A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (7 page)

I snatched the coin from Duke’s sausagey fingers. A glorious sense of triumph bloomed inside me. I turned and ran.

That triumph disappeared when something hard cracked against the back of my skull.

Pain exploded inside my head. The blow knocked me off balance, and I fell to the ground. I heard laughter around me.

“Stupid, stupid boy,” Duke said. “Don’t you know you can’t steal from us?” He kicked me over so that I was lying face up. Then, he sat on me.

The air left my lungs in a rush. I gasped for breath, but my chest could not expand with so much weight on it. I felt my face growing red.

Duke clutched at my hand. I tried to fight against him. But he was much stronger. And with my head pounding in pain, it was easy for him to pry my fingers loose.

He held the coin up to one eye. He put it in his mouth and tried to bite. He jumped when it shocked his tongue.

“What the hell kind of coin is this?” he screamed at me. “What kind of coin
bites
you? Where’d you get it, boy? Who’d you steal it from?”

“I… didn’t… steal it,” I managed.

“Oh? Duke asked. “What? You shit it out, then?” He laughed. His friends laughed, too.

“It was given to me,” I hissed. “It’s mine! Give it back!”

Duke knocked my attempt away. “No.” He tossed it to one of the brothers. “Go see how much old Atto will give you for it,” he told him. “I reckon it should feed us a week.”

“Duke, I think this is real gold,” the boy said. A sudden grin split his face. “Can you imagine what we can get for it if it’s
real gold
?”

“It ain’t real gold, you idiot,” Duke barked. “How many times your ma drop you on your head before she threw you out? Think! What would a kid like this be doing with a gold coin?”

“I’m just sayin’, is all,” the boy muttered.

“Didn’t I tell you to run?” Duke roared. “What are you waiting for? GO!”

The boy turned and sprinted, taking my mark with him.

Rage erupted inside me. Rage at myself, for being so weak. Anger for being so stupid.

I fought to get out from under Duke to no effect.

That made him notice me again. “Look at him struggle, Butch!” His friend with the plank laughed.

Duke shifted his weight. It gave me just the space I needed. I pushed off the ground and popped out.

I would like to say that I sprang to my feet and ran after the boy with the coin. I would like to say that I caught him, fought him, and got my mark back.

But you have to remember how little food I’d had in the past week. You have to remember the state of my ankle, which hurt even more now than when I first sprained it. You have to remember the growing welt on the back of my head.

All I earned in lunging to my feet was a lurching stagger back to the ground.

Duke laughed mightily. “Look!” he cried. “Look, he can’t even stand!” He grabbed the back of my shirt and hefted me up. Another rush of air left my lungs as he shoved me against one wall.

“Now look here,” Duke said, trying to lower his voice to sound menacing. It still came out as a squeak. “I can tell you’re new to the city. If you weren’t, you woulda known better than to come into my territory. I’m going to teach you a few lessons. Lesson one—” he punched me in the stomach, causing me to double over, “
never
come on my turf. Lesson two—” he punched me again. I
oomphed
. “If any of us see you, we’re going to beat you senseless. And lesson
three
—” he sent another blow that connected with my kidney, “you’re
weak
, and I’m
strong
. Don’t think you can change that.”

He let go of my shoulders. I collapsed to the ground, clutching my middle. I heard him and his friend laugh as they walked away.

Something snapped inside me.

I was on my feet and running in seconds, flat. I didn’t care that I made noise. Duke heard me coming at the last moment. By then, it was too late. I had a stone in my hand and was already in the air, flying at him.

My momentum knocked us both off balance. Duke hit the ground with a grunt. Clutching the stone, I went crazy. I bashed it against his head. I smashed it in his nose. It slipped out my fingers, and I clawed at his eyes, trying to gouge them out. His shock was so great that I even got a few decent swipes in.

My victory did not last long. His friend, who was still carrying that plank, took a swing at my back. The piece of wood snapped in two as the blow knocked me over. Duke rolled to his feet, roared, and barreled straight at me.

