Tor (Women of Earth Book 2) (11 page)

"You mean Tor, don't you?"

She did. She wasn't sure what sin he'd committed against this girl, but she knew it wasn't anywhere near what the others had done. Earlier Truca had smiled when she'd spoken of him, but Wynne wasn't about to break the bond she was beginning to build with the young woman in the bed by bringing that up now.

"Do I?" she asked. "I think that's something you should discuss with the All Knowing, not me. I'll pray for you, Truca, but God is much better at the forgiveness thing than I am."

When Truca closed her eyes, Wynne wasn't sure if she prayed or simply fell asleep. That, too, was between Truca and God. She did, however, send up her own short prayer as she closed the door on the sleeping girl.

"Please help her, God. She's in such pain."

"Where's Tor?" she asked when she entered the living quarters. Ish and Posy were playing cards at the table. Mohawk had arranged three hard wooden chairs into a bed to sprawl across. His curled fist served as a pillow.

"That can't be comfortable, Mohawk, go to bed," she ordered. "We have real ones, you know, and I've cleansed the sheets."

"What? And miss all the fun?"

"There is no fun here. Where's Tor?"

"No fun now, but there might be. Tor went for a walk. If you're going out, I'd better wait up."

"I'm not twelve, Mohawk." He was carrying this guardian business a bit too far.

"Neither is he," the old man muttered before settling back in place.

"I'm not sure he wants to be found. In the mood he was in, I wouldn't want to meet him in the dark," Posy told her before he threw the last card down and cried triumphantly. "Ha! You owe me another hundred credits."

"Fuck you," Ish told him, though she didn't sound angry.

"That is my heart's desire," Posy said and then he laughed. "If I win enough, you'll have to pay up one way or another."

Ish turned to Wynne and looked her up and down. Whatever the criteria of the woman's judgment, Wynne knew she didn't meet it. "He didn't look like he wanted your kind of company, doxie."

Wynne thought about prayer again, though she was pretty sure God wouldn't call down a lightning strike on Ish's head, or sew the woman's mouth shut just because she asked Him to. She prayed for patience instead.

"I wouldn't go out there," Ish warned. "Lots of scary things out there in the dark. You might have to shoot something."

Mohawk explained. "She thinks you're a whadyacallit, a wuss. I told her it wasn't true."

"Thank you, Mohawk," Wynne answered with exaggerated politeness. "I'm going out to look for Tor. If I scream, I trust you'll come and shoot whatever's chewing on my leg."

"Because she won't have the nerve to shoot it herself," Ish sneered.

It had been a long day. It had been a long several days. She was worn out and miserable and wearing a dead man's clothes. Wynne knew it was nothing compared to what Ish had suffered, but the woman seemed to forget that it was Wynne who brought her the blazer to shoot that man and Wynne who fetched the key to release her from the cage. It was something Wynne was beginning to regret.

She'd prayed for patience, but God didn't answer.

"You're right, Ish. I couldn't shoot that man. I've never done it before, but it's something I can learn. And when I do, you just might be the first to know."

"And the cub becomes a bear." Posy laughed and began dealing the cards for another game.

"Told you," Wynne heard Mohawk say as she went through the door. "It's the quiet ones you have to watch. When they boil over, there's bound to be hell to pay."

Chapter 12

Wynne almost turned back. The myriad of stars overhead could not provide enough light to make her feel safe or comfortable in the Devil's Den. Full daylight couldn't do that. Ish was the only reason she kept walking. She wouldn't give the yellow eyed bitch any more ammunition.

Every rustle of the tall grass blown by the breeze, every scurry or thump, real or imagined, had her hesitating. She forced herself to keep going. The barrier was up; the carnars were in their pen. That knowledge didn't prevent her from thinking about what other creatures may have snuck into the compound like she did.

Fortunately, Tor hadn't strolled too far. She found him sitting on a block of stone the size of a small table. There were words carved into the side and an arrow pointing to the left. It was an elaborate signpost directing scientists who had to know exactly where everything was in this small compound. Wasteful government spending was apparently a universal truth, too.

Tor didn't move, but there was no mistaking his profile. How a figure in such a relaxed pose could exude strength and masculinity, she wasn't sure, but Tor managed it. She knew what he looked like without a shirt. She'd felt the strength and form of his thighs and legs. Silhouetted as he was, it was easy to picture him naked. And what a picture it was.

His knee was bent, one foot on the stone, one arm resting on the knee. The hand of that arm moved to his mouth and then away. A cloud of smoke billowed out, lighter than his form. It gave her the opening she needed, but before she could speak, he did.

"Go away," he said as she approached.

She ignored him. "I didn't know you smoked."

"There's a lot you don't know, like how you shouldn't be here right now. Go away, Wynne." He didn't look at her, but took another drag.

"Cigarettes are bad for you, you know."

