” she said, kneeling beside him again. “The
Halcyon
will
return to Bolck-Azock, and every slave you own will
go free.”

“Is that what you think,
scearib
?”

She hadn’t heard the hatch open, but when she looked up, Azhi
and Qeddiker were halfway down the stairs, coming at a leisurely pace.
Curznack’s older brood-brothers were armed, as were the four other sailors who’d
followed, Giddho among them. Lizneth stood and backed toward the wall, beginning
to feel faint.
What was I thinking? I don’t know how to fight. Even a
poisoned dagger can’t make me brave
. Now that the
Halcyon
had
returned to shore, the rest of the crew was on board. Getting to the rowing
hold wouldn’t be as easy as weaving her way through a few sleepy drunks, like
she’d done earlier.

“Give him one of those vials. If my brother dies, so do you,”
said Azhi, the larger of the two bluefurs.

Lizneth dropped the dagger. As soon as she did, they came
rushing at her, threw her to the ground, and pummeled her with fists and feet,
yanking the belt away and pressing her into the floor. She saw Azhi uncork one
of the vials and pour the liquid down Curznack’s throat. Qeddiker rolled Bilik
over and fed him another, but he looked much worse; so did his wound, even
without taking the poison into account.

“I don’t care what Curznack wants with her. We’re selling the
scearib
in the morning,” Azhi said. “Chain her to her oar. If she gives
you any more trouble tonight, slit her throat and feed her to the gulls.”

Curznack’s brood-brothers hefted him up the stairs, moving
with great care. The others took Lizneth by the chains and dragged her across
the ship to the rowing hold. When she entered, the rowing slaves grimaced at
the sight of her. The sailors chained her to her ring again, and two of the
taskmasters stayed behind to stand guard.

“Z
holiqeh,
” Fane swore. “They got you good,
leparikua
…
again. Your face looks like a pile of bricks.”

“
Bizhigt,
” Bresh said sharply.

Fane shut his mouth.

“You’re very brave,
cuzhe
,” said Bresh.

“I’m very weak, and very foolish,” Lizneth said. She hated
the way she sounded, barely able to sound out the words past her bruises, every
facial movement causing her pain. “I couldn’t release you.”

“We didn’t ask you to. We only wanted to help you escape.”

“You should’ve run while you had the chance,” said Fane,
shaking his head.

Bresh glared at him. “Fane…”

“Quiet down over there,” said one of the taskmasters. “Any
trouble from you tonight and you’re gull food,
scearib
.”

They sat for a long while in silence while the crew continued
to load the boat with supplies, the occasional sound of clinking chains and
murmured conversation slipping past the taskmasters’ notice. All Lizneth wanted
to do was lay down and rest.
I could sleep for days
, she thought. The
excitement of her elevated state was wearing off, and the pain was starting to
come through in new places. But she knew that despite her suffering, now was
not the time to surrender to it. There was much more to be done before she
could sleep again.

When night had fallen to its deepest, and the slaves were
hunched over on their benches, chins to their chests, or lying on the floor
asleep, she listened. The sounds of the crew working above had long since
subsided, and the drunken carousing that followed had done the same. It sounded
as if most of the crew had settled into their bunks and hammocks for the night.
As for Lizneth, her heart was throbbing fast enough to keep her wide awake.

Cautiously, she lifted her arms until her chain went taut
through the deck ring. She began to pull on it, starting with a soft, steady lifting.
The ring held fast, so she pulled a little harder. Soon she heard a small ping,
and felt something give way. She glanced over at the taskmasters; both were
dozing, their heads leaning back against the posts. One let his head fall forward
and came awake. Lizneth looked away, keeping her head down, hoping he hadn’t
seen her. When she glanced up again, the taskmaster was scanning the room, as
if checking for the source of the noise and unsure whether he’d dreamed it.
Convinced he had, he let himself relax again.

Lizneth began to lift the ring, inching it upward little by
little. There was no resistance anymore, and soon the bolt had come all the way
up through the floor, free as driftwood.
It worked
. Then she got excited
and moved too much. The bolt came loose and fell, sending up a clatter. Both
taskmasters jolted awake, as did some of the slaves. It was now or never. Lizneth
might not have been able to fight off the ship’s crew by herself, but all the
slaves in the rowing hold had a chance.