Chapter 5: Reen

When they knocked on Reen’s door that night, she assumed she was in trouble again. Barsow was late, but he stayed out late more nights than not. It never occurred to her that something might have happened to him.

It was Goff at the door. Stupid Goff.

“Come on,” he said, “the big man wants to see you.”

She could never tell if he was angry or if his big ugly scar just made him look that way (Barsow told her it was from a woman he loved who didn’t love him back, but he never would explain what that meant. He just laughed and said she’d understand when she was older. He was always laughing about what she’d understand when she was older).

“Why?” she asked, retreating a little inside the one-room house, “Is something wrong?” If it was only the nanny goat who had stopped giving milk (because Reen had been sneaking out to the flock before dawn and milking her, to make sure they had enough kumis no matter how Barsow fared at dice), she would go along and take her punishment quietly. But if they’d found out about the knife … She carefully did not look over at the stove where the knife was hidden.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Goff replied, “Morrigan wants to see you. Stop being stupid and come along now.”

The words were sharp but the tone was oddly soft. Not the knife, then. She slipped over to the stove and started stirring the dinner she’d left there for Barsow. “I’m not supposed to leave the house after dark.”

“I know that, girl; don’t you think I know that? Just … come on, now.”

He definitely wasn’t angry. Which didn’t mean old Morrigan wasn’t. She slipped the knife out of its hiding place and, deliberately dropping a spoon so she could kneel down to get it, into her boot. “You promise I won’t get in trouble?”

“I promise.” He held out a hand to her—and that was what finally scared her. Goff, gentle. Goff, nice. Something was very wrong.

He took her to Morrigan’s house, the big wooden mansion he’d built after the first shipment of gold left the mountain. Reen had been so excited when they started building it, until her mother explained that the house was only for Mayor Morrigan; they weren’t all living there. Reen was only a little kid then, and she couldn’t understand why one man needed such a huge house to live all alone. Hadn’t they all followed Morrigan here? Hadn’t Barsow said they were all going to be rich? Five years later Morrigan was rich, and Reen and Barsow still lived in a little one-room stone hut. But she could understand now the allure of living in a big house, all alone.

Inside, they had a body laid out on the table. The head was all red and bloody. It was wearing Barsow’s boots.

“Rina, my child,” said Morrigan, hoisting himself out of his great wood chair. He was supposed to be a great warrior, and she knew Barsow was afraid of him; but to her he always looked pregnant, with his big round gut. Pregnant with what, she shuddered to think.

“Reen,” she said, or whispered really. Her voice came out with barely a sound.

He came over and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. The weight of it nearly knocked her down. “Don’t worry. We’ll find somewhere to put you for a couple of years until you’re old enough to marry. Your mother was rather pretty. You’ll probably grow up to look like her, eh? I’m sure when the time comes you’ll have your pick of the boys—maybe even one of my men, hmm? Like your mother and father? Wouldn’t you like that? Fine strong warrior?”

“Step-father.”

“What?”

She swallowed to try to wet her throat. “He’s my step-father.”

Morrigan frowned at her. “Well. I’m sure he’s raised you as a father. Isn’t that right?”

“Cover it up,” she heard Goff growl, and she realized she was still staring at the body. One of the other men put a blanket over that red, red head. They were all here, all the town guard, all watching her. Nearly all of them, anyway—not Farro or Garret or Little Tob. She wished Farro was here. He had a nice singing voice; he sang love songs sometimes to pay off his debts. Someone ought sing a mourning song now. But Farro, she remembered, would be out by the gate tonight.

That blanket’s going to get stained, she thought to herself.

“I’ll take her,” someone said, and she finally looked away from the body. It was Big Tob, an ugly man bristling everywhere with coarse blonde hair. He looked at her with a calculating eye.

“There, you see?” Morrigan said, patting her again on the shoulder. “Everything will be fine. Hmm?”

They were all watching her. Waiting for something. She nodded, and Morrigan smiled. It was a terrible smile. One of his front teeth was pink and had a perfectly round hole rotted through it. She felt the urge to vomit.