"Thank you for the information. I'll try to remember that if I ever come across one. Now go away."

"What do you call that thing you're puffing on?"

"A hoffsfri. I found it in Honarie's desk while I was searching. It isn't as good as strong spirits, but there's no headache in the morning."

"We have that, too." Wynne audibly sniffed the air. "But ours smells different."

He frowned, sighed, and asked as if it was a burden to do so, "And do you partake?"

She laughed. "I've never partaken of anything more than a half bottle of beer." She nodded at the stub between his fingers. "That stuff and strong spirits, as you call it, cost money. We didn't have any." She lifted one shoulder at his skeptical look. "Okay, we had enough money before the invasion, but I was too chicken to try it."

"Chicken?"

"Scared, like barnyard fowl. My sister drank, smoked, and fooled around with boys. Mira did pretty much everything she was told not to do. She was the daring one."

"And you?"

"I was the one who watched her be daring." She laughed, remembering. "I was also the one who held her hair back while she puked up her guts in the backyard after drinking too much. Vomited," she added, thinking he would ask.

His mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile, but the move was incomplete. "I got that one. No wonder you were hesitant to follow. Watching someone lose their stomach is not an encouraging endorsement for strong spirits."

The corners of his mouth finally moved upward. It wasn't a playful grin, but a slow smile that told her his pensive mood was subsiding. She'd won the first round. He wouldn't send her away. She moved closer to his perch and he shifted to the side, giving her room to sit.

"Were your sister's experiences smoking and fooling around with boys as disastrous as drink?" he asked.

"Oh no, you misunderstand. My sister was successful in everything she did. A little thing like puking her guts out wouldn't hold Mira back. She was pretty and popular. She still is. I envied her. I still do."

"And yet you chose not to follow in her footsteps."

"I was the good one," Wynne started to repeat the familiar excuse, but stopped before the words left her mouth. Maybe it was the darkness, or the stillness of the night, or the quiet curiosity in his voice. Most likely it was only her exhaustion. Whatever the reason, she told him the truth.

"I didn't choose not to follow. There wasn't any choosing to be done. I was fat, I was smart, and I was shy. None of those things are 'encouraging endorsements' for popularity in high school, particularly among high school boys."

"School boys are fools," he agreed. There was no sympathy, which she didn't want, and no denial of the truth, which is what she'd always heard from her parents and sister.

"You aren't fat." She was. Her mother just refused to see it.

"Smart is a good thing." That was her father, and he was right, unless your classmates thought your answers made them look stupid. Wynne stopped raising her hand in class, but she couldn't stop teachers from calling on her or change her test scores.

"Just put yourself out there. Show them what a great person you are." Mira never saw herself as special. She didn't understand that being able to 'put yourself out there' was a gift, or that her opinion of Wynne was colored by love. High school boys weren't interested in goodness or love. They were interested in tits and ass, and sex if they could get it.

Tor continued to speak, "Particularly when it comes to girls. That was why I joined the military."

"Because of girls?" Bringing her mind back from its wanderings, Wynne thought she might have missed something. She hadn't.

"No, because of the lack of them. I didn't join for honor, or to fight for a cause, or to reject my parent's way of life, which is what my father thought it was. I didn't join to see the galaxy, or to find my destiny. Honor and glory were never high priorities for me. I joined to find the girls. When you live in a small community where most of the families are Godan, girls are in short supply. You know about that, right?"

Because of a genetic fluke, the Godan only fathered sons and they had to search outside the race to find a spouse to produce them. Prospective mates were carefully screened for genetic and reproductive compatibility. Over time, the search became a business.

"The Bride's Brigade, remember?"

"Too well." He started to slip back into the mood she'd found him in.

"So, how did that work out for you? Your search for girls." Wynne knew the answer. Ish had made it clear, but she didn't want him to slip away from her.

"Ah." He nodded, returning his attention to her with a sardonic smile. "Not nearly as well as I'd hoped. The women came later, after I'd left the military. If I'd known that, I'd have left sooner. But you didn't come out here to discuss the foolish failings of boys and girls. What is it you want?"

"To talk about Truca."

Tor closed his eyes and slowly nodded his head. His shoulders slumped. "How bad?"

"Very," she told him. There was no point in shading the truth. "You've seen her face. Her body is worse. There are heavy bruises on her thighs. She hasn't spoken of it yet, and the way those men talked, it sounded like she won that battle, but, nevertheless, she was brutally assaulted."

"I have no doubt of it." He turned his head to look at her. "Why you?" he asked. "She doesn't know you."

What he was really asking was why didn't Truca turn to Posy or Ish, and by extension, him.

"I honestly don't know. Being a stranger might be part of it. Poor Posy is sympathetic, but he's a man. He doesn't know what to do or say, and when he touched her, let's just say her reaction wasn't welcoming. And Ish, well..."

