Too Cold to Bleed Page 8

  She stopped and stretched her neck out, causing a flare of pain in her leg. A lone man, dirty and a little ragged, sat under a great travel coat. It had been propped up above him using two sticks and some cord strung through the arms and tied off to trees to make a shelter. A small, sickly fire tongued at the wet air, warming a small cookpot. The man poked at whatever supper was in there with a spoon and stared into the flames. A well-oiled sword was lying across the tops of his thighs.

  “Come and join me by the fire,” he said, turning his head towards Ruah.

  Shit. She turned and ran. Pain sprung up her leg with each step as she stumbled her way back towards the shelter. She could hear the footsteps behind her. The man was following.

  “Halpern!” she shouted as she closed the distance in the dark. Bloody stupid, getting him to cover with a bow. He can’t see shit. More’n likely he’ll stick me with the fucking thing.

  The man covered the distance behind her and she heard a bow loose. The clatter said the arrow missed its mark and hit a rock, spinning and clattering to rest in the gully somewhere. The footsteps were close. Wouldn’t be long. Ruah made to turn and swing the hatchet at the darkness when she stumbled, caught in something, and fell. Weight was on her. There was a grunt, and then a panicked tangle of limbs.

  “Get off me!”

  “Argh.”

  “Get off–”

  “Stop fighting. I’m not gonna hurt–”

  “Argh!”

  She kneed the man in what she hoped was his stones, then shuffled herself backward, leaving space to swing the hatchet.

  “Help!” Halpern’s muffled cry could be heard from under the tarp.

  Bastarding tarp.

  “Enough!” the man hissed, his voice breathy, the way men went when their stones took a hit. “Not going to hurt you. You sneaked up on me, remember?”

  Strange accent. “Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” Ruah stood up and stepped back again. She could make out the man’s shape in the dark. He hadn’t his sword, and his hands seemed to be raised towards her.

  “I’m just making my way. Looking for work. I’m not after any trouble.”

  “Big sword for someone not looking for trouble.” Ruah spat. “In my experience, men with swords like that have trouble follow them round whether they like it or not.”

  “You’re probably right.” The man sighed. “But I’m not seeking it out.”

  The rain started to slap down in harder, faster sheets now. Ruah felt it trickle down her spine.

  “Ruah. I’m all caught up,” Halpern’s voice cried from under the tarp.

  “Here, let me help.” The man crouched and fumbled for the cord.

  “Wait a minute.” Ruah eyed the stranger with suspicion as she reached for a corner of the tarp. “Just sorting it. Pull the cord at your end tight around the tree over there,” she said to the man.

  “Aye,” the man replied. “Got it.”

  She tied off her end and moved across the stream to the other side where the tarp had been tied highest. In the tangle, the cord had been pulled loose. She lifted the wet material and made out the shine of Halpern’s face. “Come on. Out you come.” She tied off the cord around the tree, restoring the shelter to its original position.

  Halpern stumbled out from underneath, bow in hand and bluster sounding from him. “Who is this fucker, anyways?”

  “Glad you’re not much use with that bow, lad,” the man said.

  “And you’d be much better in the dark, would you?”

  “Have been, in the past.”

  “Well, good for pissing you. We just gonna let him stand here and mock us, Ruah?”

  “He’s mocking you,” she replied, checking the tautness of the cord. Her concern over the man had died down. His nature didn’t give her that sick feeling of worry. “Reckon if he was trying to hide he’d not have lit that fire. And if he were going to kill us he’d have done it as we slept.”

  “I’m neither trying to hide from you, nor kill you.” The man appeared to look up. “Just trying to stay out of the wind and rain is all.”

  The man’s accent had changed, and had taken on more of a Solansian edge. “What do we call you?” Ruah asked.

  “Name’s Culver.”

  “You wanna put that fire out, Culver, and grab your things?” Ruah said. “There’s space under the tarp. That coat of yours ain’t doing shit to keep that rain off.”

  Culver had disappeared just before sunrise, saying he was off hunting. The sun had been up for nearly an hour now.