They told her to go to Big Tob’s house and tell his wife what had happened. She went home instead. As she wended her way past the houses she reached out and brushed the kumis skin at each door, listening to the milk slosh inside.

Big Tob’s house—she would never escape from there. There were six children, all of them brats, the whole family living in a one-room hut, stacked up like kindling. With Barsow, his late nights and utter disinterest in her, she’d had a certain amount of freedom. She’d gathered supplies under his nose: dried meat, flint, a heavy winter hide for sleeping under at night on the mountain. And the knife—it had taken over a year to get her hands on a blade, in such a way that no one would miss it. Now she had it, now she had everything she needed … and stupid, stupid Barsow had gotten himself killed and stuck her in Big Tob’s house. She’d never escape from there.

She’d have to go tonight.

A shiver went through her as she realized it. Tonight. It was her only chance.

She ran the rest of the way home. She pulled all of her supplies out of hiding, stuffing everything in her bag. She searched ten minutes for the knife before remembering it was in her boot already. She had everything she needed. There was only one problem, the same problem that had kept her from leaving weeks ago:

How could she possibly get past the gate?

A sudden knock startled her. No—how could they have missed her already? More knocking, loud, angry. She hid her bag as best she could and opened the door.

“Everyone to the town center.”

“Everyone? Why?”

“They found your father’s killer, girl. Come on.”

The whole village was in the town center, all staring at the man kneeling in front of the fountain. Reen pushed her way to the front of the crowd for a better look. She’d never seen a man like him: underneath his fur cloak his whole body glistened with metal scales, and his skin—

“He’s a shadow man!” someone in the crowd hissed.

“He’s not a shadow,” Reen answered, contemptuously. “He’s a black man. From the east.”

“What’s wrong with his skin?”

“They all look like that,” Reen told her. “They’re born that way. My uncle knew one in the war.” She watched him, his hands tied behind his back, on his knees in front of the fire they would probably use to burn him. His head held high. “They’re great warriors. Famous.”

The village elders called her over when Morrigan started questioning the stranger. They disdained her as a whelp of the usurpers, but they couldn’t speak Ugasic and she could. He called himself the Ultor; Goff said it meant avenger. Morrigan insisted he must be here for something, but she couldn’t imagine such a man could want anything in this dung heap of a village, gold or no gold. He belonged to another world—a nobler world—a better world.

An idea began to form in her head.

“Girl, what’s happening?” one of the elders hissed. Farro and Garret were being stripped of their weapons and pushed into the dirt. She watched with horror as Goff—stupid, horrible Goff—stabbed Farro right through his golden throat, and Garret as well. In the dark their blood looked almost black.

Goff moved to the stranger.

“Wait!”

Goff stopped and looked around at her, surprised.

Reen stepped forward. She had no idea what she was doing, but she wouldn’t have another chance. “I demand justice!”

Morrigan roared, “I’m killing him, girl! What more justice do you want?”

“Vengeance should be mine!” Reen declared. “He should die by my father’s sword … and by my hand!”

Morrigan stared at her, and she tried her best not to shiver. Pregnant with what? But at length, he just laughed. “You’re going to kill him?”

“It’s my right. My duty. As his only remaining family.”

Morrigan smiled again, that pink-toothed, rotted smile. “Where’s his sword?”

Goff fetched it from the house himself and presented it to her hilt first. It was too heavy for her; she had to drag the blade through the dirt over to the stranger. He looked at her with no emotion—not fear or hate or anything else. In that moment, despite what she’d told the villager, part of her wondered if he was really human after all.

Summoning every ounce of strength she had, she lifted the sword up above her head, and brought it hurtling down, straight onto the thick ropes binding his hands.

For a second, no one reacted. Then the stranger sprang to his feet and snatched the sword from her hand. Reen threw herself in the dirt as he leapt over her at Goff. She heard screaming, yelling, and then—chaos.

NEXT CHAPTER: SWORD IN HAND