"Head up, shoulders back, find your knife, and slit the fucker's throat."

In spite of the seriousness of the conversation, Wynne laughed. "That was my impression, too."

"It isn't an impression. Ish is Osana. Their name is the same as their planet's. Only the Osana live there. Most races have a home planet, and some are more insulated than others, but once they join the Confederation, business brings outsiders into their towns and cities. No one visits Osana unless they absolutely have to. The planet is a wasteland. The environment is too harsh and so are the Osana people. They do business with the Confederation, but they see offworlders as soft and weak."

"That explains a lot. Ish is definitely a product of her environment." She grinned.

"You don't know the half of it," he said, but he wasn't smiling. "Only the strongest can survive there and they don't waste resources on the weak. They believe weakness breeds weakness, so when a man wants to mate, he's required to fight through her family to get to his intended with nothing but a knife."

"Surely you don't mean..."

"I do. The family is unarmed, but the fight is for real. If he makes it to her door, he passes the first test. He then has to fight the woman to stake his claim." He said this last slowly to be sure she understood. "From what I've heard, it can get pretty rough."

She did. "Holy crapoli. And the women accept that?"

He nodded. "They wouldn't have it any other way. No Osana woman wants a weakling for a husband. Even if she wants the marriage, she's going to fight until she's overpowered. Anything less would be dishonorable. Strength and honor are everything to the Osana."

"Which is why she sees me as weak and worthless." Being understandable didn't make it feel any better.

"Ish isn't completely heartless. She likes Truca, and she's proud of the way the girl fought." He sighed and ran his hand over his scalp. "Ish doesn't understand Truca's reaction to it."

"My God, Tor, this isn't a marriage ritual. Can't she see what this would do to a girl?"

"No, she can't. Ish would see it as an honorable loss in battle even if they succeeded in the rape. She wouldn't feel shame because there was no dishonor. She wouldn't see it as defeat. To Ish's way of thinking, Truca should be plotting her next battle, her revenge. That's what would make the girl strong." He shifted slightly to look at Wynne. "Ish does recognize other strengths but that takes time. Her priority is assessing anyone she perceives as a possible threat and treating them accordingly."

There was a message in there somewhere, but Wynne didn't understand it.

"Then she can stop assessing me. I'm not big enough or strong enough to be a threat to anyone."

"That doesn't mean the threat isn't there," he said before moving on. "Truca hadn't spoken in days until she spoke to you," he said. "Posy said she wouldn't eat or drink. She didn't move. For a while, they weren't sure she was alive." His head sank to his chest again. "I should have prevented this. If I'd gotten here sooner, I could have."

"My grandmother used to say that should have, would have, and could have are wasted words. I like my sister's version better. Shit happens and when it does, you only have two choices; sit in it and pretend it doesn't stink, or get a shovel and deal with it. Truca can't pretend this shit doesn't stink. If she does, she'll smell it for the rest of her life. But she's not strong enough yet to hold the shovel alone."

"There's nothing I can do for her. She won't even look at me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm the man I am, and my promises are worth no more to her than Honarie's."

"That isn't true." She laid her hand on his shoulder. "If she believed that, she wouldn't feel so hurt. If you believed it, you wouldn't feel this badly about it."

"So you're a mind reader now?"

"I don't have to read your mind. I recognize the symptoms. Guilt is my middle name."

"What does a woman like you have to feel guilty about? You don't drink, you don't smoke, and you don't fool around with boys."

He raised one eyebrow, reminding her of
Star Trek
's Mr. Spock, though she never found Spock's gesture nearly so sexy.

"We're talking about Truca," she told him, controlling her reaction and quietly closing the door on the subject of Wynne. "We're talking about the promise you made."

"Is this what you call helping her hold the shovel?"

"It is. Like you said, I don't know her or anything about her."

The stony set to his jaw worked its way up into his face. Wynne thought he might refuse to tell her what she needed to know, but she was wrong. He was just looking for a place to start.

"Your grandmother was wrong about should have, could have, and would have. They aren't wasted words, Wynne. They're words of responsibility and the responsibility for Truca is mine. I never should have taken her with me." She could almost taste the bitterness in his words.

"Why did you?"

"I got word of a load for transport, a good one, but only if I could get there first. I'd lost my mechanic and I needed one fast. That's not easy without a signing wage and as usual, my pocket was empty. I met up with a few other traders in an alehouse near the docks and asked if they knew anyone who'd be willing to take the wage at the payout instead of up front. They laughed about this tasty bit who would probably sign for free. She was looking for a berth, no license, but she knew her stuff. They were sending her ship to ship. Big joke. The pip was doing expensive repairs for a few credits as a way to show off her abilities. She never knew they were laughing at her. It didn't matter how good she was. She didn't have a hope of getting a berth."