Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2) (10 page)

“No, please,” she said. “It’s alright, I can get it. I know
just where I left it—”

Rotabak lifted a hand to silence her. “Flikz?”

“Here,
kradacht
.”

“Help Lizneth find her basket. Search the fields until you
find it.”

“Certainly, Rotabak.”

“And when you do, Flikz…”

“Yes?”

“Bring to me every little bean you find.”

The mulligraws were several hands taller than the tallest of
Rotabak’s soldiers, and heavy with their yields. Flikz and the others had
already carved a broad swathe through the vines. Now they widened their arc,
cleaving beanstalks to waist level and toppling months of hard labor in the
effort. Lizneth begged Rotabak to stop them, but all he did was stand by and
watch, smiling, as they made a ruin of her family’s fields. Down the rise,
villagers and Marauders alike turned to witness the spectacle.

“Here we are,” said Odja, plucking a tiny squirming shape
from the undergrowth and lifting it above his head. “Got one.”

Thrin scritched and clawed at Odja’s hand while he waded back
through the trampled vines and tossed her down at Rotabak’s feet. He didn’t
even stop to make sure the little doe was alright before he turned back and
resumed the search. By the time they’d hacked through the last of the
beanstalks, Rotabak’s soldiers had found all twenty of Lizneth’s siblings among
them.

“So you
did
leave a basket in the rushes,” said
Rotabak, nudging Hasquol with his foot. “Quite a basket of little beans we have
here. What shall we do with them? Cook ourselves a nice stew to feed my
keguzpikhehn
?
They did work
so
hard to pick them for us. It would be only courteous to
thank them.”

Lizneth wanted to scream and chitter; to let her rage boil
over. But any outrage she displayed would only make Rotabak go harder on the
nestlings, she knew. Her hand twitched at the thought of her dagger. She
thought about how easy it would be to drive the point through Rotabak’s gut.
How much worse would that make things for her siblings? And what example would
that set for them? In a matter of moments, Rotabak and his cretins had
destroyed everything her family had left. Rhi and Taznik were no longer the
poorest
zhehn
in town. Now it was her family who wouldn’t last the short
year. “Please don’t hurt them. It was my idea to hide. They didn’t do anything
wrong. I was only trying to protect them.”

Rotabak looked astonished. “Protect them… from whom? Not from
me, surely. Do I frighten you,
parikua
?”

“We didn’t know it was you, at first. We didn’t know who was
coming. We heard noises down the tunnel and thought it was the
calaihn
.”

“Lies,” said Rotabak. “You know my
haick
. The
calaihn
do not scent of iron and rime. They do not make the sounds of steel when they
march. Their
haick
is foul and treacherous, as they are. Sniverlik told
me you’re a traitor… a
calai-thaligheh
.”

“I’m not,” she said.

“Sniverlik does not lie,” said Rotabak.

He probably told you that
. “The
calaihn
helped
me get home, but it was only for their selfish reasons. I don’t love them.”

“Show me, then. Show me you don’t love the
calaihn
.”

“How can I?”

“The dust-dwellers travel close on our tails. When they get
here, meet them in the village square. Tell them we have moved on. Tell them
your village has displeased Sniverlik, and as punishment he has forsaken you
and left you defenseless. Tanley and all its
ikzhehn
are theirs for the
taking.”

“Why would you have me do that?”

“You will understand soon enough.”

“I refuse. Tell me why, or I won’t do it.”

Rotabak brought his snout close to hers. “You will, or I will
brand you traitor and advise Sniverlik to treat you accordingly.”

Sniverlik’s promise came back to her then.
If I so much as
scent you with the
calaihn
after tonight, I’ll have your family’s tails
removed and their longteeth cut out
. Sniverlik had done more than scent
Lizneth with the
calaihn
; he had
seen
her with them. He would
follow through on his promise, regardless of whether Lizneth did what Rotabak
wanted. Yet if she refused, she was sure to bring Rotabak’s wrath upon her
family as well.

“How long will it be until they get here?” she asked.