I had no chance. Duke was right: He
was
stronger than me. He was older, too, and much bigger. His fat shielded his vital organs, whereas my emaciated body did not provide such protection. His fist broke my nose. His elbow caught my jaw. His knee came up and struck me between the legs.

Even though I was young, that one sent me crumbling.

Still the beating continued. I huddled into myself as kick after kick landed on my body. His friend joined in, too, beating me with the remnant of that wooden plank.

As pain took over, and my consciousness slowly faded, the only thing I could conjure in my mind was the image of Alicia, choking on her own blood, dead because of me.

Chapter Ten

I thought I was dead.

I drifted in an abyss of emptiness. My body was so far away that I was not sure I would ever find it again.

The river of darkness swept me downstream like a leaf caught in the current. Every second that passed drew me farther and farther from the street where I lay.

I think one of my eyes flickered open when my ears picked up the faintest shuffling of feet. I saw two black-toed boots peeking out from under the curtain of a raggedy skirt.

Then I was being lifted. The sudden shift of position yanked me right back to the world of the living.

The pain that exploded along every inch of my body was unbearable. It was too much for my wakened mind to take. I passed out again.

***

I came to in a small, dark hut. The smell of arsenic floated heavy in the air.

A pair of hands, strong but deft, helped me sit up. My vision was blurry. A round, wooden mug was brought to my lips. I was too groggy to even notice the harsh, burning scent that the vapors gave off.

Suddenly, my nose was pinched, my head tipped back, and that drink poured down my throat.

How can I describe the concoction? Imagine you are an adventurer high on top of a cold mountain. You’ve run low on food and water. Topping a crest, you discover a magnificent sparkling blue pool.

You run to it. You kneel by its side. Warmth emanates from the water to heat your face.

The pool is fed by a hot spring active on the other side. You see steam rising from holes in the ground. You come up to one and wave a hand over it, testing the heat.

Then, in a moment, of severe indiscretion, you put your head above it and look down.

A geyser of hot, boiling water rushes out to greet you the moment you do.

That is what I felt when the liquid rolled down my throat. It burned like a trail of lava. It awoke all my slumbering senses.

I sputtered and choked, but the hands holding the cup to my face did not relent until I had swallowed every last drop.

“You’re lucky I found you,” a voice like rustling hay said. “Lucky the sight of your wretched body in the street pulled the strings of this woman’s old and shrunken heart.”

The hands let me go. I fell back, gasping for air. Heavy blankets covered my legs. I kicked them off. My body was producing heat to rival the greatest furnace.

Bit by bit, the sensation of burning lessened. Bit by bit, my rapid heartbeat slowed. I stared at the low, smoky ceiling of the hut and tried to piece together everything that had happened.

Duke and his friends beat me to an inch of my life. I have no doubt they thought they left me for dead. Somebody—this woman, presumably—found and cared for me.

Why?
That
was the prevailing question on my mind.
Why did she help me? Why didn’t she let me die?

I sat up, slowly, tense and ready for all the hurt I expected to feel. But I rose smoothly. Either the elixir worked its magic, or time had done its part.

“You’ve been with me eleven weeks,” the woman offered, as if reading my mind. I turned toward her voice. “Eleven weeks old Magda has cared for you.”

She was a shriveled old thing. For half a second, I was reminded of the gypsy woman who sold me to Three-Grin.

But Magda looked even older.

She stood no more than two inches above my height. Her back was crooked. Deep lines crowded her face. Her clothes were the clothes of a nun, though such dirty garments I had never seen in my life.

Her hands were hidden by long, gaping sleeves. They were stained an assortment of colors: here brown, there red, other places violet. She turned away and started moving around the room with the methodical efficiency of one very much at home, tending to the various instruments along the sides.

There were stoppered flasks and bubbling liquids. There were jars of drying leaves. There were clay pots and various tools: scales and measuring sticks, chisels and augers, short bits of rope with equidistant knots tied in them. There were mortar and pestle sets of all sizes. There were piles of pretty rocks and fine powders. I saw a large, elaborate device with many small gears that fascinated me. I later learned it was for showing time.