  “Don’t think we can trust him. Do you?” Halpern asked as he crammed the last of his things into his pack. “Fucker took my bow.”

  “I don’t think he’s any harm,” Ruah replied, tying the last corner of cord into a neat knot. “Give me a hand shaking the rain off the tarp.” She held two corners as Halpern picked up the other two. They shook the tarp three times and then folded it over in half, and half again. Ruah took the folded square and rolled it tight before stuffing it into her pack.

  The morning was calm, with the bullying gusts of wind from the day before having died away, taking the rain clouds with them. There was a crisp chill in the air. Dappled sunlight spotted the pebbles of the stream and spread in bigger lumps on the moss.

  “You want some dried beef?” Halpern asked, holding out a strip.

  “Aye,” Ruah said, gratefully receiving the dark red twisted length. As she took it, Culver came walking up the burn with some quarry over his shoulder.

  “Breakfast,” he said, tossing a pair of good-sized marmots onto the stones by the stream. “Thanks for the loan.” He handed the bow and quiver back to Halpern with a smile.

  Ruah looked at the bruising on the man’s face. It was maybe a few weeks old, but it was clear the man had taken a prolonged and heavy beating by someone. He had unkempt, mid-length blond hair, and a wiry fair beard, shot with white. His lips had been split, with the end of a scab stubbornly notched into the corner of the lower.

  “What happened to your face?” Ruah asked.

  Culver hunkered down, pulled a small knife from his belt and began to skin the marmots. He looked up at her with intelligent blue eyes. “Someone beat the shit out of me.”

  “Can see that. What I want to know is why.”

  “No reason that should bring any concern to you, little sister.”

  “Not your sister.”

  “Well, I suppose you’re not at that. What happened to your leg?”

  “Leave her alone,” Halpern butted in.

  Ruah looked up at him in shock. Fancy this! Getting protective now? “Born with it. My Ma took the Scale Lung when I was in her belly. Killed her in the end, and gave me this leg. Guess I was lucky to be born at all.” Haven’t said that many times.

  “Scale Lung.” The man mouthed the words. “That’s Slow Clarissa, isn’t it?”

  “That’s what the city physicians call it,” Halpern said, hunkering down and taking the other marmot to skin. “My mam was in Jerras Port years back, said it was bad there.” Halpern’s brows furrowed and it looked like he was trying to hide his eyes.

  Ruah put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

  “Who are you to each other? Sister and brother?” Culver asked.

  “No,” Ruah said in a little voice. Her eyes fixed on Halpern.

  “We’re friends,” he said, looking up with wet eyes.

  Friends. Aye, maybe we can be that.

  Culver let the questions be and made a cut in the belly of the skinned marmot. He pulled out the offal, and washed the meat in the stream.

  Ruah picked some birch bark from the trees and broke off some twigs and branches that looked like they would burn.

  “Something happened to you both, didn’t it?” Culver asked as he sharpened the ends of a stick to spit the meat.

  “Could say that,” Ruah said as she created a small pile of bark on top of some dry stones. “All’s the same with you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

 
; Culver held her eyes, then smiled. “As you wish. Here.” He pulled out an alloy spark rod and handed it to Ruah. “Use this.”

  She took it and looked at it a moment. It was a good one. Better than any she’d seen in the station. She took the head of the hatchet and scraped the edge down it, showering the birch bark in bright white sparks. A wisp of blue smoke snaked up from the bark before a small rounded flame spread to life on top of the pile. She handed the spark rod back to Culver, then gathered up the bark tight in her palms. She blew into it and the flame burst to life.

  “Perfect,” Culver said with a smile.

  Ruah placed the burning bark back onto the stones and carefully placed some branches on top, split to reveal the dry hearts. She added some twigs and blew a gentle breath into the centre, giving momentum to the fire’s growth.

  Halpern skewered the other marmot carcass onto a stake and stabbed one end into the stony ground by the streamside. He hooked one boot toe under the stake and another on top, keeping it secure at an angle over the fire.