“We have no more than a few hours, and much to do before
then,” said Rotabak. To Odja, he said, “When Vaxis completes his sweep, tell
him he is to separate the
vilck-zhehn
into two groups: those who hid,
and those who gave themselves over willingly.”

Odja nodded and went to do as he was bid.

Rotabak turned to Lizneth. “In the meantime,
parikua
…
you are to bring these nestlings to the village and make sure they stay with the
group who hid. Except these two.” He snatched Raial and Thrin by the scruffs of
their necks, lifting them like caught hares. “These two are mine. Should you
fail to show your loyalty, I’ll make a fine stew of these little beans. The
rest of your brothers and sisters will follow them into the cauldron when
Sniverlik arrives.”

Lizneth gulped. “Sniverlik is coming… here?”

“How else will our brood-father enjoy the destruction of his
enemies, if not to partake in their suffering himself?”

Instinct grabbed Lizneth tight around the chest. She wanted
to take her family and run from here. She’d escaped to the metropolis easily
enough, but taking her whole family to Bolck-Azock would not be so simple.
There was no escaping Sniverlik’s reach. The best she could hope for was to do
as she was told and hope she might gain the benefit of his mercy… if he had any
mercy to offer. “Don’t you hurt them,” she warned.

Rotabak favored her with a sneer. “You do what I say, and
maybe I don’t feed these little beans to Sniverlik. Maybe I cook them before he
gets here. It’ll be better for them that way.”

“I’m going to do what you told me,” said Lizneth. “Just leave
my brothers and sisters alone.”

“We’ll see,
parikua
.”

The Marauders dragged the last of the villagers from their
homes and places of business, dividing them into two groups as Rotabak had
instructed. The soldiers then produced several long, heavy canvas bundles,
which they unrolled to reveal piles of rough iron shortblades, crude but sharp.
These they distributed to every willing buck with sufficient age and strength
to hold one. Malak was the largest and tallest of Lizneth’s young brothers, but
when he tried to get in line for a blade, the Marauders pushed him away and
told him to go stand with the old dams and the nestlings.

While the weapons were being handed out, Lizneth caught wind
of a new scent coming down the tunnel. It was similar to the rime-
haick
of the Marauders, but gloomier, like mud in a turbid puddle. Soon a pair of
ikzhehn
appeared, black-cloaked and running, silent as the darkness from which they’d
emerged. They went straight for Rotabak, whose guards stood in their way and
halted them.

“Let them pass,” Rotabak said. “What news?”

“The
calaihn
are moving fast,
kradacht
,” said
one of the cloaked strangers, a dark brown agouti with a thin, slithering
voice.

“How close?”

“An hour, maybe two.”

Rotabak nodded. “Keep your watch over them. If their pace
changes, report to me at once.”

“Yes,
kradacht
.” They bowed and slipped away again.

When they were gone, Rotabak said a few words to his
higher-ups, then ascended the rise once more to address the village. “Your
attention, everyone.” He waited for the noise to die down. “My scouts have
returned with word of the
calaihn
. There is little time, so listen close
and listen well. Today, the
calaihn
are coming to take you from your
homes. If you wish to keep them, you must fight for them. The
calaihn
are blind in the dark. They do not fit in tight spaces. They have the
undeveloped snouts of new-births and can only hear noises if they are loud or
close. Fill every bucket you own with sand or water, for without their fire,
the
calaihn
are blind. Through silence and darkness we will have our
victory. Never stray from this command: silence and darkness. Most importantly
of all, follow my
keguzpikhehn
. Go where they go, do always as they
instruct, and speak only as they require. Now, all inside… everyone.”

There was a flurry of activity as the villagers brought their
buckets to the river and the Marauders forced their way into every cottage, hut
and hovel alongside its respective owners. The villagers who had hidden from
Rotabak’s summons earlier were left on the path to fend for themselves. Lizneth
stayed at the head of the crowd, distracting herself from the decimated remains
of her fields as she gathered the nestlings around her. Had Rotabak not been
watching, she would’ve run her siblings home to Mama and Papa to shelter them
from the violence to come.
How can they think it’s right for such younglings
to witness what’s about to happen?