Magda hummed a halting melody as she tended to her things. She pulled a single hair from her cap and dropped it in a pot of roiling water. She sanded her nails over the dried skin of a salamander.

“Do you know the common tongue?” she asked without looking my way.

I nodded even though I knew she could not see me. “Yes.”

“Yes!” she echoed. “Then do speak up, boy. Tell me your name.”

I debated lying, but instinct told me she would see through it. “Dagan.”

“And where are you from, Dagan?” she asked. “Surely, not from here.”

“No,” I admitted.

She dipped a spoon into a tall clay jar and swirled it around. “So, Dagan-not-from-here, where
are
you from, hmm?” She turned toward me, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes reminded me of Karl’s. “What business brings you to the
Great City of Hallengard
?” She managed to fill the title with all sorts of derisive scorn.

“I… I was told to come here,” I said.

“Oh? Is that so? By whom?” It was easy to tell she did not believe me.

“A man,” I answered.

“And did this man come to you in your dreams, maybe?” she laughed. “Did he speak to you while you slept?” She turned away and began tending her things again. “You know what I think, Dagan-not-from here? I think you’re a runaway. That puts me in an awkward position. If somebody recognizes you on the street, I could get into a lot of trouble for sheltering you.”

“I’m not a runaway,” I protested.

“So you say, so you say,” she nodded. “The question is: What can I do with you?” She went around the room as she spoke. “Or perhaps, the better question is: What can
you
do for me?”

I stalled.

“I spent eleven weeks nursing you to health. An effort like that should be rewarded, don’t you think? So, Dagan-not-from-here, tell me: Have you any parents?”

“No.”

“Do you know your letters?”

“No.”

She tapped one foot. “Can you act? Sing? Steal?” Her eyes bore into me. “
Kill
?”

Could I kill? I remembered how easily the white-haired cart master went down. One arrow between the eyes was all it took. And I already had a list of targets enough to fit two hands: Three-Grin, my three masked torturers. Duke, his friends. The gypsy woman.

“I can learn,” I replied.

The woman clapped her hands together and hooted. “You can learn? Whoo-wee, boy! I’m starting to think that rescuing you was not such a mistake.”

“Will you teach me?” I asked.

Magda frowned, taken aback by my question. “Me? No, no. I am old. Frail. These hands were made for healing—” she lifted them in front of her face and let the sleeves drop.

I gasped. Each hand had two fingers missing.

“—not killing,” she concluded. “Although, at times, the difference between a potion and a poison is the skill of the administerer.” She cackled. “And stealing?” She waggled her remaining fingers at me. “I learned at a young age that my hands were not deft enough for that. Four times I was caught. It took four fingers for me to learn that lesson.”

Disappointment flared to life within me. Magda had brought me back from the abyss, but to what purpose?

She clicked her tongue. “Oh, don’t look so glum, boy. Just because I can’t teach you doesn’t mean I don’t know others who could.”

My eyes shot up. I sat straighter.

Magda waved my enthusiasm away. “But, not yet. You’ve still got some healing to do before I let you back onto the city streets. How old are you?”

I cast my eyes downward. This was the second time I’d been asked the question I could not answer. “I don’t know,” I muttered.

“Head up, boy!” Magda snapped. “There’s no shame in not knowing your own age, seeing as how nobody’s ever told you. I don’t take you to be dumb. So, that’s the only other option, isn’t it?”

She stepped up to me and peered into my eyes. I saw that hers were not black like Karl’s, but instead a deep brown.

That comforted me.

“So, how about this?” Magda offered. “I tell you your age, and I reckon I’d be off by a year at most, if that. In return, you tell me how you wound up in Glorious Hallengard.” She cackled again. “How does that sound? Fair?”

“Fair,” I answered.

Magda nodded. “Thought so.” She reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a flat, sanded piece of wood. It was about the length of a finger. She pressed it to my lips. “Open wide, now.”

I did. She counted my teeth. Next, she told me to stand on the table and strip. I did. She flipped me over and tapped on each of my vertebrae, bringing her ear close to listen for the sound they made.