  Ruah looked at Culver as he stared into the flames. He absently rubbed at the palm of the fingerless leather glove he wore on his left hand. When he shifted his gaze towards her, she smiled and quickly added more sticks to the fire.

  Once the marmots were cooked, they pulled them apart with greasy fingers and hungrily ate the meat.

  “What happened to you?” Culver asked again.

  Ruah looked up and swallowed the mouthful she had been chewing. She noticed Halpern look up. “I said–”

  “I know what you said,” Culver interrupted. “It’s just, you’re both young, and I can smell the fear off you bad. Something black happened, and you're chasing down the trouble. I can see it, and it’s not likely to end well for you. What happened?”

  Ruah looked at Halpern and they held each other’s gaze a short while.

  “Raiders.” Halpern spoke first. “Raiders came to our town, about a day or so back west. They said they just wanted the cattle. But they took it all.” He bowed his head and his shoulders trembled.

  Ruah carried on. “They killed the old, the young, and the weak. They took those who could drive the cattle. They took women folk as well. Burned the rest in the church. Halpern and me, we got to hiding, and we stayed hid. Took his girl and killed his ma, they did. Killed my friend, too.”

  “Dajda.” Culver heaved a breath. “Sorry.”

  “Aye,” she replied, poking the fire with a stick.

  “Who were they?” Culver asked.

  Ruah looked up at him and held his stare a moment. “The king.”

  Culver’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. “The fucking king? Grunnxe?”

  “Aye.” Her eyes didn’t move from him, but her fingers twitched towards the hatchet on her thigh. One move, fucker, and I’ll split your face.

  Culver’s eyes flicked down to Ruah’s hands. “Don’t get frightened, girl. I’m not going to do anything. Can’t say I’m the biggest fan of your king. Where were they going?”

  Ruah felt her fear die down. Your king, he said. He’s not Solansian, he’s a fucking trench rat. “Heard them say they were going east.”

  “Do you mean to follow them?”

  “Aye,” Halpern said, his voice angry. “We’re going to get them back.”

  “On your own? The two of you?”

  “Aye,” Ruah said, a fire rising in her belly. “If we can.”

  Culver looked at them both, a hungry smile splitting his greasy beard. “Want some help?”

  Nine

  First Cut

  The sun was beginning to set, casting long red-hued shadows amongst the plains grass as it gently swayed. That which hadn’t been flattened by the horde, that was.

  Ruah’s leg was aching so badly she'd had to bite back tears for the last hour. She took a deep breath of the cold air, and tasted the storm coming. She looked up from the flattened strip of grass and into the expanse of sky. Right enough, dark pillars of cloud hung in the distance, and a sheet of misty grey fell to the ground.

  “Not looking so good for us, is it?” Culver said as he walked up beside her. “Gonna need to stop soon anyhow.”

  “Nearly at Waylan’s Brook. The Ninth Herd was grazing out here. There’s a driver’s hut. Just a few more minutes. If it’s still standing, we can maybe take shelter in there.”

  “If it’s still standing,” Halpern grumbled to her left. “Fine fucking chance of that.”

  Culver cleared his throat and spat. “That leg of yours hurting bad?”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “I know some things about muscle pain. I can maybe help when we stop for the night. If you’d like.”

  Ruah grunted and said nothing more. There was a stink on the chill air.

  “You smell that?” Halpern asked.

  “Aye,” Culver said, reaching up for the sword slung between his shoulder blades.

  Ruah looked at him as he drew the weapon. It was well practiced. She fumbled at her belt and took out the hatchet.

  “Never mind that for now,” Culver said to her. His tone was crisp. “You two get your bows to hand. Better have them ready first. Let’s hope you don’t need anything for more intimate fighting.”

  Ruah strung her bow and nocked an arrow. They slowly made their way up the grassy hillock. She glanced at Halpern; he was licking his lips and his brows were twisted up, be it through nerves or hate, she didn’t know.