“When the
calaihn
get here,” she said, “I want you to
run and hide beneath the river bridge. Do you hear me, Hasquol? Pay attention.
This is very important.”

The little ones were distracted and unruly at the best of
times; now they were a bundle of nervous energy, fed by the frightened
villagers around them. It was a long time before Lizneth was satisfied she’d
gotten through to them all. Even then, she received too many blank looks to be
certain.

She began to feel a distant rumbling in the tunnels. It was a
swift sound, with none of the blundering clangor of the armored
ikzhehn
.
As it grew closer, Lizneth discerned it as little more than the slap of a great
many leathered feet on earth and stone, and the rising and falling of bodies.
When she scented the vinegary tang of
sweat
and saw the cavern walls
blush a dull orange, she knew.

The
calaihn
were bigger, somehow, than she remembered.
Maybe it was the sight of them in the tunnels, which to creatures of her size
were broad and spacious. Or perhaps it was the long, wavering shadows thrown by
the fiery sticks they held above their heads like ships’ lanterns.
That’s a
curious thing
, she thought, counting upwards of a dozen torches among them.
Rotabak was right about how poorly they see in the dark. That must be why
the blind-world is so bright… they need all that extra light for their eyes to
work
.

The hu-mans slowed from a brisk jog to a steady walk as the
first rows of their marching column caught sight of the village. Lizneth
ushered Malak and Reida forward, motioning them and the others toward the
river. “Go, go. Quickly now. Now’s the time.” Malak protested, but the others
dragged him along as they went.

Spreading out from their narrow column into a cautious band,
the
calaihn
advanced like poachers stalking some elusive beast. Lizneth
had never been good at reading their expressions, but these she read clearly.
They were confused. It was as if they had expected to find anything but a
silent town with a crowd of
ikzhehn
waiting for them in the streets. When
Lizneth saw the last of her siblings scramble to relative safety beneath the
river bridge, she breathed a sigh. There was an anxious stirring among the
ikzhehn
around her, but their fear of Rotabak was somehow stronger than their fear of
the
calaihn
, and they did not run.

Lizneth sucked in a breath and made the announcement Rotabak
had ordered. “Hu-mans… we welcome you to Tanley. We are no longer under the
vassalage of Sniverlik. He has forsaken our village, destroyed our crops—” she
gestured toward the mulligraws, “—and left us with nothing. We have no choice
but to offer ourselves to you, to fulfill whatever purpose you see fit.”

“This stinks of a trap,” said a short
calai
with black
shoulder-length curls and many scars across his chest and arms. He shoved his
torch toward Lizneth, so close she had to throw an arm up to shield her eyes.

“Where are Sniverlik’s armies?” asked another
calai
,
muscled and darker of skin. “We have been tracking them for two days. Where
have they gone?”

Lizneth’s legs wanted to buckle and her hands wanted to
shake, but she kept reminding herself that she had survived an audience with
Sniverlik himself; she would survive a meeting with a rabble of savage
calaihn
.
“Your trackers are skilled,” she said. “They did come this way, but you’re too
late if you wanted to find them here.” She turned and pointed down the road
toward Bolck-Azock. “They have ransacked our supplies and left our storehouses
empty. They’ve gone to the metropolis to gather new recruits. You’re too far
behind to stop them now.”

The darker
calai
seemed to sag a little. “Is this all
that are left of you? A whole village and only this handful remains?”

“There are others too afraid to leave their homes. We’ve
suffered greatly at Sniverlik’s hand, and they don’t have the spirit to endure
another intrusion.”

“And what about the rest of you? What are you doing, standing
outside your homes like this? Do you mean to do us violence?”

“We mean only to yield ourselves, in hopes you’ll show us
pity.”

The
calai
gave her a suspicious scowl. He turned and
barked an order over his shoulder, something in their strange, lilting tongue.
His
calaihn
entered the village and began to disperse, ducking through
doorways and crouching into cave-side hovels to search for those they thought
were too afraid. Other
calaihn
came toward Lizneth and her group bearing
manacles—big ones, like those Neacal Griogan had locked her in before the
battle in the Brinescales. They stopped short when the first buckets splashed
across the window panes.