man.
The realization made her straighten so
fast, blackness threatened to overcome her. She felt dizzy. She's
systematically killed every one who had a connection to her. Ignorance was no
excuse. She'd been bid to do so, and she'd killed without question.
All but for one. Number nineteen.
And number nineteen, who knew what she
didn't, was even now lying exposed on her mat, exposed to view of the camp. If
they found him, they would kill him.
She darted back, through bracken and
crashing through spindly trees, back into the scented grass, and the light of
her camp. She rushed breathless toward Barruch and shoved him aside as hard as
she could so she could see her mat.
She should have known he'd be gone, but it
still deflated her. The mat was rolled up and propped against a tree. The fur
lay spread over a boulder.
The fire was blackened and dead.
She sighed.
"He said to tell you he's got a name
-- he isn't a number."
Alaysha whirled about to find the dirty
little ferret standing with her hand against a tree, balancing on one leg
uncertainly. Ready to take flight, she supposed.
She had to be careful.
"You spoke to him?"
The ferret nodded.
"Do you know who he is?"
A shake of the head, a short chew on the
bottom lip.
Alaysha relaxed.
"Have you come to steal something
else?"
The girl let down her foot, unshod, Alaysha
could see. Just like her. She glanced down at her own feet -- wiggled the toes.
"Have you eaten?" she asked the
girl.
"No."
"Me either. What say we try the camp
this morning?"
The girl fidgeted. "I don't think I
should."
Alaysha reached out her hand. "You
must be hungry."
The girl bobbed her head in agreement.
"But they won't like it."
"I know, but I'm too hungry to
care."
They set out, the ferret close at Alaysha's
heels but never quite abreast. Alaysha found she had to continually talk to her
over her shoulder.
"Have you no family?"
The ferret nearly trod on her heel went
Alaysha slowed her pace enough to hear the answer. "Careful," she
told the girl.
There was a quick, furtive shake of the
ferret's head, her muddied plaits leaving fresh trails of dirt on her tunic
front. It made Alaysha wonder if the dirt was applied fresh each morning rather
than just being the result of the girl's unwashed state.
"No relatives at all?"
Another shake. A few quick peeks over her
shoulder and to the sides. "I had a brother once."
"Once?"
"Yes. A few months ago he left."
Alaysha thought it over for a second. There
was something unsaid in the girl's tone. "Escaped, you mean."
The girl stopped a few paces away. She hung
her head.
"You're one of the captives of year
sixteen, aren't you?"
"Year fifteen by your timeline; we
don't -- we didn't--measure time the same way."
Alaysha nodded. "I don't
imagine." She sidestepped to dodge the round of dogs loosed for their
morning forage. The great Yuri never fed his warrior's dogs -- only his own--
and so each morning they were sent out to hunt for themselves. She watched them
run through the bracken and disappear into the underbrush. Their being awake
and loosed would mean the camp was up, awake, and setting about the packing
routine, ready to travel.
"If you were captured during year
fifteen, why are you free? Why aren't you serving in the scouts
households?"
Alaysha remembered that campaign, or rather
she remembered the smell of death, the taste of the water she thirsted from
every living thing within her killing zone. She thought of the pouch of seeds
from that battle, lying nestled in a dirt hole at the back of her room beneath
the ground in Sarum, covered over by thatch and then rocks on top of that. She
never tried to remember much more than those things. Remembering the people the
seeds belonged to was too painful. But that particular battle had been
difficult. The village had sent out wave after wave of men, trying to wear her
out little by little rather than sending them all at once. She'd had to send
the power out over and over again.
"Are you
The realization made her straighten so
fast, blackness threatened to overcome her. She felt dizzy. She's
systematically killed every one who had a connection to her. Ignorance was no
excuse. She'd been bid to do so, and she'd killed without question.
All but for one. Number nineteen.
And number nineteen, who knew what she
didn't, was even now lying exposed on her mat, exposed to view of the camp. If
they found him, they would kill him.
She darted back, through bracken and
crashing through spindly trees, back into the scented grass, and the light of
her camp. She rushed breathless toward Barruch and shoved him aside as hard as
she could so she could see her mat.
She should have known he'd be gone, but it
still deflated her. The mat was rolled up and propped against a tree. The fur
lay spread over a boulder.
The fire was blackened and dead.
She sighed.
"He said to tell you he's got a name
-- he isn't a number."
Alaysha whirled about to find the dirty
little ferret standing with her hand against a tree, balancing on one leg
uncertainly. Ready to take flight, she supposed.
She had to be careful.
"You spoke to him?"
The ferret nodded.
"Do you know who he is?"
A shake of the head, a short chew on the
bottom lip.
Alaysha relaxed.
"Have you come to steal something
else?"
The girl let down her foot, unshod, Alaysha
could see. Just like her. She glanced down at her own feet -- wiggled the toes.
"Have you eaten?" she asked the
girl.
"No."
"Me either. What say we try the camp
this morning?"
The girl fidgeted. "I don't think I
should."
Alaysha reached out her hand. "You
must be hungry."
The girl bobbed her head in agreement.
"But they won't like it."
"I know, but I'm too hungry to
care."
They set out, the ferret close at Alaysha's
heels but never quite abreast. Alaysha found she had to continually talk to her
over her shoulder.
"Have you no family?"
The ferret nearly trod on her heel went
Alaysha slowed her pace enough to hear the answer. "Careful," she
told the girl.
There was a quick, furtive shake of the
ferret's head, her muddied plaits leaving fresh trails of dirt on her tunic
front. It made Alaysha wonder if the dirt was applied fresh each morning rather
than just being the result of the girl's unwashed state.
"No relatives at all?"
Another shake. A few quick peeks over her
shoulder and to the sides. "I had a brother once."
"Once?"
"Yes. A few months ago he left."
Alaysha thought it over for a second. There
was something unsaid in the girl's tone. "Escaped, you mean."
The girl stopped a few paces away. She hung
her head.
"You're one of the captives of year
sixteen, aren't you?"
"Year fifteen by your timeline; we
don't -- we didn't--measure time the same way."
Alaysha nodded. "I don't
imagine." She sidestepped to dodge the round of dogs loosed for their
morning forage. The great Yuri never fed his warrior's dogs -- only his own--
and so each morning they were sent out to hunt for themselves. She watched them
run through the bracken and disappear into the underbrush. Their being awake
and loosed would mean the camp was up, awake, and setting about the packing
routine, ready to travel.
"If you were captured during year
fifteen, why are you free? Why aren't you serving in the scouts
households?"
Alaysha remembered that campaign, or rather
she remembered the smell of death, the taste of the water she thirsted from
every living thing within her killing zone. She thought of the pouch of seeds
from that battle, lying nestled in a dirt hole at the back of her room beneath
the ground in Sarum, covered over by thatch and then rocks on top of that. She
never tried to remember much more than those things. Remembering the people the
seeds belonged to was too painful. But that particular battle had been
difficult. The village had sent out wave after wave of men, trying to wear her
out little by little rather than sending them all at once. She'd had to send
the power out over and over again.
"Are you
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