  The smell grew stronger, a rotting tang in the air. They stepped up onto the crest of the hillock, wind blasting them in the face.

  “Dajda!” Halpern said, lowering his bow.

  Ruah looked out across the undulating plain before her. The Ninth Herd was gone, for the most part. Littering the ground before them was a grisly scene. Butchered carcasses of cattle lay surrounded by dark and congealed pools of blood and offal.

  “Huh,” Halpern grunted. “Hut’s still standing.”

  “There’s a body down there,” Ruah said. Culver sheathed his sword and broke into a run towards the body lying outside the small driver’s hut. Halpern followed his lead. Ruah put the arrow back in her quiver and slid the bow over her shoulder. She limped down the hill, pain coiling about her pelvis and jabbing up her spine with each step. Breathe. Step. Pain. Pray. She passed by the bloodied and savagely butchered remains of several beasts. Their legs had been taken, and huge cuts carved from their bellies, backs, shoulders and necks. The heads of the cattle remained untouched, wind-dried, shrunken eyes staring lifelessly. Their tongues lolled, pale blue and dry. Armies of flies worked their way about the gore, rising and buzzing away as she stepped past, only to fly back onto the carcass as one black mass. The stink cloyed at Ruah’s throat, and she fought to keep her gorge from rising as she made her way down to Culver and Halpern.

  Culver stood up from the human body. “Been dead at least a day.”

  Ruah could see a single wound to the man’s chest, a dried rosette of blood above his heart. “There’s normally ten men to a herd. There must be others.”

  Halpern moved away and towards the driver’s hut. Ruah watched as he pushed open the door. He raised a hand to his mouth, stepped back, and vomited.

  “Guess we’ve found the others,” Culver said.

  The grey wall of the storm advanced, and Ruah could feel the wind changing, could taste the rain coming. “Well, there’s no point us getting all delicate about it. There’s some really shit weather coming, and I’m fucked if I’m sitting under a tarp in it. My bastard knee is too damn sore already; the weather can just go fuck itself tonight.” Ruah limped away from Culver and towards the hut. “Halpern, get a grip of yourself and help me clean out this fucking–”

  She entered the hut and stopped. The charnel house reek of the plain was redoubled. Four bodies lay inside, their throats opened to the world. Blood sprayed the wooden walls of hut and the corpses had clearly voided their bowels. “Fuck's sake.”

  “Dajda!” Culver said, grimacing as he stepped in. “You still w
anting to stay in here?” he asked Ruah.

  “Come on, give me a hand.”

  They took the bodies from the hut and dragged them a good distance up the hill. Ruah hoped the wind would carry their smell away. The smell of the hut, on the other hand, would just have to be stomached. The rain had started to lash against them as they dragged the last of the bodies away. They managed to get back into the shelter before they were entirely soaked through, but it was a close thing.

  Halpern had lit a small fire in the stove, burning some of the cakes Ruah and Paw had made. The printing of Paw’s brand onto each of the shit-cakes before they were dried was the first job he had given Ruah after he apprenticed her. She hated the idea of being a shit-caker, but in the end, like all the crap in her life, she embraced it, and tried to make a good job of it. Paw used to call it polishing turds into diamonds. She watched the brand on the side of the cake consumed by flame through the grate of the stove.

  “Found some rations,” Culver said, dropping a pair of cloth sacks into the centre of the table – if three planks nailed onto two old barrels counted as a table. He opened the first up and spread the neck wide, revealing dried strips of cooked chicken. The second bag had cornmeal biscuits. “Dig in.”

  “Not hungry,” Ruah said, her eyes tracing an arc of spattered blood up the rough wooden cladding of the hut wall.

  “You have to eat. You’ll be better for it, whether you feel it or not right now. Here.” He offered her a cornmeal biscuit. “Eat.”

  She took the biscuit and bit off an end. Before she knew it, she had eaten the whole thing, and had a strip of chicken in her hand.

  “For all I know, Selby made this chicken,” Halpern said in a quiet voice, turning the strip of meat around in front of his face.